“You struck me. I saved your life and you struck me and dragged me in here like a criminal.”
“Saved my life? Gosh, my recollection, and my recording, which was—as is proper procedure—engaged throughout our meeting, have a different take. As do the recordings and statements of the officers in Our Lady of Shadows Church.”
“And those recordings and statements will be questioned,” Sorenson put in, “as we can document your vendetta against my client.”
“Yeah, you do that little thing, see where it gets you. So let’s start from there. You contacted me at just past twenty hundred hours.”
“She was drunk,” he said to Sorenson. “But I was desperate. She could barely speak coherently, and when she arrived, she could hardly stand up she was so inebriated.”
Eve opened the file, pulled out a hard copy, tossed it on the table. “My tox screens, taken at hour intervals from nineteen hundred hours to twenty-one hundred hours. Clear and clean.”
“Falsified, just like the rest! You were already drunk when you accosted me and Sly at Lionel’s. A dozen witnesses would corroborate that, and your abusive attitude. Your own husband was disgusted with you.”
“Roarke says hi, by the way. You might not have noticed him in the church.” She smiled as fury reddened Dudley’s face.
“You entrapped my client,” Sorenson began.
“Bullshit. Your client contacted me, which is verified by both our ’link logs. I met him, as he requested. My backup was not only within procedure, but recommended by departmental policy. You confessed, Winnie, during our meeting—when your pal had a stunner to my throat—that the two of you had engaged in a competition that involved killing selected targets.”
She drew photos out of her file, lined them up.
“You misinterpreted my words. I was doing whatever I could to stall Sly.” Tears, and she thought them sincere, sprang to his eyes even as he lied his murdering ass off. “I betrayed and killed my dearest friend for you.”
She sent him a look, the same kind she’d seen him send Roarke in Lionel’s. Civilized contempt. “You sure roll on your dearest friend quick and easy.”
“I’m doing my duty. And God knows it can’t harm him. He’s dead. I killed him to save you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you didn’t kill him. He’s actually doing pretty well.”
“You’re a liar. I saw him.”
“You didn’t see much of anything being souped up on Hype cut with a little prime Zeus. Your client’s tox screen.” Eve tossed it out of the file.
“I was frightened. Maybe I was weak, but I was frightened, so I took something. You can charge me with using, but—”
“Be quiet, Winnie.”
“I’m not a murderer!” He rounded on Sorenson. “It was Sly. And Sly’s dead!”
“Not dead yet, and I’ll be talking to him in the morning,” Eve commented. “I’m betting he rolls on you just as quick and easy. The officer with him tells me he’s pretty steamed you stabbed him.”
“Saving you.”
“Why did you bring an antique Italian fencing foil to church, Winnie?”
“I didn’t. Sly did.”
“Actually, no, he didn’t. Your droid did. The same droid that the two of you used to pose as Simpson’s house droid the night Sly murdered, and you conspired to murder, Luc Delaflote. We have the droid, Winnie, and are running his drives. You guys really should have destroyed that unit.”
She nodded to Peabody, who went out.
“Detective Peabody exiting Interview. There are a lot of things you probably should’ve gotten rid of. Oh, look here, more pictures.”
“I have no idea who those people are.” But his hands began to twitch.
“Sure you do. You killed them.”
“Lieutenant, if you’re going to add more ridiculous charges to those already levied against my client, I’ll—”
“It’s a pattern, Counselor, and I can connect each and every one of these people to your client. This one, the first one we’ve dug up. You’re in Africa, it’s hot, kind of wild. And hell, you’re paying her, aren’t you? She should do what the hell you want when you want it. And you’ve got that buzz on,” she added, rising and circling the table. “Women are supposed to lie down when you say lie down, supposed to spread them when you say spread them. It was her own fault, really, and thank God you had Sly there to help you out.”
She reached over, leaning over him, pulled the death photo of Melly Bristow out of the file.
Blonde gagged.
