Green-Eyed Envy (29 page)

Scott accepted the handshake calmly. “No less than I’d expect or deserve.”

Harper cleared her throat and wrinkled her nose when Penn stumbled to his feet and toward her. The man, quite simply, reeked—inside and out—of whiskey.

I wasn’t too shy to express that, either. “You two need showers, stat, so we can stand to be in the same room as you for more than five minutes.”

Harper backed away from her fiancé. “Oh yeah. And some coffee.” When Penn nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get to her, she amended that. “Lots and lots of coffee.”

Scott stood with much less trouble, wary eyes all on me, no doubt braced for a bitch fest he couldn’t quite believe wasn’t yet coming. Well, hundreds of how-to dating articles said to always keep them guessing.

I pointed to the door leading to the residential area of Murphy Central. “Seriously. You two go shower while
I
clean up
your
mess and Harper goes for coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”

He hesitated while Penn managed to get his hands on Harper and they exchanged murmured comments. “We good?” he finally asked with a pleading cast to his voice.

“For now.” I caught another whiff of alcohol and waved him off. “But only if you go shower
now
, Murphy.”

The sigh that racked his body was long, heavy, and proof of just how worried he had been. An hour later found both men clean, Penn mostly sober, and the four of us holed up in the tiny Shadowhound office just off of the former armwrestling arena. It also saw us locked in a fierce debate over where to proceed next in our investigation. Penn wanted us to just lock up all of Harper’s exes—convinced that, if none of them turned out to be the killer, at least jail time would keep them safe while he offered himself up as the weddingday sacrificial lamb to flush out whoever
was
the murderer. Needless to say, Harper didn’t care for
that
suggestion at all. Plus, it was illegal.

Penn rolled his eyes when I pointed out we couldn’t forcibly incarcerate potential victims, not even to protect them. He muttered something in ancient Egyptian—still going strong among Warhounds loyal to Anubis—something that had Scott trying to disguise a laugh as a cough.

I turned my baleful stare in Penn’s direction. “Putting aside the legality issue, what if one of Harper’s exes
is
the killer? Just because we
think
we’ve ruled them all out doesn’t mean we couldn’t be wrong. We want to catch the killer before he strikes again, not postpone his next attack until a time when we’re not expecting it.”

Penn closed his mouth on whatever argument he’d been about to make and chewed on my words. Nice to know he
could
use his brain sometimes. Then again, the man
was
an acknowledged financial genius.

Harper pushed back from the wall she’d been leaning against. The office barely had room for a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet. “Much as I hate to say it, I think Riss has the right idea and we should be focusing on them as possible suspects rather than future victims.”

I sat up straighter in my undersized chair. Harper had been resistant to the idea that
any
of her lovers—past or present—could be responsible for these killings. That reluctance likely had two sources: reluctance to believe any of them capable of cold-blooded murder and fear that she might have missed signs she’d been sleeping with a psycho. I wondered what had so radically changed her mind and asked just that.

She sank back against the wall, an unbearably sad smile touching her lips. “Remember when you said not to expect much from Paul since he didn’t seem the warm-and-fuzzy type?”

I nodded slowly.

“Well, when Penn took me to see him, he acted like a Care Bear hopped up on meth, all sunshine and roses and concern for
us
and what
we’re
going through.”

“Okay, admittedly weird, but how do you get from there to murder?”

“Three things. One: He grilled me for details on the wedding like he actually cared—or was angling for an invite to make it easier to get close to us. Two: He lied to you about the reason he snuck away from his bodyguards that day—Paul hasn’t smoked a day in his life, and in fact, he’s allergic. And three: He knew about the tongues being ripped out—even though we never released that detail to the press.”

AFTER HARPER’S REVELATION, SCOTT AND I left the “happy couple” behind to head to Mass General so we could pay a little visit of our own to Paul Meritton—only to discover he had been released late the previous evening. A detour to his private residence proved no more fruitful—his palatial home stood dark and silent, without the normal hustle and bustle of household staff one would expect such an imposing estate to require. There wasn’t even a single guard working the security gate, which told me all I needed to know.

