The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [28]
Because he needed something to do with his hands, Roarke walked over, poured a brandy. He stood for a moment, swirling it. “He may irritate you, Eve. You may find him . . . unpleasant.” He only arched his brows when Eve snorted. “But you can’t seriously believe Summerset is capable of murder, of spending a number of hours torturing another human being.” Roarke lifted the snifter, sipped. “I can tell you, without a single doubt, that he isn’t capable of it, and never has been.”
She wouldn’t be swayed by sentiment. “Then where was your man, Roarke, from noon to five P.M. on the date in question?”
“You’d do better to ask him.” He reached up, pressed a button on a monitor without glancing at it. “Summerset, would you come up to my office, please? My wife has a question for you.”
“Very well.”
“I’ve known the man since I was a boy,” Roarke said to Eve. “I’ve told you most of it, trusted you with that. Now I’m trusting you with him.”
She felt a fist squeeze around her heart. “I can’t let this be personal. You can’t ask that of me.”
“You can’t let it be anything else. Because that’s exactly what it is. Personal,” he continued, walking to her. “Intimate.” With fingertips only, he skimmed her cheek. “Mine.”
He dropped his hand as the door opened.
Summerset stepped inside. His silver hair was perfectly groomed, his black suit ruthlessly pressed, his shoes shone with a mirror gleam.
“Lieutenant,” he said, as if the word was ever so slightly distasteful to his palette. “Can I help you?”
“Why were you at the Luxury Towers yesterday at noon?”
He stared at her, through her, and his mouth thinned to a line sharp as a blade. “That is certainly none of your business.”
“Wrong, it’s exactly my business. Why did you go see Thomas Brennen?”
“Thomas Brennen? I haven’t seen Thomas Brennen since we left Ireland.”
“Then what were you doing at the Luxury Towers?”
“I fail to see what one has to do with the other. My free time is . . .” He trailed off, and his eyes darted to Roarke, went wide. “Is that where—Tommy lived at the Luxury Towers?”
“You’re talking to me.” Eve stepped between them so that Summerset focused on her face. “I’ll ask you again, what were you doing at the Luxury Towers yesterday at noon?”
“I have an acquaintance who lives there. We had an engagement, for lunch and a matinee.”
“All right.” Relieved, Eve pulled out her recorder. “Give me her name.”
“Audrey, Audrey Morrell.”
“Apartment number?”
“Twelve eighteen.”
“And Ms. Morrell will verify that you met at noon and spent the day together?”
His already pale face was slowly going whiter. “No.”
“No?” Eve looked up, and said nothing when Roarke brought Summerset a glass of brandy.
“Audrey—Ms. Morrell wasn’t in when I arrived. I waited for a time, then realized she’d . . . Something must have come up.”
“How long did you wait?”
“Thirty or forty minutes.” Some color seeped back into his cheeks now, of the embarrassed sort. “Then I left.”
“By the lobby exit.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t have you on the security discs coming out. Maybe you left by another exit.”
“I certainly did not.”
Eve bit her tongue. She’d tossed him a rope, she thought, and he hadn’t grabbed for it. “Fine, you stick to that. What did you do then?”
“I decided against the matinee. I went to the park.”
“The park. Great.” She leaned back on Roarke’s desk. “What park?”
“Central Park. There was an outdoor art exhibit. I browsed for a time.”
“It was raining.”
“There were inclement weather domes.”
“How did you get from the apartment complex to the park? What kind of transpo?”
“I walked.”
Her head began to throb. “In the rain?”
“Yes.” He said it stiffly and sipped his brandy.
“Did you speak to anyone, meet someone you know?”
“No.”
“Shit.” She sighed it, then rubbed absently at her temple.