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“Oh, indeed. It’s part of my position. I don’t mean it to sound she works me half to death, for she doesn’t.”
Eve thought of the elaborate playroom/bedroom upstairs. “And you spend a lot of time with Rayleen.”
“I do, yes, and she’s a pleasure. Most of the time,” Cora said with a laugh. “But the missus doesn’t leave the rearing to me, if you understand me. And some do. They spend considerable time together, this family—work and play. She’s a lovely woman, the missus, and very kind, as is the mister. Still, I have to say, it seems to me the mister shouldn’t have been defending that man if it upset the missus so. And now he’s dead. She told me he was dead when I tucked her in bed. Poor lamb. Her nerves are just shattered by all this.”
When they left the penthouse and Peabody informed Eve that Mosebly had agreed to a follow-up interview at Central, Eve thought she’d see who else’s nerves she could shatter that day.
Her own stretched and threatened to fray when she walked into her bull pen. Several conversations took a hitch—that telling beat of silence—before they continued. Gazes flicked her way, then aside.
Not one smart remark was made about her appearance with Nadine the evening before.
Because that wasn’t the top story, Eve thought as she strode straight into her office, forced herself not to slam the door. The top story was now the lieutenant’s spouse and a stunning blonde.
She programmed coffee, noted she had messages from Nadine, from Mavis, from Mira—from the on-air reporter who’d relayed the gossip piece that morning. And she could fry in everlasting hell, Eve thought.
She ignored the guilt when she ignored Mavis and Nadine, brought up Mira’s.
“Eve, I have your more detailed profile, which I’ve sent to you. I hope, if there’s a personal matter you’d like to speak with me about, you’ll get in touch. I’ll be available.”
“No, I don’t want to speak about it,” Eve mumbled, and shut down the message.
Instead she contacted her commander’s office for permission to give an oral. She’d deal with the written later. Check with Morris, she added as she headed out again. Take another pass through Williams’s apartment. Put Feeney on the electronics.
She knew what to do, how to run the case. How to close it.
It was the rest of her life she didn’t know how to run.
She took the glides up. She may have felt looks aimed her way, but it was better than having them drilled into the back of her head in the confines of the elevators.
Whitney’s admin avoided her eyes altogether. “You can go right in, Lieutenant. He’s expecting you.”
Whitney sat behind his desk of command, big shoulders, big hands. His face was somber, his dark eyes direct. “Lieutenant.”
“Sir. I believe there may be a break in the Foster homicide that connects it to the drowning death of Reed Williams.”
He sat back as she gave her report, let her complete it uninterrupted. “You opted not to bring Allika Straffo in for questioning.”
“Not at this time. We wouldn’t get anything out of her, Commander. I think pressuring Mosebly will give us more juice. While they both have motive and opportunity, it’s easier to see Mosebly helping the vic into the water—or under it. They both had something to lose, but the tone of Straffo’s statement prior to being informed of Williams’s death gives it credence. She could have used the time between the murder—”
“If it was murder.”
“Yes, sir, if it was, she could have used the time to prepare, to plan how she would deal with questioning. I’m still looking at her, but Mosebly fits more cleanly.”
“And Foster?”
“It’s possible Williams poisoned him. Williams doesn’t like being pushed, and we know Foster pushed, at least on one occasion, on the sexual activities. With this new information, that Williams had been sexual with Mosebly, and if we can verify that Foster was aware of that, it turns it. Mosebly had more to lose. Foster’s knowledge compromised her position, and her sense of authority. Nobody likes their private issues made public, particularly by those under their command.”
“True enough.” His eyes remained level with hers. “Use it, and squeeze that juice.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My wife and I watched you on Nadine Furst’s new program last night.” He smiled a little. “You did very well. Your demeanor and your answers were a credit to the department. Chief Tibble has already contacted me this morning to say the same.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“It’s good public relations, Dallas, and you handled yourself. It can be…difficult to become a public figure, to maintain and handle the inevitable invasions of privacy that go hand in hand with any sort of notoriety. If you feel, at any point, that pull and tug is affecting your work, I hope you’ll speak to me about it.”
“It won’t affect my work.”
