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Stiles closed his eyes, drew air in slowly, released it. “We’d both begun to make our marks in theater, in small regional theaters. Not much of a mark, of course, but we were beginning. We were both aiming for New York. Broadway was enjoying a rich revival in those days.”

His voice warmed a bit as he remembered his youth, that sense of anticipation, invulnerability. Color came back to his cheeks. “It was a return to the lights, the glamour, the brilliance after the destruction of the Urban Wars. People were looking for entertainment, for escape and, I suppose, for heros who didn’t carry weapons. We were a tight and perhaps an arrogant circle. It was a heady time, Lieutenant, a renaissance. We were treated like royalty. Offstage, we lived very large lives. Excessive lives. Sex, illegals, lavish parties.”

He picked up his water again, drank deeply. “It ruined some of us. I would say it ruined Richard. He reveled in the fame, in the excesses. It never affected his work, that was his genius, but offstage, he indulged in every possible vice. There was a cruelty to him, particularly toward women. He crushed more than one on his way. He liked to brag about it, to make bets about which woman he’d have next. I found it . . . unpleasant.”

He cleared his throat, shoved his cup away. “There was a woman, a girl, really. We were seeing each other. It wasn’t serious, but we enjoyed each other’s company. Then Richard began the hunt. He stalked her, lured her, and in the end, ruined her. When he cast her off, it broke her. I went to her apartment. I don’t know what instinct sent me there. When I found her, she . . . she was on the point of taking her own life. She had already slashed her wrists. I got her to a health center. I . . .”

He trailed off, hesitated, then continued with obvious difficulty. “They saved her, but something inside me snapped when I looked at her lying there, so pale, so used. I got drunk, then I went after Richard.”

Stiles ran his hands over his face. “I might have killed him that night. I admit it. But people from the neighboring apartments stopped me. Afterward, I realized what a useless gesture it had been. It changed nothing and cost me a great deal. Instead of damaging Richard, I could have destroyed my own career, my own life. I put myself at his mercy, you see. He agreed to the settlements and the seals to protect his own image. I had reason to be grateful he was just that self-interested. It took me three years to pay off the suit, with merciless interest. Then I put it behind me.”

“Seems to me you had plenty of reason to hate the son of a bitch,” Feeney put in.

“Perhaps.” Steadier now that the story was told, Stiles nodded. “But hate takes enormous amounts of time and energy. I prefer employing mine in more positive channels. I have everything I want; I enjoy my life. I would never risk it again on the likes of Richard Draco.”

“Not such a risk when you put the knife in the hands of a woman.”

Stiles’s head snapped up. His eyes burned. “I don’t use women. I’ve had nearly twenty-five years to learn a lesson, Lieutenant. Richard Draco stopped mattering to me a very long time ago.”

“What happened to the woman?”

“I don’t know.” He heaved a huge sigh, full of regret. “She ceased to be part of my life. I believe the fact that I knew what had happened made it difficult for her to be around me, to maintain our friendship.”

“Seems to me she’d have been grateful.”

“She was, Lieutenant. But like me, she had to put the incident, all of it, behind her. I went to London very shortly after the incident, worked there, and then in California, in Canada. We didn’t keep in touch, and I never heard of her again.”

Convenient, Eve thought. Maybe just a little too convenient. “What was her name?”

“Is that necessary?”

“It’s a sad story you tell, Mr. Stiles. An effective one. But there’s no one here to back it up. What was her name?”

“Anja Carvell.” He looked back into the past, then down at his hands. “Her name was Anja. I’ve told you all I can.”