Green-Eyed Envy (30 page)

Oh, so I’d been demoted from “Chief” to “Inspector.” Seemed I struck a nerve.

I leaned forward and made my voice as smooth as silk. “Because, Mr. Meritton, each and every one of the killer’s victims—including yourself—were shot up with the same hybrid drug. An interesting fact, wouldn’t you say? I
do
find one thing even more intriguing, however.”

He eyed me wordlessly, expecting but not asking for further explanation.

“Unlike the others, you received a small enough dose that you were only slightly impaired. In fact, it seems the amount you received served to augment your strength so you could fight off your attacker rather than succumbing to him as the others did.”

“You needn’t remind me just how lucky I was, Inspector.”

Notice how he tries to ignore the hybrid-drug angle.
“Yes. Unbelievably lucky, some might say.”

He pushed back his chair and bared his teeth, visibly showing anger for the first time. “I’m not sure I like whatever it is you’re insinuating.”

“Okay, well then, let me stop insinuating and ask another question instead. How is it you knew what had been done to the other victims’ mouths?”

“How did—Harper. That little bitch.”

Scott growled plenty loud enough for the microphone to catch, but I didn’t object. “That’s Special Agent Cruz, Mr. Meritton, and she’s the wrong species to be properly termed a bitch. But yes, she did let the cat out of the bag—pun very much intended—and I find it
beyond
interesting that you not only have access to large quantities of the exact type of rare hybrid drug used in these murders, but that you also know a detail never released to the press. One that only the killer could have known.” Okay, so I was bluffing a bit about knowing he had the
exact
same hybrid drug as the killer. What he didn’t know could only help me—I mean the investigation.

He was the one to do the teeth-gritting this time as he appeared to consider calling
me
a “little bitch.” Wisely, he fought back that urge. “You’re not pinning this on
me
due to your own raging incompetence.”

Another growl from Scott, though this one had more amusement to it than anger. At least
one
of us found that funny.

“I’ve been called many things over the years, Meritton, but incompetent isn’t one of them.” Two could play the demoted title game. “I’ve also never railroaded
anyone
into confessing to something they haven’t done. You
do
have to admit those two facts I mentioned are rather damning, however.”

“The first fact is hardly damning considering the fact I supply the city morgue with many of its medical supplies. I have several—shall we say friends—working for the ME’s office. As for the second fact . . . ” His face assumed a more calculating expression. Several moments passed before his eyes widened, and he choked out an oath. “That son of a—” He shook his head and considered silently some more.

“Who, Meritton? And what?”

He waved me off much as he had Clara Danvers. Scott made more impatient rumblings next to me, but I just jabbed him into silence, eyes glued onto the laptop screen and Paul Meritton’s beady little eyes, until finally, he spoke again.

“You really
should
look into Pennington Banoub’s romantic past, Chief Holloway.”

Oh, so Chief again, was it? Gods, but this man could turn it on and off like a switch. “Don’t give me that BS, Meritton. I haven’t found a shred of evidence pointing to his involvement, and you’re not going to distract me from the fact
you
seem to have several strikes against you.”

Meritton gave an impatient growl of his own. Not nearly as impressive as Scott’s, but then, not many men were. “Listen to my words carefully. I didn’t say
he
was involved, just suggested you carefully consider
his
romantic past rather than
hers
the way you have been.”

I paused and chewed on his words. So he wasn’t pointing an accusing finger in Penn’s direction merely to save his own ass. That didn’t explain why he was being so blasted cryptic all of a sudden. “Why the circular navigation, Meritton? Why not come right out and say whatever it is you want me to know?”

He tightened his lips into a narrow line before replying. “Because, first of all, I only have suspicions. And because, second of all, if what I suspect is true, my attack was meant as a ruse to get you doing just what you are—considering me a suspect. Next time I will not be so lucky, especially not once you look into what I’ve told you to investigate.”

“If you feel you’re in danger, you need to let me arrange protective custody for you.”

