“Don’t let it go to your head.” He pulled a small pad from an inside pocket on his jacket and looked over his notes. “Bixton was a man of regular habits. Up at seven every weekday, according to the maid. Name’s Sheila Navarette—unmarried, thirty-two, lives in. She has his breakfast ready at seven thirty every weekday, and that’s when he arrived to eat it today. Eggs and toast, coffee, apple juice. While he ate, she ran the vacuum downstairs—she does that every damn day—then went to wash up the breakfast things. Passed him on her way to the kitchen about eight fifteen. She thinks he went to his office then because that was his routine, but she didn’t actually see.
“So she cleaned up the kitchen and went upstairs, where she made the bed, tidied up, and collected the laundry. She took that down to the basement. That’s where she was at between nine thirty and ten when the doorbell rang. The doorbell rings on all three floors—basement, first floor, and second floor. She answered the door and showed the visitor in to the senator here in the living room. After determining that they didn’t want coffee or tea, she returned to the basement, where she remained, ironing the senator’s shirts, until she went upstairs to fix lunch around noon and discovered the body.”
He looked up from his notes. There was an odd, mocking gleam in his eyes. “That’s the only visitor the senator had this morning.”
“Are you saying we already have a suspect? Or at least a witness. You have a description? A name?”
“Both.” He consulted his notes again ostentatiously. “Thin, average height, wore a dark gray suit with a white shirt. Pale blue tie. He was not carrying a briefcase or laptop or other object. She estimates his age as between forty and fifty. Dark hair and eyes, large nose, glasses. She hadn’t seen him there before and he didn’t have an appointment, but the senator saw him anyway.”
“And the name?”
Mullins smiled thinly. “Ruben Brooks.”
ELEVEN
AT eight twenty that night Rule heard a car in the alley, followed by the sound of the garage door opening out back. He was in the kitchen, his laptop on the table, his ass in one chair, his feet in another, wearing his headset. “Okay, Andor, thanks. I appreciate your not asking us to wait for the All-Clan.”
“Chad is unemployed at the moment. It is no difficulty for him to fly to D.C.”
“He’ll stay here, of course, and Wythe will pay his airfare.” The Rho of Szøs clan snorted. “You speak for Wythe now as well as Leidolf and Nokolai?”
“My father speaks for Nokolai,” Rule said mildly. He listened to the car pull into the garage, glad that Lily hadn’t worked too late. She’d texted him a couple hours ago not to wait supper on her, which could have meant she’d be home at eight or at midnight. Or later. “No one speaks for Wythe at the moment, but my nadia and the Wythe Council agree that the clan will reimburse others for expenses incurred in this search. Let Walt know how much and who the check should go to—you or your young man—and he’ll send it immediately. You have Walt’s number?”
“Szøs will pay Chad’s expenses,” Andor said gruffly. “It is not good for a clan to be without a Rho. This would be true at any time, but in time of war, we do not bicker over a few dollars.” Andor paused. “Of course, if Chad does turn out to be capable of holding the Wythe mantle, he will no longer be Szøs. Wythe will owe us reparation for the loss of a clan member.”
Rule’s mouth twisted in wry amusement. “A matter you can discuss with the new Rho, if that happens.”
“So I can. T’eius ven, Rule.”
“T’eius ven.” Rule removed the headset and went to unlock the back door for Lily. He swung it open.
She had her key out—because, of course, she never let the guards unlock the door for her. She claimed this was so they’d be free to do their job. He suspected she preferred to pretend they weren’t there. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. “You are not a suspect.”
Amusement lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t think so, no.”
“Even if Croft were willing to put me on an investigation where you were a suspect, Drummond wouldn’t let that stand. But I’d really like to know if it was Dennis Parrott who alibied you.”