Page 42 of Fury In Death

“That’s okay. I want you to ask them. I’d tell you anything if it helps find who did this to my dad. We were all supposed to have dinner on Sunday.”

“Did you do that often?”

He nodded at Eve. “We’re all busy, work, kids, life. But we always made time. When I was a kid, he’d get caught up at work, a lot. We wouldn’t really see him sometimes for days at a time.

“I got in a little bit of trouble when I was about seventeen—senior in high school. You know, acting out, sneaking out. Looking for that trouble and finding it.”

“What did you do?”

“Other than letting my grades tank, giving my parents a lot of grief? Went out one night and drank my ass off with a couple of like-minded friends. Broke into the school, spray-painted crap on the walls. Got caught, of course.”

He downed more water. “They were going to boot me, and I’d do some time in juvie. Dad intervened, even took some of the blame because he hadn’t been around like he should’ve been. I got probation all around, mandatory counseling, had to work off the damage to the school, bring my grades up.”

Swiping at his eyes, Nate sighed. “I’m not sure I’d have done any of it if he hadn’t had my back, and worked with me. It made all the difference, you know? I wouldn’t be where I am without him showing me I mattered more. He was always available after that. No matter what, he made time, paid attention.”

Nate held up a hand, shook his head. “Sorry, wasting your time.”

“Not at all,” Eve told him. “You can assure your family the investigation into your father’s death is active and ongoing, and that he is our priority.”

“I will. I need to get back to them. Thanks for talking to me.”

When he left, Eve rose slowly. “Family turnaround when he was about seventeen, which not coincidentally because otherwise bollocks, is right about thirteen years ago.”

“Yeah, I got that, too.”

“Do the runs, and I’ll start digging before I meet with Mira.”

Fueled with coffee, Eve sat to do searches on headlines, criminal activity, personal highlights, lowlights, on the company, on her victim, on Calvin Banner, Jacob Wyst. She tossed in John (Jack) O’Brian and his admin for good measure.

The company made headlines—at least in scientific articles and, she noted, in financial news.

Wyst made some of his own, lobbying Congress, golfing with presidents, attending major fundraisers, giving speeches, spearheading the Banner-Wyst Foundation, the Banner-Wyst scholarships—for innovation and excellence in science.

Banner, reclusive, made them when he deigned to speak or appear at a public event.

And she found plenty of not-so-complimentary articles and editorials on their practice of company towns. Some praise, some criticism—depending on the lean of the media venue—regarding their monetary contributions politically.

Conflicts of interests, suits brought by advocacy organizations.

Some tarnish on the silver, Eve thought, but nothing in those headlines that pushed her buzzer for murder thirteen years later.

But something did. Getting up, she paced as she wound through it all again.

And stopped when she heard the click of Mira’s no doubt fashionable shoes.

These, the color of ripe plums, matched the sheath under a cream-colored jacket. Mira’s mink-colored hair waved back to show off the purple stones at her ears. Those stones glinted in a triple chain around her neck.

“I thought you might contact me,” she began. “I had time to read your report this morning. The brutality? Extraordinary.”

“And I think purposeful. Do you want tea?”

“I would love some.” Standing on those skinny heels, Mira studied the board with her calm blue eyes. “The victim’s family. But not suspects?”

“You never cross anyone off completely, not this early, but no, I don’t see it. The younger son was just here. He’s wrecked, but he may have inadvertently given more weight to something we’re looking at.”

“Oh?”

“Take the desk chair.”