His lips twisted sardonically. “The way you managed to ‘protect’ Ward Rockefeller? No thank you, Chief, I’d rather take my chances.”

I wanted to join the Growlers R Us Club but managed to maintain my dignity. Just barely. “I can have you named an official suspect and arrest you on suspicion of multiple homicides, Meritton.”

He gave a smug little smile. “Good luck finding me. I wouldn’t suggest wasting the MCU’s ‘vast resources’ hunting me down—or trying to anyway—when you would just be playing into the killer’s hands. I have two final pieces of advice: Check on my alibis for the previous attacks to rule me out, and look into that other matter I mentioned.”

“Wait, dammit, don’t hang up yet. What if I need to ask you more questions?”

“Just do what I said for the love of Bast!” He gave an exasperated breath. “I swear by Her name I
did not
kill those other Cats or fake my own attack. And don’t call me—I will call you.”

The screen faded to black, the Internet-age equivalent of an old-fashioned phone slam. I let out a string of colorful curses in both English and Spanish, inspiring an amused chuckle from Scott. I turned my frustration in his direction, but he held his hands up in an
I surrender
gesture.

“What’s so freaking funny, Murphy?”

He bit back another laugh. “Ah, nothing, I just think—”

“Just think
what
? ”

“Okay, you just proved my point perfectly.”

“That might make the slightest bit of sense if I knew what the hell your point
was
. ”

“Cursing in Spanish? You’ve obviously been spending
way
too much time playing the part of Sierra Nieves.”

Damned if he didn’t have a point after all, but he only knew the
half
of it . . .

 

 

WHILE I HATED TO DO THE EXPECTED (OR IN this case, demanded), Meritton’s “advice” had actually been solid. Trinity and Cass agreed to verify the Cat’s alibis for the previous attacks. Scott and I headed for Beverly, Mass., to track down one Jillian Matthews: high school administrator for an all-girls, mixed-race school; card-carrying member of the Bastai; and ex-lover of Pennington Banoub.

Stepping through the doors of Victory Girls’ Prep made me feel unbearably ancient, immortal blood notwithstanding. Perky teenagers bopped to and fro along the halls in an endless line of pristine white blouses and matching plaid skirts. The blinding sameness reminded me of
Attack of the Pod People
until I noticed each girl did her best to show off her individuality through the judicious use of accessories. A lot could be said by the type of headband, necklace, knee socks, or combat boots (yes, really) one chose to wear. Add to that the telltale marks of arcane species like Cats, Hounds, Giants, and—surprisingly—several of the newly freed, pure-blood Sidhe born in captivity like my brother, and the school lost a bit of its scary sameness. Still made me feel depressingly old, though.

The school secretary seemed flabbergasted to have Boston’s one and only Chief Magical Investigator (her words, not mine) show up at their “little school” to speak with Principal Matthews. I did my best to appear professional in the face of her outright fawning when what I
really
wanted to do was scream at her to get the freaking show on the road already. Finally, a five-minute monologue later, she ushered us into her superior’s office.

I had to say, her office was smaller and way less ornate than I’d expected for someone who’d dated a Banoub. Then again, Harper’s taste for designer clothing aside, her office wasn’t what you’d expect, either, and she was getting ready to
marry
a Banoub. When I turned my gaze from the decor and onto the room’s occupant, my surprise grew tenfold. Jillian Matthews was pretty, to be sure, but she stood about six inches shorter and forty pounds heavier than Harper or the typical supermodel type Penn was photographed with.

Which proved that yeah, we all have our preconceived notions and aren’t always as open-minded as we like to think.

The woman stood and crossed the room with a polite but puzzled smile. “Good afternoon, Detectives. I’m Jillian Matthews, Victory Prep’s principal. I trust that none of my girls has gotten into legal trouble.” The fact she
said
it rather than
asked
it spoke of great confidence in her girls or her own competence as principal. Perhaps both.

I waited until the overfriendly secretary shut the door after she exited the office. “Absolutely not, Principal Matthews.”

“Please, call me Jillian. Though I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your names.”

