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“Now, Petra—”
“Don’t placate me, Marshall. It’s something that caught me by the throat after I got over the shock of hearing about Jonas. I dismissed it, but . . .” She looked back at Eve, dead in the eye. “Is this what you think?”
“It’s something we have to consider, and have to take seriously to ensure your husband’s safety.”
“Yes. Good. Take it seriously. We’re all going to take it very seriously.”
“Petra, Edward and Jonas shared political networks and leanings I haven’t.”
She only shook her head. “You’ve been friends for decades. You socialize regularly, you golf, play poker, travel together. You lived in the same house for years back in— Oh God! Fred and Ethan.”
“That’s Frederick Betz,” Eve said quickly. “Who’s Ethan?”
“Ethan MacNamee,” Easterday told her. “One of our housemates back at Yale. He and Edward didn’t stay particularly close, and he lives in Glasgow most of the year. I only see him myself every few months.”
“And when you get together, it’s like no time’s passed,” Petra insisted. “You’re like brothers.”
“A brotherhood,” Eve said, watching Easterday’s face.
That face went stony, and his eyes cut away, just for an instant. “Yes. We’re like brothers, you could say, and I’ve lost two.”
“Three,” Petra said quietly, and took her husband’s hand. “There were six of them who shared the group house at Yale. The other was William Stevenson—Billy. He died, tragically, just before Marshall and I were married.”
“What happened?”
“He suffered from depression.” Marshall began to rub his temple. “He’d poured considerable money into a new business venture that failed, and was going through a second, brutal divorce. His father was—and is—a hard man, and berated him. It was a terrible series of blows.”
“He self-terminated?”
“He did, yes, without the legal authority, without going through the necessary counseling. He went to his family home in Connecticut, locked himself in his old bedroom, and hanged himself.”
“Hanged himself.”
“You can’t connect that to the murders. It was clearly suicide, and more than fifteen years ago. And while we were and are good friends, Edward and Jonas were the closest to each other. They shared more interests, and again, those political and social views.”
“What else did they share?” Eve asked. “Edward Mira had regular sexual relationships with a variety of women.”
Easterday struck a fist to his thigh. “I’m not going to sit here while my friends are on slabs at your morgue and impugn their reputations.”
The bluster was insult, but fear glinted through it.
“I have a list of names, of women Edward Mira had relationships with during just the past year. One of those women might be responsible for what was done to him. I need to know if Jonas Wymann shared any of those women, or shared the predilection for women.”
“Marshall.” Before he could speak, before he could release the anger Eve saw in his eyes, Petra took his hand. “They’re dead, and if this is why, you owe it to them to speak out. Please.”
“Edward made no secret of his enjoyment of women outside his marriage. And Mandy was aware.”
Easterday bit the words off.
“Their marriage was their business. Jonas was more circumspect, but . . . His habit of enjoying women outside marriage certainly led to the dissolution of both of his. However, if they shared a woman, I’m not aware.”
“And you, Mr. Easterday? Do you go outside the lines?”
“This discussion is over.”
“It’s not!” Now Petra gripped his arm. “Marshall and I have a relationship based on trust as much as love and respect. I’m fully aware he was unfaithful to his first wife. My first husband had affairs. I refused to marry Marshall for more than a year due to trust issues. We met not long after our mutual divorces.”
“I’ve never had an affair—not since you and I began.”
