Indulgence in Death (25 page)

Given the size and layout of the house, she suspected this was a kind of company room rather than a family hangout.

Anna was back quickly with a tray holding Peabody’s iced coffee, a second glass, and a cup of hot black. “I remember from the book you like coffee, Lieutenant, so I made some just in case. The doctor will be right with you. The other iced coffee’s for her. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No. We’re set. Thanks for the coffee.”

“It’s no problem at all. I’ll just . . .”

She trailed off as Felicity came in, another glass in her hand. “Anna, you left your coffee in the kitchen.” Felicity passed the glass, then walked straight to Eve. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Both of you. I’m absolutely riveted by the Icove story, and desperately hoping you’re here to ask me to consult on some fascinating murder.”

She laughed when she said it, bright and easy, and obviously not at all serious. She wore her hair short and brightly red, and her eyes, a deep, dark green, held warmth and ease.

“Actually, Doctor VanWitt, we’d like to ask you some questions about Winston Dudley.” And Eve watched that warmth and ease die.

“Winnie? I don’t know what I could tell you. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“You were engaged at one time.”

“Yes.” The smile remained in place, strained at the corners. “That was practically another life.”

“Then you can tell us about that life.” Deliberately Eve picked up her coffee, sat.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen,” Anna began.

“No, please stay. Anna’s family,” Felicity said. “I’d like her to stay.”

“That’s fine. How did you meet Dudley?”

“At a party, at my cousin’s—at Patrice Delaughter’s. She knew him a little. She was seeing Sylvester Moriarity, and in fact became engaged shortly after the party. Winnie and I started seeing each other, and were engaged for a short time.”

“Why short?”

“I wish you’d tell me why this matters to anyone. It was nearly fifteen years ago.”

“I wonder why it’s difficult for you to talk about it, after almost fifteen years.”

Now Felicity sat, picked up her coffee for a long, slow sip as she studied Eve. “What has he done?”

“What makes you think he’s done anything?”

“I’m a psychologist.” Both her face and her voice sharpened. “You and I can play cryptic all day long.”

“I can only tell you he’s connected to an investigation, and my partner and I are conducting background checks. Your name came up.”

“Well, as I said, I haven’t seen or spoken to him in a very long time.”

“Bad breakup?”

“Not particularly.” Her gaze shifted away from Eve’s. “We simply didn’t suit.”

“Why are you afraid of him?”

“I’ve no reason to be afraid of him.”

“Now?”

She re-angled in her chair. Stalling, Eve noted, trying to pick the right words, the right attitude.

“I don’t know that I had any reason to be afraid of him then. You’re not here because you’re doing simple background, because he’s connected to an investigation. You’re investigating him. I think it’s reasonable for me to know what and why before I tell you anything.”

“Two people are dead. Is that enough?”

Felicity closed her eyes, lifted a hand. Without a word, Anna moved over to sit on the arm of the chair, take that hand in hers.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes again. They stayed direct and steady as they met Eve’s. “Do I have any reason to be afraid of him, for myself, for my family?”

“I don’t believe so, but it’s hard to say when I don’t have the background between you and Dudley. He was at a dinner party in Greenwich a few nights ago,” Eve added. “A few miles from here. He didn’t contact you?”

“No. He’d have no reason to. I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Then help us out, Doctor VanWitt.” Peabody kept her voice low and soothing. “And we’ll do everything we can to make sure it does stay that way.”

“I was very young,” Felicity began. “And he was very charming, very handsome. I was absolutely dazzled. Swept off my feet, cliché or not. He pursued me and courted me. Flowers, gifts, poetry, attention. It wasn’t love on my part, I realized that after it ended. It was . . . thrall. He was, literally, everything a young woman could have wanted or asked for.”

She paused a moment. Not stalling now, Eve noted, but looking back. Remembering. “He didn’t love me. I realized that sooner than I realized my own feelings, but I wanted him to. Desperately. So I tried, as young women often do, to be what he wanted. He and I and Patrice and Sly went everywhere together. It was exciting, and God, so much fun. Weekends at Newport or the Côte d’Azur, an impromptu dinner trip to Paris. Anything and everything.”

