Festive in Death (In Death #39)(97)

“Obviously, my client means the victim handled his sister-in-law’s social calendar.”

“I think we both know what he meant, and that he’s a misogynistic ass**le, but we’ll let that slide for now. Were you aware of any tension between your wife and the deceased?”

“No. I don’t get into that sort of thing. But she attacked Tash. It’s obvious.”

“Contrarily, it’s impossible.” Eve took out another photo. “As you see, there are ten feet, four inches between the deceased’s body and Ms. Quigley’s. Just how did Catiana DuBois manage to bash your wife over the head with this lead crystal vase while she was dead, ten feet, four inches away?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Copley snapped even as his lawyer ordered him to stay quiet. “That bitch attacked Tash, Tash fought back. The bitch fell, hit her head. Clear self-defense. Then Tash tried to get out, get to me, and only made it that far.”

“Let’s have some fun with that. You’re already seeing it,” she said conversationally to McAllister. “Catiana attacks your wife, smacks her upside the head with this vase—the vase that’s here, cracked and bloody on the floor right beside your wife’s unconscious body. Then, somehow, with a fractured skull, with a brain bleed, your wife manages to struggle with the deceased, drive her across the room, where she conveniently falls and kills herself on the hearth. Then, in this miracle of physical determination, your wife gets back across the room, neatly hits the mark where she was attacked, and drops.”

“She’s a strong woman.”

“Her neurosurgeon agrees with you. She also says your creative scenario is impossible. Our reconstruction will back that up.”

Eyes on him, Eve leaned back, kept her voice, her body language almost casual.

“You argued with Catiana, you shoved her—like you shoved your golf buddy, Van Sedgwick, at your country club.”

“That’s ridiculous. That’s a lie. He slipped. I never—”

“Only you don’t have a handy water trap in your living area, so this shove resulted in Catiana Dubois’s fall, in her death.”

Eve angled forward, just a little, hardened her tone, just a little. “Where did you go after? Did you panic, run off, trying to figure out how to cover it up? An accident, it had to look like an accident.”

She built the edge—harder, stronger—tapping her fingers faster, faster, on the crime scene photo.

“But when you came back in the room, Natasha had come in, had seen. She’s in the way, damn it! You had to get her out of the way. To shut her up, just shut her up, so you picked up the vase, charged at her.”

“I was upstairs!” He shoved up, shook the table. “I heard Tash scream, and I ran down to help her. She’s my wife, you ignorant cunt.”

“JJ, stop! Sit down, and stop. My client has nothing more to say at this time.”

“Fine, let’s hear what Natasha Quigley has to say.”

Eve set the mini recorder with its copy of the nine-one-one call on the table, ordered on.

She’s dead! I think she’s dead! Oh my God, Cate. It’s . . . Wait, please. Oh God. This is Natasha Quigley at 18 Vandam. I need to report a— JJ! Oh, JJ, something terrible happened. JJ! What are you doing? JJ, stop, stop! Don’t!

Copley stared at the recorder, mouth agape.

“You were too enraged to hear her.” Eve tapped the recorder. “Too caught up to think. It was act. Act now.”

“That’s a fake. It’s a fake! She was on the floor when I ran in. She . . . there must have been someone else there. Someone else must have been there. Maybe he looked like me. She was upset. She . . . she wasn’t talking to me. She was . . . calling for me so I’d come help her.”

“Maybe you need to hear it again.” Eve replayed, letting it run under Copley’s increasingly hysterical rants.

“You’re doing this. It’s you, it’s you! You have it in for me. I knew it the minute you came into that meeting. You’re trying to frame me. Someone else was there. I was upstairs.”

“JJ, we’re done,” McAllister said, all but physically holding him down in the chair. “Not another word. Do you hear me?”

“Maybe it was more than rage, more than panic. Maybe you saw your chance. Kill her, kill them both, make it seem like they fought. It clears the path for you and Felicity.”

“I didn’t . . . How do you know? . . . It was you! You’re the reason Felicity moved out, you’re the reason she won’t answer her ’link. You bitch! I could kill you!”

“No handy blunt object.” Like Copley, Eve surged to her feet. She leaned in, leaned hard. “Ziegler knew, blackmailed you, and it’s never enough. It would never stop. You made it stop. Taught that ungrateful bastard a lesson. Catiana knew, wouldn’t listen to reason. You lost your temper, shoved her. Then it’s Natasha. It’s time to finish it. Just finish it. So you fractured her skull. You thought you’d finished it, would have finished it, but the cop’s at the door so fast, too fast.”

She kept going, raising her voice over his rants, his lawyer’s shouts. “Girl cop at your door, stupid cunt, what the hell does she know? But she gets in your way, she won’t do what you tell her to do. You have to make your best pitch, it’s how you make your living. But it won’t work, Copley. It’s all right here.”