Festive in Death (In Death #39)(107)

She scanned a few cops, a couple talking quietly with civilians. Then the man sitting alone, staring down at his own folded hands.

She crossed to him. “Mr. Dorchester.”

He looked up at her out of red-rimmed eyes. “Yes. I’m Steven Dorchester. You’re Lieutenant Dallas.”

“That’s right. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dorchester.”

“Steven. It’s Steven. I . . . keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to be a terrible dream. Or it’s just some horrible mistake. But . . .”

He went back to staring at his hands when Eve sat across from him.

Strong face, she thought, though the strain showed. Longish hair, a few reddish streaks through the dark brown, a single silver stud through his right earlobe, a trio of stars inked on the back of his right wrist.

Something artistic about him, she thought. Someone good with his hands. She speculated on it, considered he and Catiana would have made an attractive couple, while she waited for him to compose himself and speak.

“There’s nothing I can do. I’m going over to see her family this morning, be with them, but there’s nothing any of us can do. She’s gone.” He looked up again. “I know there’s probably not much you can tell me, but if there’s anything . . . I’m going to be with her family.”

“I can tell you I’ll do everything I can to see that the person responsible for taking her from you, from her family, who took her life, is punished to the full extent of the law. There may be something you can do to help.”

“Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“When did you last see or speak with Catiana?”

“Yesterday morning, when she left for work. We went to a party Saturday night, and she stayed at my place. We were . . . we were going out last night, then going back to my place again. Sort of an early Christmas, just the two of us, because we were going to the parents’ tonight. Mine, then hers. We were spending Christmas Eve at her mother’s, the night, I mean. They have a big deal, so we were staying, and we were going to have our own little Christmas last night. But . . .”

“Can you tell me if she was upset about anything? Worried about anything?”

“No. She was great. We were great. I . . .” He reached in his pocket, took out a pretty little box. “I made this for her. I do some silverwork, and I made this for her. I was going to give it to her last night.”

He opened the box. Inside a small, intricate key hung on a delicate chain.

“It’s beautiful work.”

“It’s the symbol—the key. I was going to ask her to move in with me. We said we were taking it slow, but I wanted her to move in with me. So, the key. For her.

“How did this happen?”

“When I have all the details, I promise I’ll tell you. Did she talk to you about Trey Ziegler?”

“Yeah. Jerk. That was her word for him. He put some moves on her. She gave him the brush-off, so he spread it around she went for girls. Like if she brushed him off she didn’t go for men. Didn’t bother her. Why would it? I went by the gym a couple times, just to give him the needle. Probably shouldn’t have.”

“You talked about his murder.”

“Yeah. It shook her up some. She didn’t like him, but still.” He stroked the key, still in its box, with his finger. “She has a soft heart.”

“Did she talk to you about who she thought may have killed him?”

“We played that game, you can’t help it, right? And after—when it came out what he did to Tella, and Cate said he did the same with other women, we figured one of them found out and did it. Or one of their husbands or friends, you know. It’s why she went to work on Sunday, even though she could’ve taken the day off. She wanted to be around for Tella.”

“You didn’t talk to her on Sunday after she left for work?”

“No. We were supposed to meet at eight for dinner, at this place we like, and she didn’t show up. I tried to reach her, but she didn’t answer her ’link. I went by her place, but she wasn’t there. I even went to the Schuberts’ place, but they weren’t there, either. Then her sister . . . Her sister tagged me, and she told me. And everything just stopped. Everything stopped. I don’t know if it’ll ever start again.”

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks, no. I don’t think I could swallow anything.”

“Steven, can you tell me how she felt about Natasha Quigley, JJ Copley?”

“She got along fine with them. She was really tight with Tella, and she and Tella’s sister got along fine. She didn’t much like the husband. She said he was a little bit of a prick.” He smiled a little. “She had opinions. She’d help Ms. Quigley out now and then.”

“Like for her holiday party.”

“Yeah, like that. I got to go, and it was okay. A little stiff for me, if you know what I mean. But she’d help out like that now and then. With parties, sending out invites, or thank-yous if Ms. Quigley was slammed. She didn’t mind. She liked the job.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t help any.”

“You did. You’ve given me a good picture of her. Who she was, how she was. I hope it helps you to know she matters to me. Getting justice for her matters.”