your favorite lipstick the king has already determined whether anyone on duty has any information to add to the investigation. If they did, it would have come to me through channels already.”
“Channels?” she questioned. “Are you serious?”
He shrugged. “Protocol. I’ll be given a list of who was on duty and work from there.”
She shook her head and gave a disgusted huff. “This whole thing is going to get buried in bureaucracy. Mired down and unsolved. I just know it.”
Ryan let that go as the car came to a stop, glad to change the subject. Protocol was a sore point with him, but one he had to live with. In this instance, he trusted Lorenzo would make sure he got what he needed. “Here we are.”
His fellow passenger was frowning, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and eyeing the guesthouse now like she might be dreading this. Wait until we get to the morgue, he thought with a reluctant pang of sympathy.
He could keep her from viewing the body if he chose to, but he wanted to see her reaction. It would tell him more about the relationship between Nina and Desmond Caruso than hours of interrogation.
Ryan couldn’t envision Nina Caruso actually killing anyone. If she had anything at all to do with her half brother’s death, she had probably hired it done. And if she had, that would mean Murder One, premeditated, conspiracy, not the crime of passion indicated by the evidence.
God only knew there were plenty of wackos out there greedy enough for a buck to kill anybody anywhere. Though security was fairly tight, someone with a little ingenuity might gain entrance into the palace grounds. Service people came and went, as did numerous tour groups. But Ryan was pretty sure that the victim had known the person who killed him. That narrowed the field considerably. He assisted Nina out of the limo and kept a grip on her elbow as they marched down the pathway that led to the building.
There was no yellow-tape boundary visible out here to mar the beauty of the fairy-tale setting. Outside, all looked right with the world in happily-ever-after land.
“This is it,” he announced. On the door was a discreet sign clearly printed with Entrance Forbidden in both English and Italian.
Ryan pushed the doorbell and heard the muted chime inside. The door opened almost immediately. Joe Braca, built like a refrigerator, dressed impeccably in silk suit and tie, gave them that little leaning-forward nod with head inclined that Italians used when they wanted to look subservient or greeted ladies they wanted to impress.
“Good morning,” he said, his dark gaze roving over Nina as if she had answered his call to an escort service. Natural for Joe, of course.
“This is Nina Caruso, the victim’s half sister. She just flew in early this morning. Nina, Joseph Braca, my right-hand man.” Ryan called them both that, Joe and Franz. Truth was, they were a crackerjack duo and he was being sincere.
Joe effected his most sympathetic smile and took the hand Nina offered. “I am so sorry for the loss of your brother, Ms. Caruso,” he said gently.
“Thank you, Mr. Braca,” she replied, her gaze slipping past him to the foyer and a partial view of the living room.
Joe stepped back and allowed them to enter. He glanced at Nina’s back, then raised an eyebrow at Ryan in unspoken question.
“You know the drill,” Ryan ordered. “Get Franz going on the computer. You make the calls.”
“Yes, sir,” Joe agreed, fully understanding who the subject of inquiries would be. “I’ll phone you tonight if anything turns up.”
“You’ll phone me in either case,” Ryan said. “Before six o’clock.”
Braca nodded. Ryan passed him and followed Nina to the arched entrance to the living room where she had stopped. She was staring at the stain, black on the patterned Persian carpet. Her eyes were wide and her face bone-white.
“Th-that’s where it happened?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“Yes. Tests confirm he was struck with a statuette that was found sitting on the credenza there.” Ryan pointed. “He died instantly. One of the sharp edges made contact with the left temple area. If it had struck anywhere else, it probably would only have knocked him unconscious.”
“So it wasn’t planned.” she guessed.
“Probably wasn’t,” Ryan said, not certain of that by any means. Maybe whoever had hit him had fully intended to beat him to death with the thing and had hit a home run on the first swing.
She started to walk into the room but Ryan caught her arm. “Not yet,” he told her. “I’ve ordered Forensics to make a final sweep before anyone else goes in. We can walk around back. That could have been the point of entry.”
“Someone broke in?” she asked as she walked back to the front door.
“No sign of it. The French doors to the patio were probably open. Either that, or Desmond knew the killer well enough to invite him or her in the front door.”
She picked up on the pronouns. “Her? You think it could have been a woman?”
He shrugged. “Entirely possible.” In fact, Princess Samira Kamal of Tamir, Desmond’s former lover, had said in her statement that when she’d dropped by to see him a couple of weeks ago, Desmond had been getting cozy with an unidentified woman.
Farid Nasir, the princess’s bodyguard, had threatened Desmond’s life publicly. Fortunately for Farid, he had an ironclad alibi, as did the princess herself.
Rumor had it those two had just revealed they were married. Ryan had already decided he needed to interview Samira again to determine just what her relationship with the victim had really entailed and how Farid figured into the equation.
They might not be guilty, but they could have useful information that they hadn’t given the police.
“Let’s go,” he said, placing his hand at Nina Caruso’s back to usher her out. Touching her was a mistake. She tensed beneath his palm as a current passed between them. Not a good sign at all, and Ryan was sure she felt it, too. Still, he didn’t break the connection. He didn’t want to think about why that was.
The three of them went out the front, Joe closing and locking the door behind them as they headed around the side of the building. Ryan guided her past the tiny, landscaped fishpond that decorated the garden directly in back of the dwelling.
There were large windows in the living room that allowed a broad view of the garden. Conversely, anyone interested would have a terrific view of those rooms from the garden if the lights were on. French doors between the windows allowed access into the room.
“It looks so…safe,” Nina murmured, staring into the room where the murder had taken place. She moved out of his reach and walked over, almost touching the glass-paned doors that were now shut, a yellow band taped across them.
She stooped a bit and examined the levers that served as door handles. Ryan watched, thinking idly how much he missed the land of round doorknobs. But he wouldn’t go back there. Not for anything.
What was she thinking about? he wondered. Was she bemoaning the loss of a brother,