“Marissa Holloway, and this is my associate, Scott Murphy.”

She ushered us to plain but comfortable chairs before reseating herself behind her utilitarian desk. Stacks of paper and other items lined the desk as one might expect of a school principal, but in exceedingly neat and precise order. Not a huge surprise in someone who enjoyed administrating a bustling school the way Jillian Matthews appeared to, I supposed.

“Now, please tell me how
I
can help two of Boston’s finest?”

I didn’t correct her assumption that Scott was a police officer for two reasons: One, the truth might make her more reticent, and two, if I got my way, eventually he
would
become an official member of the MCU. Once Amaya felt up to assuming the position of Shadowhound leader her father groomed her for. Oh, and once I crossed the hurdle of talking Scott into it. Minor details, though.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the murderer preying upon Cats in the city.”

She closed her eyes briefly before meeting my gaze with an expression of genuine sadness. “Of course. I knew one of the men well in high school and still can’t believe he’s gone. So awful for them all.”

I made a mental note of that link. “I find it interesting that you know another man that has been linked to this case. Pennington Banoub. I understand that you might have reason to wish him ill . . . ”

Little lines formed around her eyes and mouth as she made the connection. “If you’re here to suggest
I
might somehow be involved in Penn’s current troubles, then you can just call my attorney to discuss this further. First of all, I’m no fool, and second of all, there’s a nondisclosure agreement in place.”

“Oh no, sorry if that’s the impression I gave. You are in no way a suspect, Jillian, but we
do
need to ask you a few questions about Penn and those past troubles you alluded to. We’re just piecing together the backgrounds of the parties involved in the hopes we can find the right puzzle piece to crack this case. So we can prevent any more high school friends from losing each other too soon.”

Her expression softened somewhat, although she still seemed hesitant. “But the NDA . . . ”

“We have Pennington Banoub’s complete cooperation in this investigation, and I can assure you we’ll keep this conversation in strictest confidence—even from him.”

She let out a pent-up breath. “Well, I would dearly love to help you catch Simon’s killer. Fine, then, ask your questions and I’ll answer if I can.”

“Thank you. First, I’ve heard some details of your breakup with Mr. Banoub, but was hoping to get
your
perspective on the matter. Was he ever—physically abusive during your relationship?”

“Oh, Bast no! Had he even raised a hand to me, things would have ended much sooner than six months. No, he only got violent the once, toward my now-husband, and didn’t touch me.”

Good to know Harper wasn’t marrying a domestic abuser than. A one-time fight brought on by the heat of passion was a much easier pill to swallow than a woman beater. Assuming, of course, that’s how it actually went down.

“Could you tell me about that act of violence? Do you think he came to your place intending to hurt your husband?”

Her blond curls bounced with the force of her head shake. “No, I very much doubt that. He didn’t even know Richard and I had reconciled at that point. Nobody did, not even Richard and me. After I called things off with Penn, Richard and I bumped into each other at a friend’s birthday party, and, well, things between us reignited. We kept it secret at first, just in case things didn’t work out a second time.”

“So Mr. Banoub came to your place unexpectedly, then?”

She nodded. “To get his grandmother’s ring. Richard answered the door instead of me because we’d ordered pizza and I was watching my favorite TV show. Richard’s answering the door set off Penn’s territorial instincts immediately, especially when he saw me on the couch wearing a silk robe that
he
bought for me. When I ran over to the door and he caught my scent mingled with Richard’s, well. Things only escalated from there.”

“He attacked your husband?”

She flushed slightly. “Ah, no, not exactly.”

“Your husband initiated the fight?”

“Well, when Penn showed up unannounced and bristled at him, Richard’s own instincts kicked in. He made a few insulting remarks toward Penn and demanded he leave. When Penn refused and insulted him in turn, I tried to get between them to stop it, but things had gone too far.” She let out another breath and licked her lips. “A stupid part of me found it flattering that two men were willing to go to blows over me, but then reality set in. They nearly killed each other.”