“It looks”—she swallowed hard to ease the tightness of her throat—“as if he was going through her things.”

“And became despondent and took his own life. Everyone at the funeral would testify to how distraught he was. Very nicely staged. Or do you believe he’d actually do this?”

Eve shook her head. “He wanted to make all her hard work worthwhile. He wouldn’t—” She had to get out of here. She turned and headed for the door. “It wasn’t him—somebody else did this.”

“That’s what I thought.” Galen followed her, stopping only to wipe his prints off the lamp and the doorknob while she waited outside. “But the verdict will probably be suicide.”

She drew a deep shaky breath as she reached the street. “We could tell the police about Marie.”

“With no real evidence but those bruises? You didn’t want to believe Marie Letaux’s death wasn’t an accident.”

“I suppose he did go to the bank today,” she said dully.

“I doubt if he’d be dead if he hadn’t discovered the safety-deposit box with the money. He must have had time to look through it, or he wouldn’t have been a threat.”

“He was so young…”

“Yeah, it sucks.” Galen took Eve’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here. If anyone sees us around, they might decide it wasn’t suicide and zero in on us as suspects. You might be above suspicion, but I’m not.”

“Sit down.” Galen pushed Eve into one of the kitchen chairs and put on the kettle.

“I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I’m okay.” She was lying. She wasn’t okay. All she could think about was that beautiful young man who was now no longer beautiful. Pierre, whose years had been cut short in that brutal fashion.

“Then keep me company.” He switched on the stove, then took down the instant coffee. “I’m very sensitive. Blood always upsets me.” She tried to smile. “Liar.”

“I am sensitive. There’s just a layer of scar tissue.” He got down two cups from the shelf and spooned in the coffee. “And blood is… messy. To be spilled only when necessary. There are so many neater ways.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. “That got you. Did you expect me to soothe you? You’re too tough for that.”

“Am I?”

“Sure. Of course, Quinn would probably comfort you. But you wouldn’t take it from me.” He poured boiling water into the cups and sat down across from her. “So take a cup of coffee instead.”

In spite of what he said, he was trying to comfort her. She took a sip. “I’m surprised a gourmet like you would tolerate instant coffee.”

“It was quick.” He leaned back in his chair. “And I can tolerate anything. I’m used to making do.”

“It’s good.” She took another sip. “I… did need it. I guess I’m pretty shaky. I hate death. We fight and we fight and there’s still nothing we can do about it.”

“Sometimes there is. Personally, I intend to live until I’m at least a hundred and fifty. I figure with all the research going on I could still be spry at that age.”

“Pierre was so young. There’s something even more terrible about the young dying.”

“Like your Bonnie.”

“Yes.” Eve looked down into the coffee in her cup. “Like my little girl.” Galen was silent.

Eve drew a shaky breath. “And I hate the monsters who take those youngsters’

lives. I want to reach out and get them by the throat. I want to scream at them how unfair it is for them to steal all those bright, wonderful years away. It’s cruel and ugly— Shit.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Galen was kneeling beside her chair. “Hey, don’t do this to me.” He took her in his arms and rocked her back and forth. “You’re tearing up all my scar tissue.” He felt her stiffen against him, and immediately released her and sat back on his heels.

“Let’s get this straight right now. I’m not trying to take advantage of a bad moment.

It’s my natural instincts again. A woman weeps and I react.” He looked directly in her eyes. “But I know the difference between a vulnerable moment and the real thing. I like you, I respect you, and, if I let myself, I’d find you sexy. But you’re not available. It’s so clear that you might as well be carrying around a sign. So I’m your protector, your friend, and sometimes a shoulder to lean on. Got it?” She smiled shakily. “Got it.”

He smiled. “At least that little misunderstanding accomplished one thing. You’re not crying anymore.” He breathed a theatrical sigh of relief. “I can’t take tears. They lay me low.”

“I’ll remember that. It may come in handy.” She stood up. “I’m going to bed. I have an early start tomorrow.”

Galen looked at his watch. “Tomorrow’s already here. The airport?”

“Hell, no.” She started for the door. “They’re not going to get away with killing that boy. They’re going to pay for it. I’m going to give Victor a face.” Chapter 7

« ^ »

" MAY I COME IN?” GALEN ASKED.

Eve glanced up from the skull. “If you don’t talk to me.”

“Just a few words. Where’s Rick?”

She shrugged. “Around somewhere. He brought me coffee a couple hours ago.

Why?”

“Just checking. He’s usually so attentive he makes me worry about losing my job.”

“He may be attentive, but he’s quiet and unobtrusive. I hardly know he’s around.”

“I doubt you’d notice if he ran around banging on a drum. I can see you’re caught up in the project. I’ve never seen anyone so obsessed.”

“It’s what I do.” Her work had saved her from the depths of despair and helped her keep her sanity after Bonnie had been murdered. It was her salvation and her passion.

“I just thought I’d fill you in on a few things I’ve learned about Bently.”

“I thought you’d already told me everything.”

“Only the obvious. I decided to probe a little deeper. I don’t like to trust the obvious.”

“So what did you find out?”

“He was an ardent environmentalist, very passionate about solar energy and cleaning up the rivers.”

“And?”

“That would make him a target for any number of energy groups. What if he was planning to run on a platform that would step on some very important toes?”

“You’re doing those ‘what ifs’ again.”

“Can’t help it. It’s a game I have to play. It’s my suspicious nature.” Galen smiled.

“But at least you should be relieved that Bently is turning out to be such a sterling character.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s obvious you’ve become so emotionally attached to that skull that it would give you a hell of a lot of satisfaction if Victor turned out to be a good guy.”

“Either way, it won’t stop me from doing my job.” Galen tilted his head and gazed appraisingly at the skull. “You don’t appear very close. He looks like a voodoo doll. What are all those sticks all over his skull?”

“Tissue-depth markers. I cut each marker to the proper measurement and glue it onto its specific area on the face. There are more than twenty points of the skull for which there are known tissue depths.” She carefully placed another marker. “There are anthropological charts that give a specific measurement for each point.”

“Then your work is mostly measurement?”

“No, that’s the donkey work. I take strips of plasticine and apply them between the markers, then build them up to tissue-depth levels. Then I smooth and fill in and work with the skull until I’m satisfied. The last process is the most important. That’s why I can’t look at photographs of the subject. I can’t let even my subconscious be influenced.”

“Well, you’re safe for now. But I’m planning on going down to the newspaper office and getting a photo.”

“Well, keep it ‘til I’ve finished.”

“When will that be?”

“As long as it takes. Five or six more days, maybe.” She glanced at him. “Any news about Pierre?”

“A story on page five of the newspaper about the suicide of Pierre Letaux, who was apparently despondent about the death of his mother.”

“You said the police wouldn’t question it.”