Festive in Death (In Death #39)(96)

“Whatever floats.” She pulled out her ’link as he drove, contacted Mira. “Sorry to disturb you at home,” she began, “but you said you were interested in observing when I had Copley in the box.”

After making arrangements with Mira she contacted Central to make certain Copley was where she wanted him.

“Interview B,” she said when Roarke drove into Central’s garage. “Reo’s heading in. He used his one contact for his lawyer. Didn’t use it to check on his wife. The lawyer’s with him, making lawyerly noises.”

“One expects no less.”

Eve eyed the elevator with distrust, but got on. “The last time I was on this, Drunk Santa let loose a nuclear fart while showing me his grimy little dick.”

“You lead such a colorful life.”

“I’m pretty sure he puked right after I got off, because I heard they had to shut down this car for two hours.” She sniffed cautiously. “You can still sort of smell the detox.”

“We can hope this ride proves less eventful.”

As it did, she peeled off straight to her office. “I’m going to put a file together—DB, the first-on-scene’s record of Quigley, the scene itself, the nine-one-one.”

“And Ziegler?”

“Second file. I may hold that back, depending. He doesn’t know his wife’s status, and I can use that. His lawyer can’t access it—Patient Privacy Act—so they don’t know I haven’t interviewed her.”

“You’ll lie.”

“Fortunately, I can lie my ass off.” She checked the time. “He’s had a good long sweat, the lawyer’s told him to keep it zipped, but he won’t.”

“He’s . . . excitable.” Roarke looked over at her. “You’ll use that.”

“Damn straight. He doesn’t know what the hell’s going on regarding Quigley. He’ll have a story though, and he’ll want to tell it.”

“And lawyer or not, you’ll make sure he does.”

“That’s the plan.” She picked up the files. “If you get bored in Observation, I’ll find you. If you want to go home, just go.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, kissed her. “I’ll be here.”

Armed with her files, she walked to Interview B, and went in.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, entering Interview with Copley, John Jake, regarding case files H-28901 and H-28902. Mr. Copley has exercised his right to legal representation.”

“Edie McAllister with Silbert, Crosby, and McAllister, representing Mr. Copley.”

“So noted.”

“As Mr. Copley’s legal counsel I demand his immediate release.” She clipped the words out, all confident, outraged lawyer. “He’s been held here for nearly three hours. He’s been prevented from accompanying his injured wife to the hospital. He’s been prevented from contacting the hospital to learn his wife’s condition. This extreme hardship is—”

“You are aware evidence strongly indicates Mr. Copley is responsible for his wife’s injuries?”

“That’s a lie!” Copley banged his fist on the table, rattling the chains that secured him.

“JJ.” The lawyer, a swirly-haired blonde in potent red, laid a hand on his. “You have no tangible evidence, and, in fact, have Mr. Copley’s own account that he found his wife unconscious. We strongly believe, and evidence will show, that Catiana Dubois assaulted Ms. Quigley, was killed during the struggle.”

“If you’re thinking of that as your opening statement at the trial, it’s not going to get you far. Catiana Dubois came to your residence—your own security disc clearly shows this, and shows she was upset at this time. You let her in, you argued. You’ve got an impressive temper, Copley, which I can testify to personally. You pushed her. She fell, striking her head on the edge of the marble hearth in your living area.”

“I never touched her. I barely know her. I never saw her.”

“You didn’t see this?” Eve took the crime scene photo of Catiana from the file, tossed it on the table. “In your living area?”

He glanced down at the file photo, quickly away again. “I meant I didn’t see her before. I didn’t let her in. I was upstairs. Natasha must have let her in.”

“And, according to your fairy tale, Catiana subsequently attacked your wife. Why?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Mr. Copley is unaware of any friction between his wife and the deceased.” McAllister spoke firmly, working to focus Eve’s attention on her and away from her client. “However, in her capacity as social secretary for Ms. Quigley’s sister, the deceased often inserted herself in personal affairs.”

“How did she do that?” Ignoring the lawyer, Eve spoke to Copley directly. “I thought you barely knew her? Which is it, Copley? You barely knew her or she stuck her nose in your business?”

“I didn’t pay any attention to her. She dealt with Tella’s social stuff, with women’s business.”

“Define ‘women’s business.’”

“Parties, shopping, lunches.” He shrugged it off. “Garden clubs and whatever women do.”

Eve smiled toothily at McAllister. “Is that your business? Parties and lunches? Is that how you got your name on the letterhead? Going to garden clubs?”