“He’s in hiding.”

Scott tapped his fingers against the Ferrari’s steering wheel and glanced up at the darkening sky. August afternoons tended to be hot, muggy, and prone to intermittent thunderstorms. From the looks of it, we’d be getting one of those in the next hour or two, which would mean cranking up the convertible’s retractable top. Something we both would put off as long as possible. Neither of us enjoyed being cooped up in steel cages on wheels when we could have the open air hitting our skin instead.

“Think he’d be nuts enough to show up at his office today? Seemed the workaholic type to me.”

I pursed my lips. “Probably not, but that poor assistant of his no doubt did. She can put us in touch with him if nothing else.”

He nodded and whipped the car in the opposite direction. One benefit to Meritton’s excessive wealth: It took less than five minutes to get from his home to his office. Mere mortals might have made the drive in closer to ten. Thankfully, Scott was neither “mere” nor “mortal.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Clara Danvers seemed to be expecting us. She met us at the front desk before the receptionist had a chance to take our names. She murmured something I didn’t quite catch to her fellow employee before turning with a painfully polite smile. “Chief Holloway, Mr. Murphy, how lovely to see you both again so soon, although under such awful circumstances.”

The woman certainly had an excellent memory. Then again, that was what Meritton paid her for. “Indeed. Mr. Meritton is in some ways a very lucky man.”

She nodded. “None of us can believe such a horrible thing happened so close to company premises.”

No need to voice the usual empty platitude that it “could have happened to any of us” since, really, it couldn’t have. One benefit to such a specific killer, I supposed, and the major reason we didn’t have an epidemic of mass terror rampaging through the city. The mortal majority could tuttut about how horrible it all was without actually worrying too much for their own safety.

“No need for worry,” I drawled with a deep sense of irony. “We have patrol cars cruising the area regularly for the foreseeable future.” She gave a remarkably unconcerned nod. “While I took Mr. Meritton’s initial statement in the hospital, I really need to ask him some follow-up questions.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Meritton is taking some long-overdue time off to recuperate from his—ordeal.”

I gave a polite smile of my own but kept my voice hard as steel. “Only to be expected, of course, but it really
is
imperative I speak to him as soon as possible.”

No sign of surprise at my insistence, which meant Meritton had prepared her for this eventuality. Whether because he’d expected he would fall under greater scrutiny as a suspect after becoming the killer’s first (and only) survivor or simply because it seemed likely we’d come up with more questions for him remained to be seen.

“Of course. While Mr. Meritton is currently unavailable in person—as I’m sure you can appreciate—he indicated a willingness to speak with you via videoconference should the need arise.”

Videoconference? Was this guy for real? He expected me to conduct a police interview electronically? Then I remembered the size of the ego I was dealing with, and it got a whole lot more believable.

“You can inform Mr. Meritton that the need
has
arisen, and I can wait while you arrange the
videoconference
. Immediately. I’m sure
he
can appreciate the time crunch we’re under.”

Clara Danvers let her no-nonsense assistant façade slip enough to roll her eyes, as if saying her boss wouldn’t really
appreciate
it but she’d make sure he complied all the same. Within fifteen minutes, she had Scott and me ensconced in a private conference room in front of a sharp-looking laptop computer with built-in webcam. A few clicks of the mouse and keyboard, and Mr. Meritton’s handsome but unappealing face popped onto the screen.

“I’ll just leave the detectives here so you can enjoy your discussion in private, sir.”

He waved her off as imperiously through the Internet as he did in person. Once the door closed behind Clara, he focused his attention on us. Or more specifically, on me.

“Chief Holloway. Have you nailed the bastard who attacked me yet?”

