Fantasy in Death - J. D. Robb [20]
Roland took one look at the photos, went a very pale green. He said, fairly clearly: “Gah.” Then his eyes rolled up white as he slid to the floor.
“Well, shit.” Eve blew out a breath and fisted her hands on her hips. “Better get him some water, Peabody.”
“It was kind of graceful, the way he went down.” Peabody got a cup of water while Eve crouched down to pat Roland’s cheeks.
“Out cold. He’s not faking. Okay, Roland, come on back. Better get a medic in case ... wait, here he comes. Roland!” She spoke sharply as his eyes twitched, then blinked. Then she gave a head jerk to Peabody so her partner would be the one playing nursemaid.
“Are you all right, Mr. Chadwick?” Peabody knelt down, eased his head up. “Try a little water. Take a sip, that’s the way. Take a breath. Do you need medical attention?”
“I don’t ... what happened?”
“You fainted. Do you want me to call a medic?”
“No. No, I don’t think ... I just need to—” His eyes popped wide now, and he grabbed Peabody’s arm like a drowning man. “Don’t make me look again. Don’t make me look.”
“Tougher to look than to be part of causing it?” Eve said coldly.
“I didn’t. I swear.” He all but crawled into Peabody’s lap, and Eve knew her work was done. “I swear! Don’t make me look.”
“Okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to look. Have some more water. We’ll wait until you’re feeling steady again.”
“Fine, that’s fine.” Eve pushed the photos back in the file. “You want to coddle him, he’s all yours. I can’t stand being in the same room with him. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, exiting Interview.”
She slammed the door behind her, but not before she heard Roland’s breathless thank-you to her partner.
Satisfied with Part A, she headed to the next interview room for Part B.
Milt Dubrosky had the buffed and polished looks of a spa rat. She imagined he devoted a good part of his day to the gym, and a good part of his week to treatments. His hair—too perfectly streaked to be nature’s gift—lay in subtle waves around a smooth, fine-boned face. His eyes, a soft, shimmering blue flashed out of long, dark lashes as he beamed out a high-wattage smile.
“Officer, I don’t know why I’m here, but at least the view just got a whole lot better.”
“Lieutenant.”
His smile flashed along with his eyes as he executed a snappy salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in Interview with Dubrosky, Milton, on the matter of the murder of Minnock, Bart.”
“What?” Those bold eyes widened as he sucked in a breath. “Bart’s been murdered? When? What happened?”
“You’ve been in Interview before, Dubrosky.” She tapped the file that held his record. “So you know I’m the one who asks questions, and you’re the one who answers them. Have you been read your rights?”
“Yeah, the cops who brought me in. But they didn’t tell me anything.”
“Can you verify your whereabouts from between three P.M. and eight P.M. yesterday?”
“Sure. Sure. I was at my salon—that’s Urban Meadows—from about one to three-thirty, then I met a friend for coffee. I did some shopping and went to another friend’s place about five-thirty. Roland, Roland Chadwick. He works for Bart at U-Play. He got in shortly after I did, and we stayed in the rest of the night. He can vouch.”
“The name and contact information for your coffee date.”
“No problem. Britt Casey.” He rattled off a ’link number and an Upper West Side address. “We’re in a workshop together. Acting workshop. So we get together now and then to discuss craft.”
He was good, Eve decided, but not that good. Poor Roland, she thought, just how many ways can you be duped? “And what time did you leave your acting pal and head out on your own?”
“Sometime around five, I guess.”
“Coffee and shopping date. Where did you have coffee? Where did you shop? Do you have receipts?”
“I don’t actually remember the name of the coffee shop. And I didn’t actually buy anything.