J. Robb - Fantasy in Death

“And the business is worth considerable.”

“Relatively.”

“Compared to you it’s a nit on a grizzly, but the money’s a motive, as is the technology they’re working on. Can they keep this place afloat without Bart?”

“No one’s indispensable. Except you to me.”

“Aww.” But she rolled her eyes with the sound and made him laugh a little. “They’ll split three ways instead of four.”

“And take a hit for the loss of the fourth. From a business standpoint, eliminating Bart’s a foolish move. He was the point man,” Roarke explained, “the public face, the big picture man. And he was good at it.”

“This kind of murder? Sensational, and tied in with the business. It’s going to get whopping truckloads of media. Free media of the sort that generates sales out of sheer curiosity.”

“You’re right about that.” He considered. “Yes, but that’s a temporary boost, and still poor business sense. Added to it, unless their dynamics have changed, it’s hard to see any of the other three hurting Bart.”

“People do the damnedest things. I have another angle to check out. Feeney will keep you busy if you want to be. I need a copy of the game disc. They’ll hand it over, but they’re going to drag their feet some. If they trust you, you might be able to nudge that along.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll be in the field.”

He took her hand as she walked to the door. “Take care of my wife.”

“She takes care of herself.”

“When she remembers.”

She went out, started down. She glanced back once to see him at that glass wall, hands in his pockets, and that sorrow that perhaps only she could see, still shadowing his face.

Back in the busy hive of Cop Central, Eve studied Roland Chadwick through the glass of Observation. He continued to sweat, just a bit, and his tear-swollen eyes tended to dart and dash around the room, as if he expected something to materialize in a corner and take a nice big bite out of him.

Perfect.

“We’ll take him together to start,” Eve told Peabody. “I’m going hard. He expects it from me now.”

“And you’d give him herbal tea and a fluffy pillow otherwise.”

“I’ll leave the fluffy to you, after I storm out of the room in disgust, leaving dire threats in my wake.”

“And I ‘there-there’ him until he spills his guts.”

“That’s the plan.”

Eve watched as Roland laid his head on the table as if to sleep. It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least if he’d popped his thumb in his mouth.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll start on Dubrosky. He’s been around the block a few times, and he has to know his dupe in there is a very weak sister. I believe his guts will also spill.”

Peabody smiled as Roland cushioned his face on his folded arms. “My guy will spill first.”

“Maybe. Let’s find out.”

She strode in, a tough, impatient woman who seemed capable of taking that nice big bite and enjoying it. Roland’s head popped up even as he shrank in his chair.

“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, in Interview with Chadwick, Roland, on the matter of the murder of Minnock, Bart. Roland Chadwick,” she continued, using both names to add a little more intimidation, “have you been read your rights?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter?”

“Okay, yeah, but-”

She dropped her file on the table between them with a force that echoed like a slap. It shut him up.

“You worked for Bart Minnock, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, I told you how I-”

“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday?”

“I was at home, I mean, I was at work, and then-”

“Which is it?” She snapped the words out, leaned on the table, deep into his space. “Home or work? It’s an easy question, Roland.”

“I-I-I-I was at work all day, until I went home.” Like the words off his tongue, color stammered in his face, pink then white, pink then white. “I logged out and everything. It was after five. You can check. You can see.”

“And you log out, Roland, every time you leave the building? Every single time?”

“Well, mostly. For sure at the end of the day. For sure then. I didn’t do anything. I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me.” His voice pitched into a whine threatening to reach dog-ears-only territory. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Is that so? Maybe Bart would disagree. Maybe he’d have a little something to say about that. If he wasn’t dead.” She flipped open the file, spilled the crime scene photos out. “But it’s a little hard to get the words out when your head’s across the room from the rest of you.”

Roland took one look at the photos, went a very pale green. He said, fairly clearly: “Gah.” Then his eyes rolled up white as he slid to the floor.

“Well, shit.” Eve blew out a breath and fisted her hands on her hips. “Better get him some water, Peabody.”

“It was kind of graceful, the way he went down.” Peabody got a cup of water while Eve crouched down to pat Roland’s cheeks.

“Out cold. He’s not faking. Okay, Roland, come on back. Better get a medic in case… wait, here he comes. Roland!” She spoke sharply as his eyes twitched, then blinked. Then she gave a head jerk to Peabody so her partner would be the one playing nursemaid.

“Are you all right, Mr. Chadwick?” Peabody knelt down, eased his head up. “Try a little water. Take a sip, that’s the way. Take a breath. Do you need medical attention?”

“I don’t… what happened?”

“You fainted. Do you want me to call a medic?”

“No. No, I don’t think… I just need to-” His eyes popped wide now, and he grabbed Peabody’s arm like a drowning man. “Don’t make me look again. Don’t make me look.”

“Tougher to look than to be part of causing it?” Eve said coldly.

“I didn’t. I swear.” He all but crawled into Peabody’s lap, and Eve knew her work was done. “I swear ! Don’t make me look.”

“Okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to look. Have some more water. We’ll wait until you’re feeling steady again.”

“Fine, that’s fine.” Eve pushed the photos back in the file. “You want to coddle him, he’s all yours. I can’t stand being in the same room with him. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, exiting Interview.”

She slammed the door behind her, but not before she heard Roland’s breathless thank-you to her partner.

Satisfied with Part A, she headed to the next interview room for Part B.

Milt Dubrosky had the buffed and polished looks of a spa rat. She imagined he devoted a good part of his day to the gym, and a good part of his week to treatments. His hair-too perfectly streaked to be nature’s gift-lay in subtle waves around a smooth, fine-boned face. His eyes, a soft, shimmering blue flashed out of long, dark lashes as he beamed out a high-wattage smile.

“Officer, I don’t know why I’m here, but at least the view just got a whole lot better.”

“Lieutenant.”

His smile flashed along with his eyes as he executed a snappy salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in Interview with Dubrosky, Milton, on the matter of the murder of Minnock, Bart.”

“What?” Those bold eyes widened as he sucked in a breath. “Bart’s been murdered? When? What happened?”

“You’ve been in Interview before, Dubrosky.” She tapped the file that held his record. “So you know I’m the one who asks questions, and you’re the one who answers them. Have you been read your rights?”

“Yeah, the cops who brought me in. But they didn’t tell me anything.”