Forgotten in Death(107)

“Can I get you a drink? Lil and I had some nice wine with our very quiet dinner—our son’s out with friends. There’s plenty left.”

“I’m still on duty.”

“Coffee then. How about some coffee, Lil? Let me take your coats.”

“We’re fine. We hope not to take up much of your evening.”

“All you like.” He gestured again for them to sit. “I can’t believe how quickly you found the person responsible for Alva Quirk.” He sat himself, crossed a leg over his knee. “And for Carmine. Lilith’s spoken to Angelina. She’s going to go over there tomorrow, help her and their children with some of the arrangements.

“I know it doesn’t excuse what he did, but I think he was a victim, too. Of his gambling addiction, but of that man. Tovinski. Tovinski didn’t only kill him, he ruined him first. And now Carmine’s family has to live with that.”

He looked over, then popped up when his wife carried in a tray with four white mugs. “I’ll get that, babe.”

“I remember you both like it black.” Once Bolton set down the tray, Lilith passed two mugs to Eve and Roarke. “Thank you, so much, for all you did to find Alva Quirk’s killer. I wanted to ask if you think it’s all right that, in a few days, we contact her family. Offer condolences.”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate it. Meanwhile I have more information about the remains we found on what’s now Roarke’s property.”

“Really?” Bolton looked surprised, and pleased with it. “That’s amazing. I have to admit I wondered if you’d ever find out anything about her. But you did.”

“Our forensic artist has a sketch.” Eve opened the file bag, drew it out. “We believe it’s very close to what she looked like when she was killed.”

“I can’t imagine what it takes to…”

He’d taken the sketch with one hand. The one holding his coffee went limp. The mug bounced on the floor, splattering the contents. His face went dead white.

“My God. My God. It’s Johara.”

Lilith had already jumped up to go to him. She froze with an arm around him and stared at the sketch. “That’s Johara? Bolt, are you sure?”

“It’s Johara.” Eyes glassy with shock stared into Eve’s. “Her name. Her name’s Johara Murr. Lil. Lil.”

“It’s all right. It’s okay. I’m going to get you some brandy.”

“I spilled the coffee.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll clean it up. Don’t worry. Give him a second, please. Give him a second. I’ll be right back.”

Eve jerked her head.

“Let me help you.” Roarke followed her out.

“You knew her.”

“Yes. Johara. I’m sorry. I can’t get my breath.” He lowered his head between his knees. “I can’t get my breath.”

“Stay down. Take it slow.” And if he was faking, Eve thought, he was in the wrong line of work. “How did you know her?”

“College. We were together. Oh Jesus.” Trembling, he lifted his head. “We were together nearly two years. We— I loved her.”

Lilith rushed back with a towel. Roarke followed with a snifter of brandy.

“Lil, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” She rubbed his leg with one hand as she mopped up the spill. “Roarke’s got your brandy. Slow sips now. It’s going to be all right. You’ll have answers, Bolt. After all these years.”

“I’m going to need some answers first,” Eve stated.

“Yes. You want to know about her. I need to tell you about her. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how this could be.”

He sipped some brandy, then closed his eyes for a moment.

“We met in college. She was a brilliant pianist. She was nearly as brilliant with the violin. She came to study, transferred from London. We were about nineteen when we met. It didn’t take long, not long at all. It should have—we were so different.”

“How?”

“She was shy—oh, steel under it, but a little shy. Very proper, too. She seemed older than nineteen, twenty. She’d grown up very strict, sheltered, I guess you’d say. Her parents were very devout Muslims, very traditional. But her talent persuaded them to let her come to study music at the conservatory. Classical music. I wasn’t much on classics, but when she played, you were transported. I think I fell in love with her when she played.”

His hand trembled a little when he picked up the sketch again.

“I was her first. She’d never been with anyone, so we took that part slow. Well, slow for me at nineteen. And we just … fell. Crazy about each other, wrapped up in ourselves and our music.”

Carefully, in a room crowded with regrets and grief, he laid the sketch down again. “After about a year, we moved off campus, got a little apartment together. If her parents had known, they’d have yanked her back, or tried. She’d say she couldn’t tell them. And I’d say, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.”

He sat back, eyes closed again. “Arrogant, so arrogant. I didn’t understand how hard it was for her to stand up to her family when I was so busy pushing away from my own. But we were happy, we made it work. We were so young, and we were careless. She got pregnant.”