“Yeah, harsh, but, hey, she was dead already. Such a rush, getting away with murder. And they’re all just people for hire anyway—like Sofia Ricci in Naples, like Linette Jones in Vegas.”
She tapped each ID shot while Sorenson dismissed her accusations, and Dudley continued to twitch.
“But wouldn’t it be more of a rush to kill people who’ve got some cachet?” she continued. “Why waste your time on nobodies? Add some spice to the contest. What was the winner going to get anyway?”
“You’re making things up.”
“A high-class version of the classic game of Clue. Oh, wait.” She pressed the recorder she’d already cued up, and Dudley’s voice came out.
Games are for children. This is adventure. It’s competition.
“How many points did you get for the LC in the amusement park with the bayonet?” she wondered. “Your great-uncle’s bayonet. Or for the facilitator on the jogging trail with the bullwhip. The bullwhip custom-made for you in Australia. Detective Peabody returning to Interview. And, look, she’s brought party favors.”
“I was nowhere near either of those places. You know very well I was entertaining on the night Adrianne was killed.”
“We’ve been talking to people on your guest list. Even better, to staff hired for that little soiree. The hired help, Winnie? They tend to see things because people like you don’t really see them.” She smiled. “We’ve already found a couple of guests who state they looked for you to say good night before they left, and gee, couldn’t find you.”
“I have a large home, an extensive estate.”
“Yeah, and needed a lot of extra help, the kind who don’t have any reason to lie about or for you. We’ve got a few who noticed you and Adrianne Jonas heading for the garage, a couple others who noticed you coming back, a bit after three A.M. Alone.”
“You bribed them.” Sweat coated his face like dew. “It goes back to this vendetta. It goes back to jealousy.”
“Oh, of what?”
“You may have finessed marriage out of Roarke, may have money, but you’ll never be anyone. Either of you. You’ll never be what I am.”
“Thank God for that. I’ve got statements, recordings, witnesses, weapons.” She shrugged. “Oh, and you know what else? You had this in a locked drawer in your bedroom.” She pulled out an evening bag. “It’s Adrianne Jonas’s.”
“She left it at the party. I was keeping it for her.”
“No, do better. We have those pesky hired help who saw her, with the bag, as she was entering your garage.”
“She dropped it.”
“And oddly, her ’link wasn’t in it, though she was seen using it minutes before you walked her to the garage. Oddly, too, her prints and several strands of hair were in your vehicle. Oh, and a couple of the valets you hired saw your vehicle leave the estate just under an hour prior to her time of death.”
“She must have asked one of the servants to drive her. I can’t keep track of everyone.”
“Are these your shoes?” She pulled them out of the box, got a shrug. “I can save us time and tell you these were taken out of your shoe closet, tagged, and logged. You wore these same shoes the night you killed Ava Crampton. We have you, wearing them and a bogus disguise, entering the House of Horrors with her, less than thirty minutes prior to her time of death.”
“You can’t have. I took . . . I wasn’t there.”
“You were going to say you took care of it, jammed security with this.” She drew out the jammer. “You did a pretty good job, Winnie. Credit where credit’s due. But you didn’t get them all. And before you say there are any number of people with this particular make of shoe,” she said to Sorenson, “you should know they’re a limited edition, and in this size and color, very few have been sold—and we’ve been briskly eliminating them as suspects. I really don’t think your client’s been fully forthcoming with you.”
“I’ll need time to confer privately with my client.”
“Sure. We can do that. And given the time, I can postpone the continuation of this interview until Monday morning. I bet you’re feeling a little tense and itchy, Winnie. Gee, you’re all shaky and sweaty. I bet you wish you had just a little hit to smooth it out. It’s a long time until Monday, a long time in a cage without all your usual indulgences.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
She leaned forward, into his face. “Oh, yes, I can.”
“Sorenson, you useless shit, deal with this.”
