“To meet someone? Who? Is that who killed her?”
“No, the person she intended to meet isn’t a suspect. Were you aware your wife had an affair, Mr. Tween?”
“That’s a disgusting thing to say!” Fury flooded his face, ate away even the pretense of distress. “You’re insulting my wife, the mother of my child.”
“We have substantial evidence of the affair. Are you stating you were unaware?”
“You dare to sit there, minutes after you tell me my wife’s been murdered, and call her a whore?”
“That’s an unfortunate choice of words, Mr. Tween, and not one I used.” But, Eve thought, I bet it’s how you thought of her. “How would you describe the state of your marriage?”
“I will not discuss my marriage with you.” He pushed to his feet. “I want you to leave.”
“This is a difficult time, but these are routine questions. Questions we ask to help us find the person who took your wife’s life, who took the life of your child’s mother.”
“Could I get you some water?” Peabody used her sympathy voice, and the puppy dog eyes. “You’ve had a terrible shock, sir. Is there someone we can contact for you?”
“No. No. I need privacy. I need time to cope. I need you to leave me alone.”
“Of course.” Sliding easily into the good, understanding cop, Peabody rose. “Before we do, it would be helpful if we had a copy of your security feed so that we can pinpoint exactly when Ms. Modesto left the house tonight. Every piece of information helps us find the person responsible.”
“All right, all right.” He yanked his ’link out of his pocket, keyed in a code. “I’ve alerted the maintenance droid. He’ll show you the security station, take care of this. Then he’ll show you out.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Eve told him. “And again, we’re sorry for your loss. If you think of anything that might help in our investigation, please contact us.”
As she spoke, Eve took a casual glance around the room. “You have a lovely home, Mr. Tween, and your wife’s love of her homeland comes through. That’s a wonderful painting.”
She stepped toward Stowe’s work, and saw not fury, not jealousy, but satisfaction flicker into Tween’s eyes.
The first thing Roarke did when he walked into the house was check on Summerset. He went directly to the house comp. “Where is Summerset?”
Good evening, Roarke. Summerset is in his quarters.
Satisfied, and having spent the trip home contacting those he felt he needed to contact, he went upstairs.
He bypassed his office and Eve’s, continued up to his private office.
He used his palm print, the voice ID to open the secure doors.
“Lights on,” he ordered, and in them, with the city spread outside the privacy-screened window, he poured himself a whiskey.
He gave himself a moment, just a moment to settle.
Eve could and would handle herself. Although …
He couldn’t dwell on althoughs, not now.
Summerset remained safe in his quarters, and they’d have a discussion in the morning.
He’d ordered some of his best security people to keep watch on his family in Ireland.
If Cobbe didn’t know about them before tonight, he’d make it his business to learn about them now.
He had other key people he’d inform and address in the morning, but for now, he had some digging to do.
He went to the command center of his unregistered equipment, equipment CompuGuard couldn’t detect. He placed his palm on the plate.
“Roarke. Open operations.”
The lights switched on, glowing like jewels against the black.
Operations open …
He sat with his whiskey.
“Open and display on wall screen all files on Cobbe, Lorcan.”
Acknowledged. Accessing. Displaying …
He’d kept track. A careful man, and one with the means, kept track of enemies. Roarke might have believed Cobbe too careful to try for him at this point. If that was a mistake, it wasn’t one he’d perpetuate.
He scrolled and scanned, refreshing himself on data gathered on his own, or picked out of the pockets of Interpol, the CIA, MI6, the NCA, Ireland’s CSB, and others.
Cops around the world had data on Cobbe, knew him to be a killer for hire, or suspected him.
He’d done some time in his late teens for being foolish enough to get caught in a sweep of an underground gambling den—and for having several illegal weapons in his possession at the time.
Roarke suspected Cobbe had put those eighteen months to good use, making contacts. Shortly after Cobbe’s release, the police informant on the raid took a swim in the Seine with his throat cut ear to ear.
Pleasure, profit, payback, Roarke thought. Cobbe’s Holy Trinity.
Sharps remained his go-to—though he did enjoy a bat or a boot on the smaller or defenseless to start. He’d use a garrote as a change of pace.
He liked the up-close kill, the personal kill. No one had data on him ever using explosives or any kind of long-range weaponry.
“He likes the blood,” Roarke murmured. “The smell of it, the feel of it. The look in the eyes as life drains away. There’s what feeds him.
“Computer, display last known ID, under any alias.”
Acknowledged. Accessing. Displaying … Cobbe, Lorcan, DOB first September, 2020, Dublin, Ireland. Hair brown, eyes hazel, height six feet, weight 190. No fixed address. Consultant.
“Consultant, is it? That’s a word for it. That ID’s nearly a year old. He’ll have others. Let’s find them.”
Roarke pushed up his sleeves, pulled a leather strip out of his pocket, and tied back his hair.
He got to work.
With Peabody, Eve walked out of Tween’s house, started back to the car. “He’s not very good at it.”
“Man, I’ll say he’s not. He couldn’t even work up a tear. Not even the pretense of fighting tears. Some people are stoic, right?” Peabody continued, “This wasn’t stoic.”
“Not stoic,” Eve agreed. “And not the other end of the spectrum with jubilant. He’s just satisfied the deal’s complete. He never asked where she was, when he could see her, if she suffered. She basically doesn’t exist anymore.
“We’re going to want to talk to the housekeeper.”
“I’ll contact her first thing in the morning.”
“And the vic’s family—another thing he didn’t mention.” Eve checked the time, shook her head. “We should be able to keep her ID under wraps until morning, so we talk to them first thing.”
“They keep an apartment here.” Peabody read off her PPC. “But their main residence is Florence. The vic’s brother’s based in Rome.”
“What the hell time is it in Italy?”
“Um.”
“Never mind. I’ll take care of it when I get home.”
She opened the car door. McNab slurped on a fizzy in the back seat.
“I got you some views of the black hoodie, Dallas. Copied to your home unit. And of the red jacket—cued those up for you. He didn’t worry about showing his face in the red jacket.”