“As you said, he was an asshole. Also, Holly wasn’t the only woman he was sleeping with.”
“How do you know that?” Bree asked.
“Because after I moved out, I went right to a lawyer. He wanted to document Paul’s cheating and hired a private investigator.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Matt watched Angela Beckett’s eyes. She was playing them, or at least she thought she was. He had been trying to keep an open mind until she’d confessed about the lawyer and PI. If her story was true, then Paul had deserved to be taken to the cleaners. But Angela seemed more calculated about the divorce than she was pretending to be. She hadn’t been shocked to find out Paul was cheating, he reminded himself. She’d been angrier that he’d stopped being discreet about his affairs. She was more concerned about her reputation than her marriage.
“Who did your attorney hire?” he asked.
“Sharp Investigations.” Angela opened her purse and pulled out a business card. “I worked with Lance Kruger and Lincoln Sharp.”
Matt waved it away. “No need. I know them.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. She didn’t like that he knew Lance and Sharp.
Bree continued to pressure her. “Did the investigators find out who Paul had been sleeping with?”
Angela studied her tissue. “It wasn’t just one woman. There were many just in the few weeks he followed Paul. I have to assume there were many more before that.”
“Did you know any of the women personally, other than Holly?” Bree asked.
Angela dabbed at her eye, covering her face. “I didn’t even look at the list.”
Right.
Matt didn’t believe that for a second. “The investigators didn’t give you a report?”
Instead of answering, Angela said, “I didn’t want to know the details. Paul was clearly not in a relationship. He was whoring around.” She shuddered. “I went to the doctor that week and got tested for everything. God only knows what kind of diseases he exposed me to.”
Bree tapped her pen on the paper. “If I were you, I would have wanted to know everything. I would be plenty angry, and I’d want to get even.”
“I’m not a violent person.” Angela’s gaze dropped to Bree’s gun. She shook her hair off her face. “I’d like to go now. Last night was a terrible shock.”
“We’d like a copy of the investigators’ reports,” Bree said. “To verify your statement.”
Angela hesitated.
Bree continued. “Unless you’ve been less than truthful.”
“Or you have something to hide,” Matt added.
“I don’t,” Angela snapped. She breathed, clearly weighing the risks and benefits. “I’ll forward you the reports.”
After she potentially altered them?
Bree shook her head. “We’d need them directly from Sharp Investigations.”
Sharp Investigations would have photos and detailed data about Paul’s movements and liaisons. No matter how much the sheriff’s department preferred gathering all information themselves, they couldn’t re-create surveillance on a man who was now dead.
Generally, facts that pass from a PI to an attorney are covered under the attorney’s client privilege. If Angela had hired the PIs directly, that wouldn’t necessarily have been the case. Either Angela was smart or she had an excellent divorce attorney. Maybe both. The sheriff’s department would have a hard time getting the document without her consent.
Angela’s words became measured. “Then I’ll call my lawyer and have him give the investigator permission to forward you that information.”
But not everything.
“Thank you. I have only a few more questions,” Bree said. “Who benefits financially from Paul’s death?”
“I don’t know.” Angela looked up, her gaze sharpening. “He doesn’t have a will. I tried to drag him to an estate planner years ago, but he refused to consider the fact that he could die. Thankfully, I have my own money, family money in a trust that Paul couldn’t touch. I’m not wealthy, but I’ll survive.” She let go of the water bottle and sat back, her hands falling into her lap. “I guess I’ll have to contact an estate attorney.”
Matt knew the answer, but he kept quiet. In the state of New York, assets would be divided by a set formula between the spouse and children. It wouldn’t all automatically go to the wife, although the distribution would be far easier than in a divorce, unless the business ended up in bankruptcy.
She straightened her shoulders and reached for a small purse on the chair next to her. “Are we finished?”
“Almost,” Bree said. “Was there anyone else who might want Paul dead?”
Angela gripped her purse in her lap. Her knuckles were white. She looked ready to bolt. “Holly’s husband, the husbands of other women Paul might have slept with.”
Bree made