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“No. Believe me, if there was violence in the home, I would urge her to take the boy and leave. His work is odd, disturbing, but he appears to leave it at that. You suspect him of killing that woman in Chinatown. Lieutenant, if I believed him capable of such a thing, I’d get my lover and her son away from him. Whatever it took.”
“You know the trouble with people having extramarital affairs, Peabody?”
“Explaining why you never wear all that sexy underwear you bought at home?”
“There’s that. But it’s the delusion. They really believe they’re getting away with it. Some do, for the short haul, but there are always tells. Too many late nights at the office, secret ’link transmissions, the friend of a friend who happens to see you having lunch with someone not your spouse in some out-of-the-way restaurant. And beyond all that, if that spouse isn’t in a coma, there’s a sense—a look, a smell, a change in touch. Serena Unger’s no dummy, but actually believes Breen hasn’t got a clue.”
“And you don’t.”
“He knows. His wife’s been playing pass the strap-on with another woman for a year and a half, he knows.”
“But if he does, how can he ignore it, just go around pretending everything’s fine day after day? It would have to eat away at you, make you crazy . . . Which is exactly what you’re getting at. If Roarke was fooling around with somebody, what would you do?”
“They’d never find the bodies.” She tapped her fingers on the wheel as she sat in traffic. “Women are ruining his happy home, threatening his family. Worse, it leaves him feeling dickless. You spend all day writing about murder. You’re fascinated with it. Why not give it a try? Show those bitches who’s boss. I think it’s time to bring him in and press him. But first we’ll check out some of your plaster outlets. Maybe we can add weight.”
Peabody pulled out her PPC, did a search for the closest address. “Village Art Supplies, 14 West Broadway. Lieutenant, I know you’re looking sharp at Breen and Renquist, but I’ve got just the opposite direction, which I sincerely hope doesn’t piss you off so that you remember to punch me in the stomach. I’ve seen you punch, and it’s gotta hurt.”
“If I got pissed off at everyone who disagrees with me . . . Oh, that’s right, I do. But in this case I’ll make an exception.”
“Big thanks for that.”
“Why do you disagree?”
“Okay.” Peabody scooted around in her seat to face Eve’s profile. “I think Fortney fits the profile more. He has no respect for women. He hits them and hits on them because it’s a way to show what a big shot he is. He’s hooked up with a strong woman because she’ll take care of him, and the more she takes care of him, the more he resents it, and the more he cheats on her. He’s got two exes who skinned him financially because he couldn’t keep it in his pants, and without Pepper, he probably wouldn’t be able to get a meeting in his chosen field. He’s lied in interview to protect himself. His alibis have more holes than a pound of Swiss, and he’s theatrical.”
“Those are all good points, and a proud tear threatens my eye.”
“Really?”
“About the tear? No. However, all those points you make are why he’s still on the list.”
“But when you lean toward a guy like Breen, I just don’t see it. A man that sweet with his kid. And if he does know about the affair, isn’t it more likely he’s holding it together because he loves his wife and son, and just wants it to go away? As long as he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’s not real. I can see how somebody’d handle it that way. He could convince himself it doesn’t count because she’s not with another man. She’s going through a phase, experimenting, whatever.”
“You could be right.”
“I could?” Emboldened, Peabody pressed on. “And Renquist. He’s just too prissy or something. The whole Sunday brunch at ten routine. Then there’s his wife. I can see her looking the other way if he likes to try on her underwear occasionally in the privacy of their own home, but I can’t see her living with a psychopath. She’s too prissy. And she’d have to know. You could tell she has her finger on the pulse of that household, so she’d have to know something.”
“I think you’re right about that. Nothing gets by her. But I think she could live with a psychopath just fine. As long as he doesn’t drip any blood on her floors. I met the woman who raised him, Peabody. He married the same basic type, just more upscale and stylish. But you think Fortney, I’ll tell you what. If we haven’t closed this by the day after tomorrow, you take him.”
“Take him where?”
“Work him, Peabody. Make him your focus and see what comes up.”
“You think we’re going to close it.”
“Soon. But you may get your shot.”
They checked out three outlets before Eve decided it was time to go by the hospital to check on Marlene Cox. She acknowledged the guard she’d stationed outside the door, and told him to take a ten-minute break while Peabody stood as relief.
Inside, she found Mrs. Cox reading aloud from a book beside the bed while machines kept her daughter tethered to the world.
Sela looked up, then marked her place before setting the book aside. “They know people in comas can often hear sounds, voices, and respond to them. It can be like being behind a curtain you can’t quite open.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“One of us takes turns reading to her.” Mrs. Cox reached over, fussed with the sheet that covered Marlene. “Last night we put in a disc. Jane Eyre. It’s one of Marley’s favorites. Have you read it?”
“No.”
