Forgotten in Death(106)

She broke off as her computer signaled.

“Son of a bitch, we got a hit.”

She leapt up, bolted over. “On-screen. Put the match on-screen. That’s her.” Eve smacked a fist into her open hand. “That’s her. Split screen with sketch of Jane Doe’s face.”

“It is her, yes.” Roarke walked over, laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “You’ve found her. Johara Murr.”

“Look at the DOB. She was twenty-two. DeWinter hit.”

“She was lovely.”

“Yeah, Kendrick hit, too. That’s a solid match. And on the Lebanese citizenship, one more hit. I’m not seeing a marriage. Give me more,” she muttered. “Here you go, a London address. Singer liked Europe. I bet he played in London plenty. Occupation, student. Okay, here’s another address, a residency in the States.”

She read the address, and both hands balled into fists. “Savannah, Georgia. Goddamn it. I’ve been looking at the wrong Singer.”

“Ah, I see.” Now Roarke’s hand trailed down Eve’s back. “She went to college with Bolton Singer. They were the same age.”

“He wants to be a rock star, but he gets this girl pregnant. She wants the baby, wants to get married—she wore a ring. He doesn’t have time for that. He’s damn near broke anyway.”

“She died in New York,” Roarke pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah.” She began to pace. “‘Let’s go to New York. You need to meet the family. Hey, let me show you what they’re building.’ Maybe the father was in on it, but I’m still damn sure the grandmother was. They shouldn’t have used good bricks. He goes back to Savannah—maybe claims it’s just to establish an alibi, but he wants the rock star. Fails, comes home.”

She whirled around to stare at Bolton Singer’s photo. “Family man, loving husband and father. Jesus, he had me with that. I didn’t even get a whiff.”

She drew in a breath. “Well, he’s about to have a really bad night.”

“I’ll drive, but if we don’t see to those dishes, the cat will be all over them.”

“Fine, fine, fine. Deal with that, will you? I’m going to put this photo, the sketches together. I want him to look at her, to see her, then try to fucking lie to me.”

She was still steaming when Roarke got his topper, and hers, from the closet.

“You’re pissed you believed him. Pissed you saw what he wanted you to see.”

“I bought it. I bought it all, so, yeah, I’m pissed. But I’ll get over that. He’ll have a hard time getting over doing life in a cage.”

She used the drive to cool off, and to work out strategy.

“Sorry to disturb his evening,” Eve began. “Some follow-ups, and didn’t want to ask him to come into Central. Spoke with his parents, his grandmother, blah blah.”

“Friendly.” Roarke drove though the quieting rain. “Personable.”

“Exactly. We’ll probably have some coffee, and I can explain we have more information about the victim. How we have a sketch. I show him the sketch, gauge his reaction, his response. It goes from that.”

“Understood. I’m sorry it’s turned this way,” Roarke added. “In my dealings with Bolton I found him interesting, and committed to his family, his company. In that order.”

He glanced over at Eve’s set profile. “You’ll want his wife in the room.”

“Oh yeah, I do. No reason I can see she’d know about any of this. I want to see how she reacts to his reaction. Then we’ll see how he explains, when I pull out her photo, how it is they went to the same college—a pretty small college—at the same time.”

“Do you need Peabody? Reo?”

“Not yet. Let me corner him. When I take him in, he’ll lawyer up fast. Then I bring them in. I looked away from him because he loves his wife, his kids. That’s not fake.”

“You looked away from him because he was, as far as anyone believed, in Georgia when she was killed in New York. Because you had no connection between them. Because he was open and honest about his onetime dreams and failures. I’ve a good measure for bollocks, Eve, and I never saw it either.”

All true, Eve admitted.

“I’m getting over it. Somebody out there in Hudson River Valley knew about all this. Maybe all of them did. And if they did, they’re all going down.”

She had herself under control by the time they reached the double townhome. Eve hitched the file bag on her shoulder as they walked to the door in what had gone to a soft, drizzly mist.

Bolton answered himself—jeans, T-shirt, worn-out kicks.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Roarke. Come in out of the wet.” He poked his head out as they did. “Looks like the storm’s over.”

“For now,” Eve said with a careful smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you at home again, but I have more information and a few more questions. I thought it would be more comfortable for you here than asking you to come into Central.”

“I appreciate that.” He gestured them into the front room, one slightly more formal than where they’d talked before. “Hey, Lilith! Roarke and Lieutenant Dallas are here!”

Not a flicker, Eve noted. Just smooth and warm.