"That would only worsen the situation."

"She's entitled to know."

Summerset set the snifter down, and his voice was as stiff as his spine. "I see where your loyalties lie, Roarke."

"Do you?" Roarke murmured as Summerset left him alone. "Do you really?"

Eve slept in her office suite, and slept poorly. She didn't care that her deliberate avoidance of Roarke was petty. She needed the distance. Well before eight she was at Cop Central. After toying with a bagel the consistency of cardboard and coffee that bore too close a relationship with raw sewage, she shot off a transmission to Peabody with orders to report to Interview Room C.

Prompt as a palace guard, Peabody was already in the small tiled and mirror-walled room checking the recording equipment when Eve came in. "We've got a suspect?"

"Yeah, we've got one." Eve filled a pitcher from the water distiller herself. "Let's try to keep a cork in it until the interview's wrapped."

"Sure, but who…" Peabody trailed off when a uniform brought Summerset and Roarke to the door. Her eyes darted to Eve's, rounded. "Oh."

"Officer." Eve nodded to the uniform. "You're dismissed. Roarke, you can wait outside, or in my office."

"Summerset is entitled to representation."

"You're not a lawyer."

"His representative isn't required to be."

She had to consciously unclench her jaw. "You're making this worse."

"Perhaps." He sat, folding his hands on the scarred table, an elegant presence in an unfriendly room.

Eve turned to Summerset. "You want a lawyer," she said, spacing her words carefully. "Not a friend."

"I dislike lawyers. Nearly as much as I dislike cops." He sat as well, his bony fingers hitching the knees of his trousers to preserve the knife-edge pleats.

Eve thrust her hands into her pockets before she could pull at her hair. "Secure the door, Peabody. Recorder, engage." Taking a deep breath, she began. "Interview with Summerset – Please state your full name for the record."

"Lawrence Charles Summerset."

"Interview with Summerset, Lawrence Charles re case number 44591-H, Thomas X. Brennen and case number 44599-H, Shawn Conroy. Homicides. The date is November seventeen, twenty fifty-eight, time is oh eight hundred point three hours. Present are subject; his chosen representative, Roarke; Peabody, Officer Delia; and Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, conducting interview. Subject has come into Interview voluntarily."

Still standing, she recited the revised Miranda. "Do you understand your rights and obligations, Summerset?"

"Perfectly."

"And you waive legal representation at this time?"

"That's correct."

"What was your connection with Thomas Brennen and Shawn Conroy?"

Summerset blinked once, surprised she'd shot straight to the heart. "I knew them, casually, when I lived in Dublin."

"When was that?"

"Over a dozen years ago."

"And when was the last time you saw or spoke with Brennen?''

"I couldn't say precisely, but at least a dozen years ago."

"Yet you were in the Luxury Towers only days ago, the day of Brennen's murder."

"Coincidence," Summerset stated with a quick and belligerent lift of his shoulder. "I had no knowledge that he resided there."

"What were you doing there?"

"I've already told you that."

"Tell me again. For the record."

He hissed out a breath, poured water from pitcher to glass with a steady hand. In flat tones he repeated everything he'd told Eve the night before.

"Will Ms. Morrell verify your appointment with her?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise."

"Maybe you can explain to me why the security cameras caught you in the lobby, walking to the elevators, getting in, and yet there is no visual record of you exiting the building by that route at the time you claim to have left. Or, for that matter, any other time that day."

"I can't explain it." He folded his perfectly manicured hands again and stared her down. "Perhaps you didn't look carefully enough."

Eve had reviewed the tape six times through the night. Now, she pulled up a chair and sat. "How often have you visited the Luxury Towers?"

"It was my first visit there."

"Your first," she said with a nod. "You've had no occasion to visit Brennen there before?"

"I had no occasion to visit Brennen there at any time, as I was unaware he lived there."

He answered well, she thought, carefully, like a man who'd skimmed his way through Interview before. She spared a glance at Roarke, who sat silently. Summerset's official record would be clear as a baby's, she imagined. Roarke would have seen to it.

"Why would you leave by an unsecured exit on the day of his death?"

"I did not leave by an unsecured exit. I left the way I came in."

"The record shows otherwise. It clearly shows you coming in. There is no record of you exiting the elevator on the level where you claim Ms. Morrell lives."

Summerset waved one of his thin hands. "That's ridiculous."

"Peabody, please engage and display evidence disc one-BH, section twelve for subject's examination."

"Yes, sir." Peabody slipped the disc into a Play slot. The monitor in the wall flickered on.

"Note the time display at the bottom right of the recording," Eve continued as she watched Summerset walk in and through the attractive lobby of the Luxury Tower. "Stop disc," she ordered when the elevator doors shut behind him. "Continue play, section twenty-two. Note time display," she repeated, "and the security label that identifies this area as the twelfth floor of the Luxury Towers. That is the floor in question?"

"Yes." Summerset's brows drew together as he watched the recording. The elevator doors did not open, he did not walk out. A cool line of sweat dribbled down his spine as time passed. "You've doctored the disc. You tampered with it to implicate me."

Insulting son of a bitch. "Oh, sure. Peabody'll tell you I spend half my time on a case screwing with the evidence to suit myself." Temper just beginning to brew, Eve rose again, leaned on the table. "Trouble with that theory, pal, is this is the original, straight out of the security room. I worked with a copy. I've never had my hands on the original. Peabody collected the security discs."

"She's a cop." Summerset sneered it. "She'd do what you ordered her to do."

"So now it's a conspiracy. Peabody, hear that? You and I tampered with the evidence just to make Summerset's life tough for him."

"You'd like nothing better than to put me in a cage."

"At this particular moment, you couldn't be more right." She turned away then, until she was certain her rapidly rising temper wouldn't rule her head. "Peabody, disengage disc. You knew Thomas Brennen in Dublin. What was your relationship?"

"He was simply one of many young men and women I knew."

"And Shawn Conroy?"

"Again, he was one of many young people I knew in Dublin."

"When was the last time you were in the Green Shamrock?"

"I have never, to my knowledge, patronized that establishment."

"And I suppose you weren't aware that Shawn Conroy worked there."

"I was not. I wasn't aware that Shawn had left Ireland."

She hooked her thumbs in her pockets, waited a beat. "And naturally, you haven't seen or spoken to Shawn Conroy in a dozen years."

"That's correct, Lieutenant."

"You knew both victims, you were on the site of the first murder on the day of Brennen's death, you have, thus far, offered no alibi that can be substantiated for the time of either murder, yet you want me to believe there is no connection?''

His eyes locked coldly on hers. "I don't expect you to believe anything but what you choose to believe."

"You're not helping yourself." Furious, she snagged the token she'd found on Shawn Conroy's nightstand from her pocket, tossed it on the table. "What's the significance of this?"