She took a deep breath. “He was my first lover. I was naive and nervous, and he was very considerate. The first time. He wanted other things, things that made me uncomfortable. But he didn’t push, not overtly. Still, the longer we were together, the more I felt something off. Something . . . as if I’d catch a shadow or movement out of the corner of my eye, then turn and it would be gone. But I knew I’d seen it.”

She drank, cleared her throat. “He enjoyed illegals. Many did, and it was recreational. Or it seemed so. Then again, recreation was what he did, what we did, so there was always a little boost of something. And he did pressure me to use, to have fun, not to be so closed in.

“When he and Sly were together, there was a kind of wildness. And it was appealing at first, exciting at first. But then it got to be too much. Too fast, too hard, too wild because, at the core I wasn’t what I was trying to be.”

She paused, breathed, and on the arm of the chair Anna continued to sit. A silent wall of support.

“He started hurting me. Just a little, little accidents—accidents that left bruises, and I started to realize he liked to see me frightened. He’d always soothe me after, but I could see on his face he enjoyed frightening me—accidentally locking me in a dark room, or driving too fast, or holding me under just a bit too long when we went to the beach. And the sex got rough, too rough. Mean.”

She stared into her iced coffee for a long moment—remembering again, Eve thought—but her hand stayed steady as she lifted the glass to drink.

“He was so charming otherwise, and so smooth. For a time I thought it was me, that I was too closed in, not open enough to the new or the exciting. But . . .”

“You didn’t want what he wanted,” Eve prompted. “Or to do what he pressured you to do.”

“No, I didn’t. It just wasn’t me. I started to realize, more to accept, I was pretending to be something I wasn’t to please him and I knew I couldn’t keep it up. I didn’t want to keep it up,” she corrected. “Once I overheard him and Sly talking about it, laughing at me. I knew I had to break it off, but didn’t know how. My family adored him. He was so charming, so sweet, so perfect. Except for those movements out of the corner of the eye, except for the accidents. So I picked a fight with him, in public, because I was afraid of him. And I maneuvered him into breaking it off. He was so angry, and he said horrible things to me, but every word was a relief because I knew he didn’t want me, and he wouldn’t bother about me. He’d walk away, and I’d be free. He never spoke to me again.”

She shook her head, let out a short, surprised laugh. “I mean that literally. Never another word. It was as if all those months hadn’t happened. We both attended my cousin’s wedding to Sly, and he didn’t even speak to me, or look at me—not, if you understand me, in a way that was a deliberate snub. It was as if I were invisible, didn’t exist. Never had. I was just no longer there for him. And that was an even bigger relief.”

They look through you, Roarke has said, and Eve understood exactly what Felicity meant.

“Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Yeah. You have a nice place here, Doctor VanWitt. I bet you have nice kids, and a good husband, work you’re good at and enjoy, friends who matter.”

“Yes, I do. Yes.”

Eve rose. “Maybe you were young, maybe you were naive and dazzled and swept. But you weren’t stupid.”

“He’s a dangerous man, they both are. I believe that.”

“So do I. He won’t bother you or your family,” Eve promised. “You’re not in his world, and he has no reason to hurt you. I’m going to talk to your cousin.”

“Will it help if I contact her, tell her some of this?”

“It might.”

“Then I will.” Felicity got to her feet, held out a hand. “I hope I helped, but I have to tell you this sort of thing is a lot more exciting, and a lot less emotionally wearing, in a book than it is in real life.”

“You got that right.”

PEABODY STAYED QUIET FOR SEVERAL MILES while the lushly green landscape whizzed by.

“You really don’t think there’s a chance Dudley will go at her, or her family?”

“Not now, not while he’s into this competition. If he’d wanted to pay her back for dumping him, or maneuvering him into dumping her, he’d have done it before this.” She wanted to talk to Mira, but . . .

“She wasn’t worthy of him. He was just using her as a toy, then he got tired of her. That’s how it plays in his head. So, just as she said, she stopped existing in his world. She’s not even a blip at this point. If they keep at it, continue to rack up points or however they’re scoring this deal, either one of them could decide to make it personal. But not now.”

