Promises in Death (In Death #28)(49)

“I couldn’t be the victim. It wasn’t a choice. I couldn’t be what they’d tried to make me, and live that way. Neither could you. You couldn’t be the kind of man your father was, one who took orders from others, who beat young boys, who killed the innocent.”

“And enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, enjoyed it. Your father and mine.” Everything inside her darkened. “And Max Ricker. They got off on the cruelty, and the power it gave them over someone smaller or weaker. So we know a lot about that, you and me—and him. And Alex. We know a lot about that, because it’s in us. You and me, we took different roads, but we never took that one. We never took the cruel for the sake of it. But it’s in us.”

“And you have to wonder which road Alex took.”

“He was trained to run his father’s empire. That empire took a major hit last year. But the son developed his own interests, too. He’s got those contacts, that backing, that foundation, and the smarts and know-how to absorb some of his father’s holdings—some that slipped through. To restructure others. He’s crooked, and a cop he used to sleep with is dead.”

She stabbed a bite of meatball. “Maybe Coltraine was dirty, maybe she wasn’t. But she was involved with him. And maybe, since she’d made her distance there, taken this fresh start, she was working up to some whistle-blowing on him. That’s a good, strong motive to kill her.”

“But?”

“But.” She shook her head as she ate. “Where’s her documentation? Feeney and his gang of geeks would’ve detected a wipe, or tampering. I damn well think I’d have detected somebody being in her place and doing that wiping or tampering. But her comps are clear. He’s not as good as you.”

“Why, thank you, darling.”

“I’m serious. There’s nothing in his background that leads me to believe he’s that savvy with the e-work. That he’s that damn good he could pull all this off. Get to her, get to her files, and leave nothing. No trace.”

She stared into her wine as if she might find that trace, that one vital clue swimming in the deep red. “If she was going after him, or she was going to drop the dime there, she’d have documentation. She was a maniac about documentation. Her reports and case notes are f**king textbook. It was her strength.”

“Kept elsewhere.”

“Yeah, yeah, shit, like I haven’t thought of that?” Frustrated, she took another sip of wine. “I’ve got nothing that indicates she had a safe house, a bank box, a hidey-hole. Nothing that . . . Oh f**k me. Fuck me!”

“Again? Good God, Eve.”

“Yeah, a riot of laughs.” She pushed her glass into his hand, shoved up. “Morris. She hooks up, falls for Morris. Spends a lot of time with him, a lot of time at his place.”

“Ah. And may have passcoded and hidden something on one of his units. Or stashed copies of said data among his data discs.”

“I’m an idiot for not thinking of it.”

“That would make me an idiot, as I didn’t think of it either. And I’m a bloody genius about these things.” He smiled when she stared at him. “So I’m told.”

“I’ve got to check it out. I’ve got to—crap, he could be a target, too.”

“I believe we’re going out,” Roarke said, and set his wine and hers aside.

From the sidewalk, Eve stared at the windows of Morris’s loft while her stomach clenched. The privacy screens were engaged, and she could see only the faintest glow behind the glass.

“God, I hate this. He wants to be alone, just wants time and space to grieve, and I’ve got to go in there, pry in there.”

“A lesser friend would have waited until tomorrow, and sent an EDD contingent in. You’re respecting him and his grief as much as you possibly can.” Roarke took her hand. “I don’t want to put myself in his place, but if I were? I’d want the same.”

“I promised to tell him the truth, and keep him in the loop. Well, this is the damn loop.” She bore down, walked over, and pressed his buzzer.

It took time, but she saw the security light go on. She faced the camera. “I’m sorry, Morris, really sorry to disturb you. We need to come up. We need to talk.”

The only response was the green glow, and the mechanical thunk of the locks being released. They went in, but when she turned to the stairs, the elevator grate opened, and its light went green.

“Okay then.” She took a breath, stepped in with Roarke.

When the grate opened again, Morris stood on the other side.

He looked as he had that afternoon. A little tired, Eve thought, a little more worn, but much the same. The lights of the loft were quiet, as was the music haunting the air.

“Have you made an arrest?”

“No. But I need to tug on another line of investigation.”

He nodded, then seemed to focus on Roarke for the first time. “Please, come in. Both of you.”

Roarke touched Morris’s arm, just the lightest of contacts. “I wish there were more than words, because they’re never enough, or they’re simply too much. But I’m very sorry.”

“I’ve been sitting here, in the dark—or near dark—alone, trying to come to terms. Death is my business. It’s a reality, a finality I’ve made into my profession. But I can’t come to terms.”