“Lieutenant, if I could speak with you outside.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” In fact, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her booted feet. “Why don’t you deal with me, Winnie? That was the plan. But Sly screwed up, he messed it up for you. He’s the loser. But you, you’re a screwup, too. Jesus, you’re laughable. I beat both of you in under a week. Maybe I should have a victory drink.”
She pulled a bottle of champagne from the box. “Fancy French stuff. Special vintage, numbered and signed and recorded in Delaflote’s log for the Simpson job. It was in your wine cellar. That Delaflote, he had no business getting naked with your mother. Freaking French upstart.”
“You shut your mouth.”
“Oh, I got more. Lots more. So much I’m amazed the two of you had a nine-month run at this. The NYPSD judge?” She gestured to Peabody.
“Gives them a five-point-eight out of ten. But that’s for creativity,” Peabody added. “Execution drops to a four-point-six.”
“That’s fair. But it was fun, wasn’t it, Winnie? That much fun, you do it for the love, not the score. And you loved it, just like you love your chemicals. What’s life without some buzz and thrill?”
“Lieutenant, that’s quite enough.” Sorenson stood. “We’ll end this interview here.”
“I’m not staying here, going back to that cell. You moronic prick, do what you’re paid to do! I want to go home. I want this bitch punished.”
“Ouch, starting to jones some, huh?” Eve shook her head in sympathy as she checked her wrist unit. “It’s been a while. Not that you’re going home—ever—Winnie, but you wouldn’t find any of your stashes there. We’ve got them, too.”
He surged to his feet, backhanding Redhead out of her chair when she tried to soothe him down again. “You have no right to touch my things. I pay you. You’re nothing but a public servant. I own you.”
“You bought and paid for these people.” Eve gestured to the photos scattered over the table. “You had every right to kill them for sport.”
“You’re damn right we did. They’re nothing.” He swept the photos to the floor. “Barely more than droids. Who cries when a droid’s destroyed? And you, you’re nothing more than a conniving, social-climbing nobody’s temporary whore. We should’ve killed you first.”
“Yeah, guess so. Missed that shuttle.”
“Winston, I don’t want you to say another word. Do you hear me, not another word.”
“Going to listen to your paid servant, Winnie?” She put a taunting sneer into her voice. “Does he tell you what to do?”
“No one tells me what to do. I’m walking out of here, and I’ll ruin you. You think because you married money you’re safe? I have a name, I have influence. I can crush you with a word.”
“Which word? Because I need more than one, and here they are. Winston Dudley the Fourth, in addition to the charges already on record against you, you are hereby charged with five additional counts of murder and conspiracy to murder the following: Bristow, Melly, a human being . . .”
Behind her as Eve continued the litany of names and charges, Peabody opened the door for two uniforms. Because she’d already decked him once, Eve stepped aside when he charged and left it to the uniforms to restrain him.
“Lieutenant!” Sorenson came after her. “It’s obvious my client is emotionally and mentally distressed, and may be suffering from illegals abuse. I—”
“Take it up with the PA. I’ve done my job.”
She kept walking, and as she passed Observation Roarke came out, fell into step with her. “Nice work, Lieutenant, for a temporary whore.”
“That’s saying something from a conniving, social-climbing nobody.”
“What a good fit we are.” He took her hand. “Ready for the weekend?”
“Oh, boy, howdy. I need lemon meringue pie and strawberry shortcake.”
“Aren’t you the greedy one?”
“Hey, sometimes you’ve just got to go for a little indulgence.” She turned toward the conference room. “I need about thirty to deal with the paperwork. And I’m going to need a couple hours tomorrow morning on Moriarity.”
He only nodded, and kept her hand in his as they looked at the board. “No more faces,” he said. “Not tonight.”
“No, not tonight.”
He understood, she thought, that she’d needed to ensure that. And understood, as she did, there would be other faces on other nights.
But not tonight.
She turned to him, slid her arms around him, laid her head on his shoulder, and breathed clear.
He was right. What a good fit they were.