Indulgence in Death - J. D. Robb [29]
In a tidy foyer, sparsely furnished with what looked like quality antiques, Iris gestured to a small, equally tidy living area. “Have a seat.”
“I’m investigating a homicide. A crossbow bolt is the murder weapon.”
“Hard way to go.”
“Do you own a crossbow, Ms. Quill?”
“I own two. Both properly licensed and registered,” she added with a gleam in her eye that told Eve the woman understood that information was already confirmed. “I like to hunt. I travel, and indulge my hobby. I enjoy testing myself against the prey with a variety of weapons. A crossbow takes skill and steady hands.”
“Records show you purchased six Firestrike bolts last May.”
“I imagine I did. They’re the best, in my opinion. Excellent penetration. I don’t want the prey to suffer, so that’s an important factor in a bolt or an arrow. And they’re designed for reasonably easy extraction. I also don’t want to waste my ammo. Have to replace the barbs, of course, but the shafts are durable.”
“Have you sold, given, or lent any of your bolts to anyone?”
“Why the hell would I do that? First, I expect you know as well as I do it’s illegal, unless it’s a gift or a documented loan to another licensed individual. Second, I don’t trust anybody with my equipment. And last, those suckers ran me ninety-six-fifty each.”
“I thought they ran a hundred.”
Quill’s eyebrow cocked up with her smile. “I bought a half-dozen bolts and a dozen extra barbs and I know how to bargain.”
“Can you tell me where you were last night, between nine and midnight.”
“Sure I can. I was right here. I got back from a two-week safari in Kenya day before yesterday. I’m still a little turned around with my internal clock. I stayed home, wrote—I’m writing a book on my experiences—and was in bed by eleven. I’m a suspect.” She smiled a little. “That’s so interesting. Who am I suspected of killing?”
Since the media would be running with the story, Eve relayed the basics. “Jamal Houston. He was forty-three. He had a wife and two children.”
She nodded slowly as even the ghost of a smile faded. “That’s a pity. I never married, never had children, but I loved a man once. He was killed in the Urban Wars. People hunted people then. I suppose they still do or you wouldn’t have a job, would you? Personally, I prefer animals. I’m sorry for his family.”
“Do you use a limo service?”
“Of course. Streamline.” The smile twinkled back. “It’s your husband’s, and it’s the best in the city. When I pay for something, I want the best for my money. I have a record of the bolts—all my ammo—I’ve purchased. Also a record of what I’ve used in hunts, what remains in my inventory. Would you like copies?”
Hardly necessary, Eve thought, but it never hurt to take more than you needed. “I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ve only been using that type of bolt for two years—when they first started making them. So I’ll copy from there. Otherwise you’d have reams to go through. I’ve been hunting for sixty-six years. My mother taught me.”
“Do you know anyone else who uses them, specifically? Someone you’ve hunted with or talked crossbows with?”
“Certainly. I could probably give you a list of names. Would that help?”
“It couldn’t hurt. Can I just ask you, just personal curiosity: After you kill something, what do you do with it?”
“Since I’m not interested in trophies, I donate the kill to Hunters Against Hunger. Whatever can be used from the animal is processed and distributed to those in need. HAH’s an excellent global organization.”
Eve said, “HAH.”
6
AS WITH CENTRAL, EVE FELT PLEASED TO drive through the gates of home. A different atmosphere, certainly, than her professional house, but like Central it was hers now.
Rich summer green grass spread, a luxuriant carpet for leafy trees, sumptuous blankets of flowers, and madly blooming shrubs. Through the banquet of color, of green, of cooling shade the drive wound through to Roarke’s elegant jewel.
Maybe the house was huge—so huge she wasn’t sure she’d been in all the rooms—but it had dignity