Witness in Death (In Death #10)(62)

"I've already answered questions. I don't know anything other than what I've already told Lieutenant Dallas."

"I guess you don't know anything about that poor slob who ended up dangling by his neck a couple feet off the floor, either."

"Feeney." Eve held up her hands for peace. "Easy."

Feeney folded his arms over his chest and tried to look burly. "He keeps pulling my chain, I'm pulling his back."

"Let's take a minute. Want some water?"

Stiles blinked at her, baffled. He'd been ready to rip into Eve, and now she was giving him sympathetic looks and offering him water. "Yes, yes, I would."

"Why don't you offer him a snack while you're at it?"

Ignoring Feeney, Eve rose to fill a small cup with lukewarm water. "Mr. Stiles, some new information has come to light regarding your relationship with Richard Draco."

"What new information? I told you -- "

"I said we ask the questions." Feeney came half out of his chair. "You didn't tell us squat. You didn't tell us you kicked Draco's face in, did you? A guy puts another guy in the hospital, maybe he finds a way to come back around and put him in the ground."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Stiles's voice was smooth, even, but his hand trembled lightly as he took the cup of water.

"Mr. Stiles, I'm going to warn you that there's a very stiff penalty for lying in interview." Eve leaned forward so that Stiles would focus on her face. "You don't want that kind of trouble; take my word for it. You cooperate with me, and I'm going to do what I can to straighten this out. If you're not straight with me, I can't help you. And it's going to be tough for you to help yourself."

"Guy's a coward," Feeney said in disgust. "Takes Draco out, but hides behind some poor woman to do it."

"I never -- " The mutiny in Stiles's eyes turned to horrified shock. "My God, you can't believe I actually arranged Richard's death. That's absurd."

"At least he used to have some guts," Feeney went on, and deliberately cracked his knuckles in three nasty little pops. "Used his own hands to pound Draco's face in. Must've really ticked him off, huh, Stiles. You actor guys are fussy about your pretty faces."

Stiles moistened his lips. "I had absolutely nothing to do with Richard's death. I've told you everything I know about it."

Eve put a hand on Feeney's shoulder as if to restrain him, then with a sigh, rose. "The file, Officer Peabody. Hard copy."

"Yes, sir." Keeping her face blank, Peabody offered Eve a folder.

Eve sat with it, opened it, gave Stiles a chance to read as much as he could manage upside down. And watched his color drain. "I have documents here relating to both criminal and civil actions, which involve you, as defendant."

"Those matters were resolved years ago. Years. And sealed. I was assured they were sealed."

"This is murder, pal." Feeney's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Seal's broken."

"Let's give the guy a chance to settle into this, Feeney. Mr. Stiles, we were authorized to break the seal due to the course of this investigation."

"You don't owe him explanations."

"Let's just keep it smooth," Eve murmured to Feeney. "You were charged with assaulting Richard Draco, causing extensive bodily harm, mental and emotional trauma."

"It was twenty-four years ago. For God's sake."

"I know. I understand that. But... you indicated to me in your previous statement, on record, that you and the deceased had no overt difficulties. And yet..." Eve said, letting the silence hang a moment. "At one time you were driven to assault him seriously enough to result in his hospitalization, in your arrest, in a seven-figure civil suit."

The paper cup crumpled in Stiles's hand. Little drops of water flew. "It was all resolved."

"Look, Kenneth." She used his first name now, establishing intimacy. "The fact is, everything I've come up with on Draco points to him being a sorry son of a bitch. I have to figure you had cause to lay into him. Good cause. You were seriously provoked. You don't strike me as a violent man."

"I'm not." The sheen of sophistication had turned into a sheen of sweat. It gleamed on his face as he nodded at Eve. "No, I'm not. Of course, I'm not."

Feeney snorted again. "I'll buy that one. Didn't even have the nerve to stick Draco himself."

"I didn't kill Richard!" Stiles's voice rose, boomed as he looked at Feeney. "I had nothing to do with it. What happened before, good Lord, I was hardly more than a boy."

"I understand that, Mr. Stiles. You were young, you were provoked." Sympathy rang in Eve's voice. She got up, filled another cup with water, brought it back to him. "Tell me how it happened. Why it happened. All I want to do is clear this up so you can go home."

Stiles closed his eyes, drew air in slowly, released it. "We'd both begun to make our marks in theater, in small regional theaters. Not much of a mark, of course, but we were beginning. We were both aiming for New York. Broadway was enjoying a rich revival in those days."

His voice warmed a bit as he remembered his youth, that sense of anticipation, invulnerability. Color came back to his cheeks. "It was a return to the lights, the glamour, the brilliance after the destruction of the Urban Wars. People were looking for entertainment, for escape and, I suppose, for heroes who didn't carry weapons. We were a tight and perhaps an arrogant circle. It was a heady time, Lieutenant, a renaissance. We were treated like royalty. Offstage, we lived very large lives. Excessive lives. Sex, illegals, lavish parties."