Trey Ziegler, administered an illegal substance to your wife, without her knowledge, and while she was under the influence of same, raped her.”
Schubert’s smooth, handsome face hardened. “Yes.”
“And when did you become aware of these circumstances?”
“This afternoon. Catiana contacted me, told me I needed to come home as soon as possible. I came home—by one-thirty—and Tella told me what had happened.”
“I thought I’d cheated.” Tears swirled in Martella’s eyes. “I thought I’d cheated on Lance, and I couldn’t understand how I could have. I tried to tell myself it was just an awful mistake, just sex, and at a weak moment, but it made me sick inside. Then you contacted me, and told me there’d been something in the tea, that he’d put something in the tea he’d given me, and . . .”
“She fell apart,” Catiana said. “I was here, and when she got off the ’link, she went to pieces. She told me everything, and when she was calm enough, I told her what had happened with me. I gave her a soother and got in touch with Lance.”
“You also worked with Ziegler,” Eve said to Schubert. “You had no indication prior to today of this incident with your wife?”
“None. I wouldn’t have thought of it, considered it. I knew something was wrong. You’ve been trying too hard,” he murmured to Martella. “I knew there was something, but I never considered . . . If I had, if I’d known what he did, I’d have killed him.”
“Lance!”
“I’d have killed him,” he repeated, his voice stone cold, a mirror of his eyes. “I’d have beaten him to pulp with my own hands. I wish I could. She’s naive, kind, trusting,” he said to Eve. “He took advantage of all of that, and the fact that we’d had a stupid fight, and I went out of town on business before we’d resolved it. He raped my wife. I’d have gone after him, and I’d have beaten him into the ground for it.”
“Did you go to his apartment?”
“I don’t even know where it is. But I’d have found out. No,” he corrected, fury alive in every word. “No, I’d have gone to where he works, where he’s so proud of himself, where he preens and struts, and I’d have taken him apart, in public. Humiliated and hurt him, the way he humiliated and hurt my wife. He raped her, then he extorted money from her. I didn’t kill him, more’s the pity. But I’d shake the hand of the person who did.”
“I should never have let him come here. I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re not to blame.” Schubert turned his wife toward him, took her shoulders gently. “You’re not to blame for this, for any of it.” He drew Martella in, looked at Eve. “She’s not to blame.”
“No,” Eve agreed, “she’s not. There were others, Martella. We’re finding a lot of others. They’re not to blame, either.”
She let it all circle in her mind on the drive home, hoping she’d find a solid place for a theory to land. But the ground remained too soft.
Too many people, she thought, with too many motives. Alibis that she imagined could be toppled or at least shaken with enough of a push.
Maybe it was the season of goodwill toward men—not that she’d found that ever held fast—but with Ziegler ill will seemed the primary emotion.
And damn it, she felt some ill will of her own. She wanted to shut the door on the investigation—and the killer—tie it all up so she could enjoy the festivities, the holiday, the lights, the tree, the time with Roarke.
Throughout her childhood Christmas had been empty or painful or just lacking. A day other kids rushed out of bed to tear off paper and ribbon and find shiny dreams realized.
Until she’d been eight, her best gift had been if her father had been too drunk to knock her around. Or worse.
And after she’d killed Richard Troy—to save herself from the “or worse”—she’d been no one’s child. A foster, an add-on, a token. Part of that was probably her own attitude, she admitted as she drove through the gates. But she’d had pretty bad luck in the system. State school had been bland and gray, but easier.
But now, she had home—as bright and shiny as it got. She had Roarke, the epitome of all gifts. And for reasons that often baffled her, she had friends. More than she sometimes—most times—knew what to do with, but they’d added dimension to her life while