Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(53)

“Which is likely why she’s still alive or not in prison.”

“Skank’s in year three of five for agg assault. MacKensie lived back home for two years, and during that time did her own stint. Two three-month stints at Inner Peace. I had to dig, way down, as it’s billed as a lifestyle enhancement center, not rehab. Guess who else did some time at Inner Peace?”

“My money and the look in your eyes say either Su or Downing.”

“Su. Not at the same time, which is annoying, but they both went to Yale, both went to this lifestyle deal. Su took a sabbatical, three years ago, and did the lifestyle enhancement deal. Prior to that, I’ve got her in this program—this study on insomnia. And, what a coincidence! Charity Downing also took part in a program—again, not at the same time—on insomnia.”

“That’s too many connections even for a devil’s advocate.” Because it was the only thing there, Roarke picked the tube of Pepsi, took a swig. “It’s gone warm.”

“Still does the job. Here’s how I see it.”

She rose, gestured to the board as she paced. “These three women had some previous encounter with the victim. Sexual. That encounter was disturbing enough or intense enough to send MacKensie into a sharp downward spiral. The probability is each of them sought help for, we’ll say side effects of that encounter at some point. And through that, the three of them come together.”

Eve interlinked her fingers. “Two of the three hook up with the vic again. I don’t guess you had time to check with hotel security on Su.”

“I did, in fact. I can tell you she doesn’t show up on any feed through the hotel in the last eighteen months.”

“Not surprised. Pretty sure she’s gay.” When he lifted his eyebrows, she shrugged. “Not because she didn’t show on the feed. Because I’ve got some photos of her, too. Big-deal science award ceremony—her date’s female. A White House dinner deal—female date. Then there’s her interview in this big-deal science journal where she says she’s gay, that leans me in that direction.”

She circled the board again. “These three women know each other, they knew Edward Mira, and my gut says they conspired together and killed him. Considering the nature of the torture, I’d say it’s serious payback. It’s payback for sexual assault, molestation, or rape because three women don’t come together to torture and kill because they had a fling with a married man.”

Shifting, Roarke studied the photos of Edward Mira. The soberly handsome statesman—and the murder victim.

“You believe a former United States senator was a serial rapist?”

“Yeah, I do.” Eve heaved out a breath. “Yeah, I fucking do. That’s how it lays out for me. Proving it? That’s a whole different ball of string.”

“Wax, but never mind that. Eve, trying to prove it is going to take you into very dangerous waters.”

“I’m a strong swimmer.”

“You are that,” he agreed. “But it’s also going to bring you personal pain.”

“I can’t let that get in the way. You know that.”

“I do.” He set the tube aside, went to her. “I love you.”

She shifted. “Yeah, same goes.”

He cupped her face in his hands, kept his eyes on hers. “I love you.”

Her heart stuttered, so she cupped his face in turn. “I love you, and what you’re telling me is we’ll get through this.”

“I am.”

“Even if you end up pouring a soother down my throat.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Firmly, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “You’ll do what has to be done, and so will I.”

“I could be wrong. It may turn out I’m completely out of orbit on this angle, but it’s what I see.”

“And the way you’ve gone through the steps, it’s what I see. There will be more of them. If you’re right, and he forced or coerced these three, there will be more.”

“Yeah, there will be more. Yale students, or women who he encountered somehow through that connection when they were college age. There’s a three-year span between when MacKensie was at Yale, and when Downing was at NYU. Five between MacKensie and Su at Yale. So there will be others. But I’m not seeing those others—not yet anyway—on my list. His daughter . . .”

“I don’t believe so.” At least, Roarke thought, he could give her that peace of mind. “I don’t think you need to go there. I looked into her, and her brother, and there’s no sign of that.”

“I got all the way to lieutenant of the NYPSD, and nobody saw any signs.”

Now he brushed a hand over her short cap of hair. “Do you really believe Mira saw nothing, saw no signs?”

She needed to move, so she stuffed her hands in her pockets while she prowled the office. “No, you’re right. She probably saw plenty way before I got to the point I could talk to her about it. Still—”

“You didn’t have her when it was happening to you. You had no one. Gwendolyn Sykes did. She had her brother, she had the Miras. Everything I turned up on them reads they had a rigid, unloving childhood, leaned on and were embraced by Charlotte and Dennis as often as possible. And they’ve made strong and happy lives. Mira would have seen the signs, Eve.”