Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

“Did Ms. Brant urge you to take the money and walk?”

“No. She was willing to go to the wall. We weren’t.”

“Why?”

“He had vids. We didn’t tell Sylvia—we just … We weren’t ready to talk about that part. He had vids, of both of us—not together,” she said quickly. “Jasmine told me about hers after I told her about mine.”

Peabody spoke, soft, gentle. “Can you talk about it now?”

“Yeah. I got through that wall. I woke up that night in his house, in his bed. I don’t remember how I got there. I don’t really remember any of it. But I knew I’d never have gone with him like that. I’d already made that clea

r, even told him I’d report him. Then I’m naked in his bed? When I woke up, sick, confused, humiliated, he already had the vid cued up. And there I was, in that room, having sex with him.”

She had to look away—not to fight tears, Eve noted. To pull back the rage.

“I didn’t just look willing, but eager. He told me if I tried to say I hadn’t been willing and eager, he’d ruin me. He had the lawyers, the money, the vid. I’d never get a decent job in the field again—anywhere. Then he told me to get dressed and get out. His wife was coming home that afternoon.

“Tell me I should’ve gone to the police,” she snapped even as, at last, her eyes filled. “When he had that vid.”

“Ms. Lester.” Peabody spoke in what Eve thought of as her heart voice. “We’re not here to tell you what you should’ve done. He had all the power, and not just in that moment.”

“He broke me, and I did nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Peabody corrected. “You went to your supervisor.”

“Not right away. I thought I could just bury it, you know, pretend it didn’t happen. Especially when he went back to London, and I didn’t have to see him. But I walked into the bathroom, and Jasmine was in there. She was sick. I didn’t even know her very well, but she was sick, so I said something about could I get her some water, or help her get home or whatever. She just blurted it all out. She said she had to quit, had to leave, she’d had sex with McEnroy and couldn’t even remember. And she’s puking and blaming herself, and I realized he’d done the same thing to her somehow. I told her, and I guess I used her, because she was so sick and shaky she let me take over. That’s when we went to Sylvia.”

“It seems to me you helped each other. That’s not using. It’s supporting.”

“Maybe. What I know is I’ve tried to put it behind me, and I was getting there. Now the bastard’s dead and I’m a suspect. I should probably get a lawyer.”

“Do you want a lawyer?” Eve asked her.

She sent Eve a look of unbearable weariness. “Then I’d have to go through all of it again, tell someone else.”

“We’re going to need Frankie’s full name and contact info. We need to verify your statement on your whereabouts last night. We can tell him we’re simply checking off boxes on some routine matter.”

“He knows about McEnroy. I haven’t felt ready to have sex—and boy, I used to like sex—since that morning. I wanted to have sex with Frankie, but … not ready. So I told him why. He’s waited. He’s Frank Carvindito. He’s an editor for Vanguard Publishing. And he’s pretty goddamn terrific.”

“Okay. Can you tell us the last thing you remember before you woke up in McEnroy’s bedroom?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve been over it a million times. He called me into his office, and the son of a bitch apologized. He said he realized he’d been inappropriate, that he’d misread signals, how I was already a valued member of the team. He laid it on, and I accepted it. I loved the work there, so I accepted it. And the coffee he offered me when he started to talk about work. I have a vague memory of walking out with him. I think most everyone was gone by then. I remember feeling off, like I’d been drinking, but good drinking, you know? Loose. Then I was in the back of a car with him, and his hands were on me, but I didn’t mind. He gave me a drink, and then … nothing. I just don’t remember after that. Some flashes—like dream blips—but nothing clear.”

“All right.” Eve got to her feet. “We appreciate your time and cooperation.”

“That’s it?”

“For now it is. We’ll verify what you’ve told us. As long as it jibes, as long as you didn’t kill him, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Her lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “Well, there’s good news.”

Eve paused, waited until Leah’s eyes met hers. “I’m a cop, and I’m telling you this. What he did to you was rape. He drugged you, raped you, then blackmailed you. He’s to blame, every level, every step.

You’re not. And you stood up when you realized he’d done the same to someone else.”

“I …” She had to stop, had to swallow. “Thanks. I mean it. Now, you’re going to go around all this with Jasmine, even though she’s in Chicago. Take it easy with her, will you? She’s always going to be a little tender because a part of her is always going to at least half believe she caused it. And to add insult, he passed her over for a promotion right after. Just another little sting, right?”

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Eve walked to the door, stopped. “Are you still in the support group?”