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“If I planned to kill a former U.S. senator, I’d have one wrapped tight.”
“Having absolutely none’s not a bad strategy,” Eve countered. “She asked how he was killed when we first got there. I never gave her an answer, she never asked again. How do you write articles on anything without asking questions, pushing the follow-up?”
“She seemed really flustered and embarrassed.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Right now, she stays on the list. Let’s talk to the next.”
7
The Brighton Group proved both efficient and unimposing. It held offices over a bustling deli in a squat building tossed up post-Urbans. The casually dressed staff worked together in a cacophony of noise that struck as cheerful. Some glass partitions separated the higher-ups.
Personal photos, plants, files, paperwork jumbled together on desks. The air smelled candy sweet—which Eve understood as they were offered birthday cake minutes after arriving.
“Asha’s through there.” The cake-bearer gestured to one of the glass-walled offices. “We’re all just getting back to it after celebrating Sandy’s birthday at lunch.”
“We’ll pass, but thanks.”
“If you change your mind, just dig in. You can go right in—Asha’s office is always open.”
“Cake,” Peabody mumbled as she followed Eve. “Why did it have to be cake?”
“Toughen up, Peabody.”
Eve studied Asha through the glass. The woman wore a poppy-red sweater that suited her caramel-toned skin. She had snug black trousers tucked into stubby-heeled knee-high boots, and wore her hair scooped back from her sharp-boned, big-eyed face in a mass of red-tipped black curls.
She turned from the mini-friggie where she’d taken a bottle of water, put on a professional smile when Eve stepped to the doorway.
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
“NYPSD.” Eve lifted her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’d like a few minutes of your time.”
“Of course. It’s about Edward.” The smile faded away. “I just heard. The media flash came over my comp. Please, sit. Do you want some coffee? It’s really terrible coffee, but...”
She stopped, shook her head, dropped down into one of the visitor’s chairs rather than behind her desk. “He was murdered. That’s what the media flash said. I needed a minute.”
She looked down at the unopened bottle of water in her hand. “Just a minute before I looked at the details. Are you going to give them to me?”
“The investigation’s ongoing. You had a relationship with Edward Mira.”
“Yes. Briefly, stupidly. Last spring. I’m married—but you must already know that. My husband and I were having some issues, and I had an affair.” She paused again, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I knew the senator through my work, and... I have no excuse for it.”
“Who ended it?”
“I did, when I came to my senses. Trying to live two lives? It’s awful, and when that initial buzz wears off—and it does—the guilt and stress are huge. I couldn’t live with it.”
“You ended it? What was the senator’s reaction?”
“He was... What’s a couple steps down from annoyed? Irked? He’s a powerful, commanding man—that was part of the attraction—and I’d say accustomed to ending his affairs on his time clock. But it wasn’t ugly.”
She took a breath. “I want to say I liked him, personally. I hated his politics. That was another part of the appeal—those passionate debates. I can’t believe he’s gone, and this way. Murdered. The flash said he’d been hanged. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God.” Asha squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t understand how anyone could... I don’t understand.”
“Was he irked enough when you ended things to pressure you, threaten you?”
“Oh, no.” When she opened her eyes again, they gleamed behind a sheen of tears. “Lieutenant, it didn’t mean that much to either of us, that’s the really sad part. I was lashing out at my husband, and Edward was simply taking an opportunity. I hurt Jack and nearly destroyed my marriage because I was feeling angry and unappreciated.”