Funny how he managed to make himself seem like the primary victim here when three—make that four—other men had been beaten to bloody death where he’d been barely scratched. An uncharitable thought, but then Paul Meritton didn’t inspire overly charitable emotions. He was an unabashed misogynist to boot, no matter the smooth demeanor he might sometimes affect, with varying degrees of success depending upon his mood. The outward appearance of a crazed, envy-ridden murderer? Perhaps.

“We have the vast majority of our resources working on this case, I can assure you, though we have not yet made any arrests.” No flicker of surprise or even disappointment. “I
do
have a few more questions for you, however.”

He shifted in the high-back black leather chair that was the only feature I could actually make out of his surroundings. “I will be happy to assist in any way possible. The sooner you track this bastard down, the safer I’ll be.”

I figured irony would be wasted on his oversized ego and bit back a sarcastic comment. At least he had one thing right: The sooner I nailed this killer, the safer Harper’s lovers—including Penn and the man seated next to me—would be. As the bout of drunken arm wrestling had so amply demonstrated, I could no longer assume the killer wouldn’t find out—or didn’t already know—about Harper and Scott’s intimate past. Though just thinking the words
intimate past
had me gritting my teeth. Okay, so maybe I was still a little envy-ridden myself.

“First, exactly how long have you been a smoker?”

He blinked. “I—what the hell do my smoking habits have to do with any of this?”

Aha, so I’d cracked his smarmy armor. “Humor me, please. I assure you that your
smoking habits
are relevant to the case.”

Color bloomed in his perfectly chiseled cheeks. Had I never heard his squeaky voice or witnessed his asshole tendencies, I might have found it endearing to see such a gorgeous guy blush. Under the current circumstances, I just found it interesting.

He recovered himself quickly. “I can tell by your tone that you’ve caught me in my little white lie. As I’m sure you’re now well aware, I don’t smoke. It makes me physically ill.”

Kinda like how his attitude made me feel. “Care to explain why you felt the need to tell a ‘little white lie’ to a police detective conducting an active criminal investigation?”

Meritton didn’t skip a beat. “Because the real reason I slipped away from my bodyguards that evening was something I didn’t want
anyone
knowing about.”

Scott moved impatiently beside me but remained silent. Good thing Meritton could see only me in the webcam’s viewfinder.

I vocalized Scott’s impatience, though a bit more diplomatically than he would have managed. “And what activity did you engage in that required such absolute secrecy?”

“Waiting for my supplier.”

My
tongue skipped a few beats while my mind processed that statement. Whoa, wait a minute. Was he actually confessing to a sworn law enforcement officer that he’d been trying to buy
drugs
when the attack—the
alleged
attack—went down? That was just crazy enough to possibly be true. Who would admit illegal drug use to a cop except someone who didn’t want to take the fall for murders they hadn’t committed? Although, as I realized a heartbeat later, this killer might be smart enough to know that was exactly what a cop would think and use that against me.

Merriton must have caught something of my thoughts in my expression because he elaborated before I could ask. “My company enjoys a lucrative partnership with a supplier of experimental, but
not
illegal, pharmaceuticals we expect to be approved by the FDA in the next year or so. We’re just waiting for the final testing to be wrapped up.”

My brow furrowed. “And the reason you had to meet with this legitimate business partner in secret—leaving behind the bodyguards hired to keep you safe—is?”

He gave me a look that suggested I was being naïve. “Come now, Chief. Surely you of all arcanes are familiar with corporate espionage.”

Against my better judgment, I became intrigued. “You mean you feared a competitor might have planted a spy in your security detail?”

Since he was related to most of that security detail, Scott muttered something rude under his breath. Too low for the laptop’s mike to pick up, fortunately.

“It’s not as unlikely a prospect as you seem to think. We’ve uncovered three spies in the scant year of our partnership. Now that approval is all but guaranteed, we anticipate finding even more.”

I had to admit it made sense. Too much sense. My eyes narrowed when something else occurred to me. “Might these experimental, but not illegal, drugs happen to be of a—dual nature?”

His posture stiffened, and he cast the virtual me a suspicious glance. “
Why
would you ask that, Inspector?”