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“It was— It was a political fund-raiser. I had a media pass because I was researching an article, and...” She paused as Peabody came back.
“Thanks,” Peabody said again, and sat beside Eve.
“That’s okay. I, um, usually tend to observe rather than ask a lot of questions. I guess I was about the only one there with a media pass who wasn’t asking questions, so he came over to me when I was sitting, taking notes, brought me a glass of wine. He said how if I didn’t have any questions for him, he had some for me. I was a little flustered, but he was so charming.”
“How soon did you begin a sexual relationship?”
Carlee flushed brightly, hotly pink, and her eyes darted away. “I know it was wrong. He was married—I knew he was married. He said he and his wife had an arrangement, but that doesn’t make it right.”
“We’re not here to judge you, Ms. MacKensie,” Peabody told her. “We need to gather information.”
“I knew it was wrong,” she repeated. “He said we’d go have a drink, and I thought how I could get a bigger article, or maybe a couple of stories, so we left there and went to have a drink. Then two. He had his driver take me home. Nobody’s ever done that for me. And he paid such attention. I don’t know how to explain it, but he made me feel pretty and sexy.”
She looked down at her hands. “So when he contacted me the next day and said he was taking me out to dinner, I went. I knew where it was heading. He was married and, okay, a lot older, but I knew where it was heading. I went anyway. And I went with him to the hotel. The Palace. He has a suite there, just beautiful, like something in a vid. And dinner was waiting, and a bottle of champagne. I slept with him. We only saw each other like that for about five weeks, then he sent me flowers—white roses—with a card. It said how all good things had to end, and it had been lovely.”
“That must’ve pissed you off.”
“A little, but more it was hurtful. He could have told me in person. I’m not stupid; I knew it wasn’t going to last. But he should have told me face-to-face. I thought about contacting him, but I didn’t. And he never contacted me again.”
She let out a breath. “It was like it never happened.”
“Were you in love with him?” Peabody’s tone was gauged to sympathy.
“Oh, no.” MacKensie’s blue eyes rounded—guileless. “No, but it was exciting, those few weeks. Maybe, at least partly, because I knew it was wrong. I felt a little...” She trailed off with a quick little gasp. “Am I a suspect? You think I killed Edward?”
“Did you?” Eve asked coolly.
“Oh my God, my God.” She trembled all over, hunched her shoulders, gripped her hands together under her chin. “No. No, I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill anyone. You said last night?”
“That’s right,” Eve said, and left it there.
“I-I-I was here, working.” She gestured to her workstation with a hand that shook. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
“Did you see or speak to anyone?”
“No. No. I was working on a piece, and I stuck with it. I had leftover Chinese and went to bed early. I think it was around ten because my brain was tired. Do I need a lawyer?”
“That’s up to you. Have you ever been to his property on Spring Street?”
“Spring? I didn’t know he had any. We always met at the hotel. Officer—”
“Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant, I lead a quiet life, by choice, by inclination. This was a few weeks of excitement, and, and”—she flushed again—“sex.”
“Which he ended with flowers and a card.”
“You don’t kill somebody for ending an affair.”
Eve lifted her eyebrows. “You’d be surprised.”
They left MacKensie wrapped in jittery nerves, rode back down to the lobby.
“Impressions?”
“Not used to being noticed or singled out, I’d say,” Peabody responded. “A little OCD. The bathroom was as clean as an operating room, and more organized. Everything matches. Same with the bedroom. I glanced in. Bed’s perfectly made, no clothes or shoes tossed around. She’s the type who figures she’s going to get dumped, so isn’t surprised when it happens. She didn’t buzz for me.”
“She doesn’t have an alibi.”
