The 6:20 Man(61)
“Mutual assured destruction. I was about to propose it myself. But there is no statute of limitations on murder. The video of me and Jenn shows up somewhere ten years from now, what I got is miraculously discovered and goes right to NYPD. And you go to Sing Sing or whatever place they have going at the time. And you never get out. Are we clear on all that?”
“Why do you care if anyone sees the pictures or video? You’re not married. You’re both consenting adults.”
“It’s the optics, Devine. I’m the head of a major investment house. I don’t need that crap plastered over the trash press. Clients wouldn’t like it. They’ll think I’m reckless. They’ll think I’m demeaning to women. And ladies run some of our biggest clients.” He added in a growl, “And I talked to you before about that. Use your damn brain.”
“Okay. Fair enough.”
Cowl eyed him. “So, who killed Sara?”
“No clue. Did you have the same relationship with Sara you do with Jennifer?”
“Just like the last time you asked that, I’m not going to answer. But I will say that what Jenn and I have is . . . special.”
Devine visualized them on the desk and tried hard not to laugh. “You mean like you have with Michelle Montgomery?”
“Michelle is short-term. She knows that. She’s great to look at, great in the sack, and that’s the extent of her repertoire. Jenn is different. Gorgeous, with the brains to match.”
Devine felt his temper rising with these callous statements about Montgomery. He decided to change the subject. “Sara had an abortion.”
He couldn’t tell from Cowl’s features whether he was aware of this or not.
“Well, I’m not the father,” said Cowl.
“How can you know for sure?”
“A certain act has to take place for that to happen. It did not take place between Sara and me.” He paused. “Not for lack of trying. She was like Jenn. Brainy, beautiful, but also aloof, played hard to get. She drove me nuts, but I could never land her.”
You really are a dick, thought Devine.
Cowl finished off his brandy and rose. “Okay, we done here?”
Devine stood. “Done.”
“Good, now get your ass back to work and make me some damn money, Devine.”
CHAPTER
39
DEVINE WAS LEAVING THE BUILDING for his meeting with Ellen and Fred Ewes when the woman hurried up to him. She had obviously been waiting outside for him to appear.
Rachel Potter looked fired up and itching for battle as she approached him, microphone in hand, while her beefy cameraman hovered behind her filming it all.
“Mr. Devine, Rachel Potter, Channel Forty-Four News. I understand that NYPD is investigating you in connection with the murder of Sara Ewes, a story I previously broke. Do you have a comment, Mr. Devine?”
“No.” He pushed past her as people on the street gawked and started whispering.
Potter raced after him, the power pack on the back of her waist jiggling with the movements.
“Are you denying that you are a suspect in Sara Ewes’s murder? Are you denying that you had a relationship of a sexual nature with her? Are you denying that you are the father of the child she aborted? Are you denying that you had a motive to kill her?”
It was like machine-gun fire, only with words.
Devine allowed this barrage to go on for a half block as more damaging and lurid statements in the form of questions that the woman never expected answers to rained down on him like explosives from carpet-bombing planes.
“Is this live?” he asked, suddenly whirling around so fast she bumped into him.
“Would it be a problem for you if it were?” she said in a simpering manner. She stuck the mic in his face. “So, talk to our viewers, Mr. Devine. Here’s your chance. Tell us your side!”
“Okay, do you deny taking me prisoner in your news van while attempting to coerce me into giving you a scoop because you said you wanted to get away from shitty Channel Forty-Four and make it to the big-league single-digit stations?”
He stood there, and Potter stood there, her face shedding color like a landing plane did altitude, while the camera shot was jumping due to Beefy’s trying hard not to bust a gut.
“How dare you make such an accusation!” she wailed.
“Took the words right out of my mouth, lady.”
He turned and stalked off. This time Potter did not follow.
He dialed up an Uber and took it to Ewes’s old home in Park Slope.
Old home. It makes it sound like she’s been gone for decades instead of days.
Ellen Ewes answered his knock. She was dressed in jeans, a sleeveless white blouse, and sandals. The inside of the house was warm. It would be winter in New Zealand now, he thought. Maybe they were trying to take in as much heat as possible before heading back.
Fred Ewes was in the living room drinking what looked to be lemonade. He had on jeans, too, and a lavender polo shirt. He looked up absently at Devine. Ellen and Devine sat across from each other.
Ellen began: “The police have told us some things.”
“Really, such as?”
“They traced the clinic that Sara used for the abortion.”
“How did they do that?” asked Devine.