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“Mr. Foxx—”
“I loved him. We’ve been together for twelve years. He was my life.”
You still have your life, she thought. You just don’t know it yet. “Then you’ll want to help me do my job. Tell me what happened.”
“He—he’s been having trouble sleeping lately. Doesn’t like to take tranqs. He can usually read, listen to music, spend an hour with VR or one of his games, whatever, to relax. This case he’s working on worried him.”
“The Salvatori case.”
“Yes, I believe, yes.” Foxx wiped at his eyes with a damp and bloodied sleeve. “We didn’t discuss his cases in any depth. There was privilege, and I’m not a lawyer. I’m a nutritionist. That’s how we met. Fitz came to me twelve years ago for help with his diet. We became friends, we became lovers, then we simply became.”
She would need to know all of that, but for the moment, she wanted to see the events leading up to that last bath. “He’s been having trouble sleeping,” she prompted.
“Yes. He’s often plagued with insomnia. He gives so much to his clients. They prey on his mind. I’m accustomed to him getting up in the middle of the night and going into another room to program a game or doze in front of the view screen. Sometimes he’d take a warm bath.” Foxx’s already ravaged face blanched. “Oh God.”
The tears started again, flowing hotly down his cheeks. Eve took a quick look around and spotted a small serving droid in the corner of the room. “Bring Mr. Foxx some water,” she ordered, and the little droid scooted away to comply.
“Is that what happened?” she continued. “Did he get up in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t even remember.” Foxx lifted his hands, let them fall. “I sleep soundly, never have a bit of trouble. We’d gone to bed just before midnight, watched some of the late news, had a brandy. I woke early. I tend to.”
“What time was that?”
“Perhaps five, five fifteen. We both like early starts, and it’s my habit to program the morning meal personally. I saw that Fitz wasn’t in bed, assumed he’d had a bad night and that I’d find him downstairs or in one of the spare bedrooms. Then I went into the bath, and I saw him. Oh God. Oh God, Fitz. All the blood. It was like a nightmare.”
His hand pressed against his mouth, all glittering rings and trembles. “I ran over, I beat on his chest, tried to revive him. I suppose I went a little mad. He was dead. I could see he was dead; still, I tried to pull him out of the water, but he’s a very big man, and I was shaking. Sick.” He dropped his hand from mouth to stomach, pressed. “I called for an ambulance.”
She’d lose him if she couldn’t manage to rein him in. Tranquing him wasn’t an option until she had the facts. “I know this is difficult for you, Mr. Foxx. I’m sorry we have to do this now, but it’s easier, believe me, if we can.”
“I’m all right.” He reached for the glass of water atop the droid. “I want to get it over.”
“Can you tell me his frame of mind last night? You said he was worried about a case.”
“Worried, yes, but not depressed. There was a cop he couldn’t shake on the stand, and it irritated him.” He took a gulp of water, then another.
Eve decided it was best not to mention she was the cop who had irritated him.
“And there were a couple of other cases pending that he was plotting out the defense for. His mind was often too busy for sleep, you see.”
“Did he receive any calls, make any calls?”
“Certainly, both. He often brought work home with him. Last night he spent a couple of hours in his office upstairs. He arrived home about five thirty, worked until nearly eight. We had dinner.”
“Did he mention anything that was troubling him besides the Salvatori case?”
“His weight.” Foxx smiled a little. “Fitz hated to put on an extra pound. We discussed him increasing his exercise program, perhaps having some body adjustment work done when he had the time. We watched a comedy on screen in the living room, then went to bed, as I told you.”
“Did you argue?”
“Argue?”
“You have bruises on your arm, Mr. Foxx. Did you and Mr. Fitzhugh fight last night?”
“No.” He paled even more, and his eyes glittered with the threat of another bout of weeping. “We never fought physically. Certainly we argued from time to time. People do. I—I suppose I might have gotten the bruises on the tub when I was—when I tried to—”
“Did Mr. Fitzhugh have a relationship with anyone else other than yourself?”
Now those swollen eyes went cool. “If you mean did he have outside lovers, he did not. We were committed to each other.”
