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When she wondered—and cops always wondered—she usually just let it be. Because he was right. Whatever he’d done, wherever he’d gone, it had all brought him to her.
But there were times she wondered why, and how.
“What do you think hooks people together? Besides the physical. I mean, sex hooks all sorts of people together that don’t work.”
“Other than chemistry? I suppose recognition plays a part.”
She rolled her eyes toward him. “That wifty Irish woo-woo.”
“Wifty?”
“You know.” She shook her hands in the air. “I see how Matthew hooked up initially with K.T. Harris. Same business, same place, both attractive. I even see, to a point, why when he shook her off she dug in. That can be pride, stubbornness, or just obstinacy. But this is—was—more. Obsession’s more than pride and obstinacy. She followed him, spied on him, hired a PI at considerable expense to perform illegal acts, and hoped to blackmail him with the results. She was so dug in on it she planned their holiday vacation together. It didn’t matter to her he didn’t want her, or that if he caved and went along with her it would be under duress. It’s a kind of rape.
“So I just answered my own question.”
“Power, control, and careless violence. Everything you’ve told me about her speaks to her wanting power, over people, her image, her career.”
“You know more about power—getting it, keeping it—than anyone I know. When you want something, you find a way to get it. You wanted me.”
Reaching over, he danced his fingers over the back of her hand. “And I’ve got you, don’t I?”
“Because I wanted you back. I mean, think of the coffee alone. I’d’ve been a fool to say no.”
“And you’re no fool.”
“But if I’d been one, if I’d said no—”
“You did, initially.”
“Yeah, and you walked away. That was pride, but it was also strategy. You cut me off, and because I was stupid in love with you, I came to you.”
“Came to your senses.”
“I needed the coffee. But if I hadn’t. If I’d found another means to feed my need for coffee, what would you have done?”
“I’d have done anything I could to persuade you you’d never be happy without my coffee.” Including groveling, he thought. But why bring that up?
“Not everything,” she corrected. “A man in your position could do anything, that’s the point. You could have pressured me, threatened me, blackmailed me. You could’ve used violence. But you wouldn’t have.”
“I love you.” His eyes met her
s briefly, and it was there. The simplicity of it. The enormity of it. “Hurting you wasn’t the goal—or an option.”
“Exactly. For K.T. hurting was just a means, because possession was the goal. And in fact, hurting was a bonus, I think. She wouldn’t have stopped.”
“What does that tell you?”
“Killing her was the means to stop her. Not personal in the intimate sense, but like closing and locking a door when what’s inside the room is dangerous or just really unpleasant. The lack of real violence in the killing’s part of that. She falls—or gets pushed. The killer doesn’t keep at her, doesn’t strike, hit, choke. What he does is drag her into the water, tidy up a little. There now. All better.”
“You’ve eliminated Matthew.”
“The recording covers him, and Marlo, though we could argue they staged it. It’s what they do. But you add the lack of physical payback. Her intentions were to force him into a sexual relationship he didn’t want. That’s personal, it’s intimate—but the murder wasn’t. So yeah, Matthew’s low on the list. Marlo now …”
“Really?”
“Not as low. I’d expect more physical from her—punch, slap, scratch—something. But I can see them intending to confront her as they stated. I can also see Marlo facing off with her first, giving her a shove, then either panicked or just really pissed off, finishing it off with the pool. Matthew would cover for her. He loves her. It doesn’t play real pretty for me, but it makes a tune.”
She let it simmer while he turned in the long, winding driveway toward home. The setting sun washed the stones in gold, flashed spears of red against the many windows. Leaves, still green from summer, took on that light and hinted of the creeping autumn.
