Glory in Death (In Death 2) - Page 12

“You maintained separate residences.”

“Yes, she—we both preferred it that way. Our tastes, aesthetically speaking, were very different, and the simple truth was we both liked our independence and personal space. We enjoyed each other more, I think, by keeping a certain distance.” He took a long breath. “But it was no secret that we had a relationship, at least not among our families and friends.” He let the breath out. “Publicly, we both preferred to keep our private lives private. I don’t expect that will be possible now.”

“I doubt it.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What should matter is finding out who did this to her. I just can’t seem to work myself up about it. Nothing can change the fact that she’s gone. Cicely was,” he said slowly, “the most admirable woman I’ve ever known.”

Every instinct, human and cop, told her this was a man in deep mourning, but she knew that even killers mourned their dead. “I need you to tell me what time you last saw her. George, I’m recording this.”

“Yes, of course. It was about ten o’clock. We had dinner at Robert’s on East Twelfth. We shared a cab after. I dropped her off first. About ten,” he repeated. “I know I got in about quarter after because I had several messages waiting.”

“Was that your usual routine?”

“What? Oh.” He snapped himself back from some inner world. “We really didn’t have one. Often we’d come back here, or go to her apartment. Now and again, when we felt adventurous, we’d take a suite at the Palace for a night.” He broke off, and his eyes were suddenly blank and devastated as he shoved off the soft, silver sofa. “Oh God. My God.”

“I’m sorry.” Useless, she knew, against grief. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m starting to believe it,” he said in a voice thick and low. “It’s worse, I realize, when you begin to believe it. She laughed when she got out of the cab, and she blew me a kiss from her fingertips. She had such beautiful hands. And I went home, and forgot about her because I had messages waiting. I was in bed by midnight, took a mild tranq because I had an early meeting. While I was in bed, safe, she was lying dead in the rain. I don’t know if I can bear that.” He turned back, his already pale face bloodless now. “I don’t know if I can bear it.”

She couldn’t help him. Even though his pain was so tangible she could feel it herself, she couldn’t help him. “I wish I could do this later, give you time, but I just can’t. As far as we know, you’re the last person who saw her alive.”

“Except her killer.” He drew himself up. “Unless, of course, I killed her.”

“It would be best for everyone if I ruled that out quickly.”

“Yes, naturally, it would—Lieutenant.”

She accepted the bitterness in his voice and did her job. “If you could give me the name of the cab company so that I can verify your movements.”

“The restaurant called for one. I believe it was a Rapid.”

“Did you see or speak with anyone between the hours of midnight and two A.M.?”

“I told you, I took a pill and was in bed by midnight. Alone.”

She could verify that with the building security discs, though she had reason to know

such things could be doctored. “Can you tell me her mood when you left her?”

“She was a bit distracted, the case she was prosecuting. Optimistic about it. We talked a bit about her children, her daughter in particular. Mirina’s planning on getting married next fall. Cicely was pleased with the idea, and excited because Mirina wanted a big wedding with all the old-fashioned trimmings.”

“Did she mention anything that was worrying her? Anything or anyone she was concerned about?”

“Nothing that would apply to this. The right wedding gown, flowers. Her hopes that she could swing the maximum sentence in the case.”

“Did she mention any threats, any unusual transmissions, messages, contacts?”

“No.” He put a hand over his eyes briefly, let it drop to his side. “Don’t you think I’d have told you if I had the slightest inkling of why this happened?”

“Why would she have gone to the Upper West Side at that time of night?”

“I have no idea.”

“Was she in the habit of meeting snitches, sources?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. “I don’t know,” he murmured, struck by it. “I wouldn’t have thought . . . but she was so stubborn, so sure of herself.”

“Her relationship with her former husband. How would you describe it?”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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