His brows arched and for another instant there was a flash of humor in his eyes. "Anna is bound and determined that Shelly marry again, or at the very least develop a serious romantic interest. Shelly hasn't cooperated. She is, as you said, sensible and steady. She's made a comfortable life for herself and maintained, to Anna's bafflement, a cordial relationship with Walt. As for Walt himself, I was fond of him."
The humor died away. "Very fond of him. He wasn't a man to make enemies. Even Anna couldn't dislike him. His children adored him, and as I know them nearly as well as I know my own, I'll say that though you'll have to follow through on them investigatively, you'll find they had no part in his murder."
"I've found no evidence nor motive that leads in their direction, Commander. Nor toward their spouses."
"But you have found Julianna Dunne."
"Yes, sir."
He pushed away from his desk, rose. "There are times, Dallas, the system fails. It failed by not keeping that individual in a cage. Now a good man is dead because the system failed."
"No system is foolproof, but knowing that doesn't make it easier when you lose a friend."
He acknowledged this offer of condolence with a nod. "Why did she kill him?"
Because he stood, Eve rose. "Her pattern had been to target a man of some wealth and prestige, develop a relationship with him that led to marriage, legally attaching herself in order to gain all or a portion of that wealth upon his death. In the three cases we know of, the target was no less than twenty-five years her senior, and she became his second wife. While Pettibone fits the general type of her favored target, no evidence has come to light that he knew her personally. She was not a legal heir to his estate, and therefore couldn't profit from his death by her usual means."
Eve took the discs of her reports out of her pocket, set them on his desk. "The most logical motive remains financial gain. I'm pursuing the possibility Dunne was hired out. We've made a first-level pass on the financials of the family and closest business associates. I've found nothing to indicate any large withdrawals, or consistent smaller ones that would meet the fee for a professional hit. I need to go deeper, and have requested authorization for a second level."
"She'd be good at it," Whitney commented.
"Yes, sir, she would."
"Her pattern's also been to move, to re-establish herself in another location after she has the money in hand."
"She's already broken pattern. But if she's left New York, it would be for another major city. And one, in my opinion, she's familiar with. She's still getting her legs under her, and would prefer the familiar. I've asked Feeney to keep in touch with the police in Chicago and East Washington. I've also asked Dr. Mira to consult. I want her to study the reports and testing results on Dunne."
"You don't intend to tag the original profiler?"
"No, sir. In my opinion the previous profiler and shrink were too soft on her, and I'd prefer Mira's take. Dunne knows how to play people. Also, her mother and stepfather are still alive. She may attempt contact there at some point. In addition, McNab has compiled a list of people she may have formed a relationship with while in Dockport. I think a trip there might provide some insight."
"When do you plan to leave?"
"I'd hoped to go tomorrow, sir. I thought to request that Feeney come with me in this case. We both dealt personally with Dunne, and while Peabody could use the experience, her plate's full. Her parents are in town, and I recently gave her a cold case to investigate."
His brow furrowed. "A homicide? Is she ready for that?"
"Yes, sir, she's ready. She's on the right track, and I believe she can close it."
"Keep me apprised on all counts. I'll be out of the office most of tomorrow afternoon. Saying good-bye to a friend."
* * *
It felt strange to be able to clock off at end of shift and head home on time. It was stranger still to walk in the front door and not have Summerset lurking in the foyer ready with some pithy remark or observation. She actually found herself standing there for a minute or two, waiting for him, before she caught herself.
Oddly embarrassed, she started upstairs, almost certain he'd be there, sort of lying in wait. But she made it all the way to the bedroom without a sign of him. Or the cat.
It didn't, she realized, feel quite like home.
Until she heard the shower running, and voices murmuring from the adjoining bath. She stepped in and saw Roarke's long, lanky form through the wavy glass of the shower wall.
It was enough to make a woman want to lick her lips.
The voices came from a screen recessed in the shower tiles, and seemed to be some sort of financial report. The man's mind was full of numbers half the time, she thought, and decided to shift it to another occu
pation.
She stripped where she stood, moved quietly into the criss-crossing sprays behind him, slid her hands around his waist. And down.