Even as his shoulders relaxed, Eve saw genuine emotion come into his eyes. “Thank you. We’ve very proud of our long family history of serving. My brother, Terry . . . Captain Terrance James Iler gave his life serving.”
“A terrorist attack on his base while he was stationed in Seoul. Four years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and still as fresh as yesterday.” Iler looked away. “He was due to come home the following week. He told me—I spoke with him only hours before he was killed—he planned to ask Felicia to marry him. He never got the chance.”
“Felicia?”
“Felicia Mortimer. They’d been involved for quite a while, and Terry told me he planned to buy a ring, ask her to marry him when he came home. He never came home.”
His throat worked as he looked away again. “He saved lives that day. He gave his life to save others. He was a hero.”
He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, it’s still raw. I suppose it always will be. I hope you’ll excuse me now.”
When he rose, Eve got to her feet. “Again, we’re sorry for your loss. Thank you for your time.” She turned for the door, stopped. “I nearly forgot. If you could give us the names of the places you stayed over your long weekend, it would tie that off.”
“What possible difference does it make?”
“For our report.” She studied him, smiled blandly. “Checks all the boxes.”
“I have no idea. I told you before I didn’t have a set plan. I just stopped when the mood struck. New England’s ripe with odd little B and Bs. I can’t remember the names.”
“That’s okay. You’ll have the paper trail—credit card data.”
His jaw tightened like a drum. “I didn’t use credit or debit. I used cash.”
“Really? No record for expenses, taxes?”
“I explained—clearly, I think—it was really a holiday for me.”
“At a charging station for your car, a meal on the road?”
“Cash. You said Jordan was killed Tuesday morning. What does where I stayed or ate over the weekend, or any of it, relate to that?”
“Loose ends nag at me. If you happen to remember one of your stops, just let me know. I’ll tie off that loose end. Thank you again.”
With Peabody Eve strode to the elevator. “He’s not the smart one.”
“No. No, he is not,” Peabody agreed. “A lot of that was rehearsed, probably in the mirror.”
“Over rehearsed, at that. And he’s not real good with the—what is it—ad lib. Too much information gushed out to demonstrate cooperation at the beginning. He never once expressed any regret his fellow art lover got himself murdered. Never asked any questions pertaining to. Comes from being a sociopath—just can’t relate.”
“Gushing’s right. Just how did he know the Richie in Banks’s apartment was a charcoal?”
Eve smiled, shot a finger at Peabody. “Bang. Doesn’t say, Oh yeah, I saw a Richie up in Jordan’s apartment. Doesn’t say, Yeah, yeah, Jordan mentioned he had a charcoal by Angelo Richie. Instead he pretends it takes him a minute to place Richie at all, then doesn’t connect him to Banks—smarter if he had. But he knows what he took out of the apartment Monday night, so it’s on his mind, and he just rolls it out.”
“I thought you might haul him in after that.”
“I could sweat him. We could break him. And we’d nail him on eighteen murders, forced imprisonment, and so on. But I don’t know, yet, if he’d flip on his partner, and we want them both.”
“We could flip him.”
Eve shook her head. “Depends on the partner. What we’re going to do is break from the interviews while we contact Captain Terrance Iler’s CO at the time of the terrorist incident. Let’s make sure Terry’s dead.”
“Jesus, you think his dead brother’s not dead and his partner?”
“Let’s confirm. And we need to contact this Felicity Mortimer. Maybe have a chat there. That’s why we need to break off the interviews until we do.”
She stepped off the elevator, walked to the desk. “Rhoda, is there an office we could use?”