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“No, thanks, no. I don’t think I could swallow anything.”
“Steven, can you tell me how she felt about Natasha Quigley, JJ Copley?”
“She got along fine with them. She was really tight with Tella, and she and Tella’s sister got along fine. She didn’t much like the husband. She said he was a little bit of a prick.” He smiled a little. “She had opinions. She’d help Ms. Quigley out now and then.”
“Like for her holiday party.”
“Yeah, like that. I got to go, and it was okay. A little stiff for me, if you know what I mean. But she’d help out like that now and then. With parties, sending out invites, or thank-yous if Ms. Quigley was slammed. She didn’t mind. She liked the job.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t help any.”
“You did. You’ve given me a good picture of her. Who she was, how she was. I hope it helps you to know she matters to me. Getting justice for her matters.”
“Did you ever wish you could turn back the clock? Just one day.” His red-rimmed eyes, swimming with tears, bored into hers. “Even just a few hours. If I’d said, Please don’t go to work today—or Hey, I’ll go with you. Something. It wouldn’t have happened. Did you ever wish you could do that, just turn the clock back?”
“All the time.”
When he left, Eve went into her office to shake off his grief. It wouldn’t help in interview.
“Knock, knock.” Cher Reo walked in. The pretty blonde with Southern roots might have looked delicate, but Eve knew she could be an Amazon in court. “I was in the building, keeping close in case. Give me coffee and we’ll talk John Jake Copley.”
“Help yourself. You got the report. No sign of break-in, just him in the house with dead body and unconscious wife. Wife’s nine-one-one call that clearly speaks his name.”
“I listened to it myself.” With her coffee, Reo walked over, sat in Eve’s desk chair. “I’m not sitting in that awful visitor’s chair. You talked to the wife this morning?”
“She’s awake, maybe a little confused yet.” Eve relayed the gist of the interview. “She won’t pull the trigger,” Eve finished. “Won’t confirm Copley struck her.”
“Could be a little problem.”
“The nine-one-one recording—”
“Oh, we’ll use the hell out of it, but if I were his lawyer I’d use it, too. I’d claim the victim was in shock, in fear, was calling for her husband, was then attacked, and this unknown assailant fled.”
“How—the cam clearly shows—”
“Out a window, into a hidey-hole until he or she could slip out undetected. It’s weak, Dallas, and I can promise we’ll tear it to shreds, but it could be a little problem. A confession eliminates that little problem. We’d deal the murder to Man One—”
“Bullshit!”
“Listen. Man One on Dubois, assault with intent on the wife. He does twenty-five—no parole. Another ten concurrent on the wife. Again, if I were his lawyer, I’d take it. Saves a trial, eliminates the possibility of life in a cage. Twenty-five years is a good long time.”
“Catiana Dubois won’t get another twenty-five.”
“Nothing we do changes that. But consider how a man like Copley will deal with a quarter of a century in prison.”
He’d cry and wail and blubber like a little girl—but it wasn’t enough. “I’ll get him on Ziegler, too.”
“If you get him on Ziegler, deal’s out.” To illustrate, Reo flicked her fingers in the air. “That’s two murders and one attempted. Murder Two on both, but the addition of the knife in the heart? The jury will be appalled, I promise you. But you have to get him, and right now, you don’t have him.”
“The day’s young.”
“You can tag me until eight. After eight, I’m off the clock and I mean it, until December twenty-sixth. Tie him up before that, we’ll put a bow on it. Otherwise, have yourself a merry little Christmas. I mean that, too.” She rose, patted the bag Eve had given her. “I love this.”
When she sauntered out, Eve kicked her desk. ?
?Man One, my ass!” She thought of Steven Dorchester and the key he’d made, put in a pretty little box. Fuck Man One.
