Vengeance in Death (In Death #6)(60)

“His mother,” Eve murmured. “Do you think she’s behind it all?”

“It’s possible. Or just as possible that he sees his current behavior as a kind of homage to her. Mother, sister, aunt, wife. A wife is unlikely,” she added with a faint shake of her head. “He’s probably sexually repressed. Impotent. His god is a vengeful one, who permits no carnal pleasures. If he’s using the statue to symbolize his own mother, he would view his conception as a miracle — immaculate — and see himself as invulnerable.”

“He said he was an angel. The angel of vengeance.”

“Yes, a soldier of his god, beyond the power of mortals. There is his ego again. What I am sure of is that there is a woman — or was a woman — whom he seeks to appease, and one he views as pure.”

For one sickening moment, Eve saw the image of Marlena in her mind. Golden hair, innocent eyes, and a snowy white dress. Pure, she thought. Virginal.

Wouldn’t Summerset always see his martyred daughter exactly that way?

“It could be a child,” she said quietly. “A lost child.”

“Marlena?” The compassion was ripe in the word. “It’s very unlikely, Eve. Does he mourn for her? Of course he does, and always will. But she isn’t a symbol to him. For Summerset, Marlena is his child, and one he didn’t protect. For your killer, this female figure is the protector — and the punisher. And you are another strong female figure of authority. He’s drawn to you, wants your admiration. And he may, at some point, be compelled to destroy you.”

“I hope you’re right.” Eve rose. “Because this is a game I want to finish face-to-face.”

Eve convinced herself she was prepared for Whitney. But she hadn’t been prepared to face both him and the chief of police and security. Tibble, his dark face unreadable, his hands clasped militarily behind his back, stood at the window in Whitney’s office. Whitney remained behind his desk. Their positioning indicated to Eve that it was Whitney’s show — until Tibble decided otherwise.

“Before you begin your report, Lieutenant, I’m informing you that a press conference is scheduled for four p.m. in the media information center at Police Tower.” Whitney inclined his head. “Your presence and participation are required.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It has come to our attention that a member of the press has received certain communications which attack your credibility as primary in this investigation, and which indicate that you, and therefore the department, are suppressing certain data germane to said investigation, data that would implicate your husband in multiple murders.”

“That is both insulting to me, the department, and my husband, and absurd.” Her heart hitched, but her voice stayed low and steady. “If these communications are deemed credible, why hasn’t the member of the press reported same?”

“The accusations are so far anonymous and unsubstantiated, and this particular member of the press deemed it in his best interest to pass this information along to Chief Tibble. It’s in your best interest, Lieutenant, to clear up this matter now, here.”

“Are you accusing me of suppressing evidence, Commander?”

“I’m requesting that you confirm or deny at this time.”

“I deny, at this time, and any time, that I have or would suppress evidence that would lead to the apprehension of a criminal or the closing of a case. And I take personal offense at the question.”

“Offense so noted,” Whitney said mildly. “Sit down, Dallas.”

She didn’t comply, but stepped forward. “My record should stand for something. Over ten years of service should outweigh an anonymous accusation tossed to a hungry reporter.”

“So noted, Dallas,” Whitney repeated. “Now — “

“I’m not finished, sir. I’d like to have my say here.”

He sat back, and though she kept her eyes on his she knew Tibble had yet to move. “Very well, Lieutenant, have your say.”

“I’m very aware that my personal life, my marriage, is the source of speculation and interest in the department and with the public. I can live with that. I’m also aware that my husband’s businesses, and his style of conducting his businesses, are also the source of speculation and interest. I have no particular problem with that. But I resent very much that my reputation and my husband’s character should be questioned this way. From the media, Commander, it’s to be expected, but not from my superior officer. Not from any member of the department I’ve served to the best of my ability. I want you to take note, Commander, that turning in my badge would be like cutting off my arm. But if it comes down to a choice between the job and my marriage, then I lose the arm.”

“No one is asking you to make a choice, Lieutenant, and I will offer my personal apologies for any offense given by this situation.”

“Personally, I hate chicken-shit anonymous sources.” Tibble spoke for the first time, his gaze steady on Eve’s face. “And I’d like to see you maintain that just-under-simmer righteous anger for the press conference when this matter comes up, Lieutenant. It will play very well on screen. Now I, for one, would like to hear the progress of your investigation.”

The anger helped her forget fear and nerves. She fell into rhythm, comfortable with the cop speak, the formality and the slang of it. She offered the names of the six men responsible for Marlena’s murder, handed out hard copy of data on them, and proposed her theory.