bright-eyed illusions of a happy family from his desktop.
– – –
“Where is she?” Brady demanded as the door opened.
The stoic guardian blocking the way into the elegant Business District suite never blinked. “Hello, Daddy. Nice to see you. You looked good on television.”
He bulldozed by Olivia, shouting, “Genevieve! You can’t hide from me!”
“Hide?” A sleek figure swathed in rippling Givenchy silk and perfume emerged from the next room. “Warren, dear, I have nothing to hide from.” His hope that she was ignorant of the events in his office ended with her soft, “But you did and should have.”
He didn’t try to defend himself. “I need your help.”
She glided over to the sideboard to pour a hefty glass of bourbon which he took in less than steady hands, bolting it down. “A little late to come for advice, now that this is a clean-up situation rather than a repair.”
Seeing his power crumbling, Brady scrambled in an attempt at damage control. “I can still be of use to you. I know these beasts you’re struggling to suppress. I can earn back your trust, help with your final solution. I have contacts and influence—”
She smiled, the gesture reminiscent of Karen Crawford’s condescending smirk. “The Terriots have proven to be rather wily and persistent enemies. You underestimated them. I will not. I can’t let them use you as a weapon against me. Once you’re out of the way, they’ll see no need to risk their safety on pointless retribution.”
His shoulders rose and crumpled in defeat. “Send me North, Genevieve. I’m ready to escape this place and these lowly creatures.”
“I agree. I’m not unmerciful.” She studied him for a long moment then promised, “I’ll arrange things.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
News reached Cee Cee at her desk as a slow-rising tide of excited whispers surged into a tsunami of chaos. She glanced at her partner, who shrugged as the wave swept toward them.
If she hadn’t been sitting down, she’d have been swept away. Gripping the uniform’s sleeve before he could carry the mind-blanking news any farther, she demanded, “Where did they find him?”
“In his home office.”
She and Babineau exchanged wide-eyed looks as the messenger continued his tidal surge down the row of desks.
“Suicide? That’s nice and neat.”
She nodded, too stunned to process the fact of Warren Brady’s ignominious death. She and Babineau joined the group clustering around a fellow detective’s desk. Eyes widened as they watched a replay of Karen Crawford’s interview as unidentified callers ripped through their former commissioner with fierce intent, their words composing his death warrant before the court had its chance to try him.
Justice swift and sure. And final.
Before they could speculate farther, a call brought the partners to Atcliff’s office.
“Caissie, you’re Officer in Charge since Babineau was a potential witness. Keep his contribution minimal. Dovion is on scene. Handle this,” he charged, tone grim, expression unblinking. “Lock it down. Contain it and wrap it quickly. No loose ends. No mistakes. No speculation. Don’t give the press anything else to feed on.”
“Yes, sir,” Babineau answered for them.
– – –
The main drive of the Garden District home was filled with official vehicles while press clogged the street and sidewalks. A beat cop directed them to one of the few remaining parking spots with a philosophical, “Get ready for the shit show.”
The halls of the mansion were bustling with various personnel. News media had yet to penetrate the active scene. Cee Cee paused at the wide staircase where a stoic Ophelia Brady sat within the curl of her mate/husband’s arm. When Cee Cee bent close to express condolences, she was met by a clear-eyed stare.
“We need to talk, Detective Caissie.”
“Did you witness what happened?” Images of her own father’s violent death blasted through her memory, threatening her calm façade. She wouldn’t wish that on this lovely innocent.
Ophelia shook her head, clarifying, “I called it in.”
When the detectives glanced at Kip, he said, “I wasn’t here. Phe called me after she reported it.”
Gently, Babineau asked the young woman, “Were you in the home at the time, Miss Brady?”
“No. I found him . . . that way. After.”
Cee Cee nodded. Good. One less complication. “Did you enter the room or touch the body?” She didn’t need to explain the complexity of the question. Did you compromise the scene?
Ophelia took a shaky breath. “No. I could tell from the doorway there was nothing I could do.”
Smart girl. “Have you been interviewed yet?”
“Briefly by the first men on the scene, but not officially.”
“Okay.” Cee Cee pressed one of her cold, still