raised hand before he could speak. “Who, Ophelia?”
“I know things,” she said quietly. “I always have. My sister and I have always shared an unusual bond, psychic twins, I guess. I know when she’s near. I can feel her. My sister, Olivia, killed our father for Genevieve Savorie, just as she did our mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After dodging reporters and co-workers alike through the lunch hour, Devlin Dovion thumbed through his collection of show tunes looking for an appropriate soundtrack for his celebrity guest star. He smiled. Chicago. Rubbing at his bad knee after being on his feet all morning, he turned away from his vintage CD player to gown up. Smiling as the chorus of “He had it coming” began, he turned, coming face-to-face with an unexpected visitor.
“Christ on a Cracker, Savoie, you nearly put me on one of my own tables!”
“Sorry. Charlotte always threatens to put a bell on me.”
Giving his heart rate time to decelerate, Dovion glanced around to make sure they were alone. “You can’t be here.”
“Do you have a minute before you get started? It’s important.”
“I can’t discuss this case with you. You know better.”
“I do, and this isn’t that, at least not directly. This is personal.” Meaning that someone foremost in both their hearts.
“Only a minute.”
Max accepted that warning with a nod and followed Dovion to his chaotic office where pictures of his family and Charlotte Caissie were prominent. He took the uncomfortable chair he was directed to.
“Is this about the baby?”
The concern in the other man’s voice eased Max’s tension. “No. Something else. You know Charlotte better than just about anyone, and I trust you to keep a confidence for her sake, not my own.”
“You know I will. She’s family. Like one of my own kids.”
“There are so few folks she’s let herself love.”
“And this involves one of them.” When Max nodded, Dovion prompted, “Are you going to make me guess?”
“Warren Brady and Carmen Blutafino have been robbing, terrorizing and extorting the city for decades.”
“That’s not news anymore.” Worry clouded the ME’s gaze as he waited for the other Italian loafer to drop.
“Byron Atcliff is involved with them. He killed Tommy Caissie to earn his way in.” After a long moment passed and Dovion had yet to blink, Max added, “The man she calls her uncle murdered her father to keep him from testifying. And he also killed a witness who knew of his involvement in one of her current cases. How can I tell her that, especially now?”
Dovion exhaled in a rush then grew somber. “You’re certain of this?”
“Yes. Both a witness to Pomerelli’s murder and Simon Cummings confirmed it. What am I supposed to do? Tear down the only thing she believes in?”
The ME slumped back in his chair to consider the question. After a pensive moment, he replied, “That’s not quite true, Max. She believes in you, and she believes in the law and the work she’s doing for the citizens of this city. To discover Atcliff is a false god will be a blow, both personally and professionally, but she’ll survive it and be stronger for it. She has us to support her. Will she blame the messenger? If that worries you, it shouldn’t.”
Max exhaled, the shoulders of his immaculately fitted suit drooping, looking as uncertain and helpless as he had over a barbeque grill in Alain Babineau’s driveway the first time they’d met, at a loss with the mysteries of human emotion. “Being with me has made her life difficult enough.”
“No.” Dovion laughed, shaking his wiry haired head. “Being with you brought the shades of gray she needs into her to life, instead of just rigid black and white. She’s found the compassion a good public servant needs to be righteous instead of always right. You supporting her makes that easier. But to find out you’ve hidden something this important to protect her, now that she won’t take well. And I wouldn’t want to be you if that happens.”
Knowing Dovion was right didn’t make what he had to do any easier for Max as he sat in the luxurious backseat of his town car staring at her name on his phone as her voice requested he leave a message.
“I know you’re extremely busy, Detective, but I need a moment of your time. Call me.”
– – –
The only bright spot in Cee Cee’s hectic day was notification that Kinesha Jones was awake and able to answer brief questions. As Babineau drove, their conversation was necessarily grim.