“If it is a competition, how do two men like these two come up with it? Does one of them just say, ‘Hey, let’s have a murder tournament?’ I can almost see that,” Peabody added. “Too much to drink, hanging out, maybe add in some illegals. Things you say or do under the influence that seem so brilliant or funny or insightful, and you’re never going to follow through with clean and sober. But they do, and if this is a contest, they go forward with it, with rules, with, like you said, structure.”

She shifted, frowned at Eve. “It’s a big deal. Even if it’s just a game to them, it’s a big game. Not just the killing itself, which is way big enough, but the selections—vics, weapons, timing, venue, and cover-your-ass. Do you go into that cold? I mean, if you’re going to compete in a major competition—sports, gaming, talent, whatever, you don’t just jump in, not if you want to win. You don’t jump on a horse to compete for the blue ribbon if you’ve never ridden before, right? Because odds are pretty strong for not only losing, but humiliating yourself in the bargain. I don’t see these guys risking humiliation.”

“Good.” Excellent, in fact, Eve noted. “Neither do I.”

“You think they’ve killed before?”

“I’d bet your ass on it.”

“Why my ass?” Eyes slitted, Peabody jabbed a finger in the air. “Because it’s bigger? Because it has more padding? That’s hitting below the belt.”

“Your ass is below your belt. I’d bet mine, too, if it makes you feel better.”

“Let’s bet Roarke’s ass, because really, in my opinion, of the three of us his is the best.”

“Fine. We’ll bet all the asses on it. They’ve killed before. Together most likely, impulse, accident, deliberately—that I don’t know yet. But I’d bet Mira’s shrink’s ass that the kill is what turned this corner for them. That, and getting away with it.”

“Mira has a really nice ass.”

“I’m sure she’d be thrilled to know you think so.”

“Jeez, don’t tell her I said that.” Peabody’s wince included a defensive hunch of shoulders. “I was just following the theme.”

“Follow this theme,” Eve suggested. “Probability is high, factoring the prevailing theory is correct, that Dudley and/or Moriarity killed, by accident or design, within the last year. I got an eighty-nine-point-nine when I ran that last night. Take it further into the theme, and assume this is also correct, it’s very likely the kill took place when they were together, and they conspired to cover up the crime. With this success, they opted to create a competition so they could revisit the thrill of that experience.”

“As whacked as it is, it makes more sense than the ‘Hey, let’s go out and kill people’ idea.”

“They might’ve been traveling, business, vacation. Both of them spend more time bouncing around than pretending to work in New York. I want to track their travel over the past year, then search for missing persons or unsolved murders, unattended or suspicious deaths in the location during that time frame.”

“It’s possible they killed someone who wouldn’t be missed.”

“Yeah, but we start with what we can do. I think there will be two.”

Peabody nodded slowly. “One for each of them. They’d need to start even. Jesus, it just gets sicker.”

“And the next round’s coming up.”

 

 

R
oarke had no particular fondness for golf. He played rarely, and only as an overture and addendum to business. While he appreciated the mathematics and science of the game, he preferred sports that generated more sweat and risk. Still, he found it simple and satisfying to entertain a business partner with a round, especially when he’d arranged it to coincide with Dudley’s and Moriarity’s morning tee time.

He changed from his suit to khakis and a white golf shirt in one of the private dressing areas, then waiting for his guest in one of the lounge sections, passed the time with golfing highlights on the entertainment screen.

When he spotted Dudley stepping out of a dressing area, he rose and strolled toward the refreshment bar at an angle designed to have their paths crossing. He paused, nodded casually.

“Dudley.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Roarke. I didn’t know you were a member.”

“I don’t get in often. Golf’s not really my game,” he said with a shrug. “But I have a business associate in town who’s mad for it. Do you play here often?”

“Twice a week routinely. It pays to keep the game sharp.”

“I suppose it does, and as I haven’t when it comes to golf, I doubt I’ll give Su much of a challenge.”