yet. We were hoping you’d be able to help us with that. Thought you might know if he had any enemies, or if there’s been recent trouble in his life.”
She slowly shook her head. “If Steve was having problems he didn’t mention them to me. We didn’t have the sort of relationship that...we weren’t very close.”
“He’d listed you as his next of kin,” Hank Ballantyne said.
“Well, yes, I’m...I was the closest relative he had in the city. But...” Celeste paused. Even at the best of times, it was hard to explain that she barely knew her own brother.
“Steve’s father was my mother’s first husband,” she continued. “After they’d divorced and she married my father, before I was even born, Steve went to live with his father. So he wasn’t around much while I was growing up. And since he was fifteen years older than me...”
“I understand,” Travis Quinn said, sounding so much as if he truly did that she tried to smile at him.
It didn’t feel like much of a smile, but it was the best she could manage.
Then Hank Ballantyne was saying, “Ms. Langley, it’s possible your brother had a female visitor shortly before he was killed. So just for the sake of elimination, I have to ask if you were in his apartment last night.”
“No. I haven’t been in his apartment since...not since our mother’s birthday, back in March. And I wasn’t anywhere last night. I mean, I was right here. Working.”
“On a Saturday night?”
“Yes. I’m a freelance editor, and I have a deadline looming.”
The detective nodded. “Okay, then getting back to your brother, when was the last time you saw him?”
“A few weeks ago. Our mother died in July, and after her service we decided we wanted to work on building more of a relationship. Neither of us had other siblings, so... Well, we had dinner together around the start of September and were going to make it a monthly date, but now...I...would you excuse me for a minute?”
She pushed herself up and headed to the bathroom, her tears making good their escape before she reached it.
Normally, she wasn’t a crier. Her father had come from stiff-upper-lip English stock, and she’d learned early to conceal her emotions—especially from strangers. But first her mother’s death, and now learning that Steve’s life had been cut short, too...
They might not have been close, but that didn’t mean she’d had no feelings for him. And the thought of someone murdering him had her completely torn up inside.
Leaning against the closed door, she stood with her eyes shut until she’d more or less regained her composure. Once she had, she splashed cold water on her face, wondering whether those detectives figured she was a basket case—then trying not to think she really might be.
Telling herself she was simply into emotional overload, she checked her image in the mirror and combed her fingers through her hair.
She looked as awful as she felt, as if she needed a month’s sleep. But before she could try to get even one night’s she was going to have to finish talking to those detectives.
Squaring her shoulders, she opened the bathroom door and walked back to the living room.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “My self-control is usually better.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Travis Quinn said. “It’s awful news to get hit with. And we won’t bother you anymore while you’re so upset. But if you’d just tell us one more thing?”
She nodded.
“With your mother and brother dying so close in time... Detective Ballantyne and I were wondering if there could be any connection between their deaths. So if you’d just explain how your mother died?”
That was hard to talk about, but she managed to say, “She was struck by a car. On Madison. The driver’d run a light and kept on going after he hit her. As far as I know, they haven’t caught him.”
Both detectives mumbled sympathetic responses, then rose.
“We’ll want to talk to you again,” Travis Quinn said. “Can we reach you here during the day?”
“Usually. Now and then, there’s some reason for me to be at a publisher’s. But I normally work here.”
He nodded, then took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “My cell phone’s always on. If you think of anything that might help us with your brother’s case, anything at all...”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course.”
* * *
“JUST WHAT WE FIGURED,” Travis said after he and Hank had left Celeste Langley’s apartment and were heading down the stairs. “There’s not a chance in the world she’d ever murder anyone.”
“Oh?” His partner shot him a questioning look. “You’re sure about that?”
“You’re not?”
“How tall would you say she is?”
“Five-five? Five-six?”
“Right. Average height. Wearing heels, she’d be maybe five-eight. And don’t forget that Parker let his killer in. It was someone he trusted, someone he’d never have expected to shoot him.”
“It wasn’t her,” Travis said firmly.
Hank shrugged. “I’d have liked a chance to check her closet for a gray trench coat. And a big black purse.”
“A gray trench coat and a big black purse. Oh, yeah, I bet there aren’t more than two or three women in the entire city who’d have both those items.”
“Your sarcasm could use work,” Hank told him. “Besides, our wit said it might have been a briefcase. And an editor would have a briefcase. Right?”
Travis ignored the question, but he was wishing he’d asked Celeste if anyone could corroborate her statement about being at home last night.
It hadn’t been the time or place for that, though. The department didn’t run sensitivity courses so their detectives would inform a woman that her brother had been murdered in one breath and make her feel like a suspect in the next.
Still, he’d sure like to know if she had anyone to back up her alibi.
He waited until they were getting into the car before he said, “You don’t really think she could have done it.”
Hank pulled his door shut, then looked across the front seat. “Well, she’s blond, thirty years old, and I’d say the word stylish fits her. Then we’ve got the mother dying so recently—in an accident. If it turns out that Ms. Langley had anything to gain from those two deaths...”
“Hank, you’re—”
“You
