Evidence of Murder

think he would have reappeared in a hurry.”

“Andrew said if the soldier story was true, Jillian wouldn’t have kept it a secret. She would have been able to tell us something about him, what he did, where he was from. A name, at least.”

“Jillian invented him to make everyone around her feel better?”

“She never could lie. She was terrible at it.”

“She didn’t say anything else about him?”

“It’s hard-” Barbara took a deep breath. “But I have to conclude that she didn’t tell us anything about him because she didn’t know anything about him. He was a one-night stand. Or a client.”

Or a pimp.

Or what she did know was so bad that Jillian gave up child support in order to stay away from him. Could that have gotten her killed? Some secret from her past that had nothing to do with Evan, or Cara’s money?

In any event…Theresa chose her words carefully. “Evan has had to apply to the courts for guardianship of Cara since he was not married to Jillian at the time of Cara’s birth and makes no claim to be her parent.”

Barbara responded with what seemed to be equal caution. “Yes?”

She was probably going to get sued anyway, so she might as well do what she had been accused of. “You and Mr. Perry are the baby’s next of kin.”

“We can’t take her.”

“Of course that would be a huge decision-”

Barbara didn’t ask why she’d brought it up, or seem to take any offense at the topic. “I know she’s our granddaughter, and no matter what, I’ll love her. But we can’t go back to raising a child. My husband wants to take early retirement next year and the income will be fixed.” Now she did stand, dismissing the idea with a stilted wave. “I know what you’re going to say, that Cara comes with her own funding, but it’s not the money.”

“About Cara’s account…was your husband angry when Jillian’s grandparents left the money to her?”

The implications of this question went right over Barbara’s head. “No, that’s what I mean-it’s not the money, it’s the time. When my husband retires we’ll finally have time for ourselves, maybe travel while we’re still young enough to keep up with a group. I know that sounds horribly selfish.”

“It doesn’t.”

“But I did my job. I just can’t do it over again. Even with all the money and help in the world-” Her eyes grew wet. “I just can’t. I’m too old, and I’m too tired.”

“I understand perfectly. Thank you for your time, and again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Out in the parking lot, Theresa waited for the engine to warm up. A couple strolled on the sidewalk in front of her, a young man and woman, each carrying a matching Tiffany glass lamp. They must have been happy with the purchase; they stopped to congratulate each other with a kiss.

She hadn’t thought of Paul all morning, and, as if the feelings had accumulated in the meantime, like held mail, longing and abject pain rushed through her now. Her stomach had begun to sink with her visit to Stone’s office and continued through the up-close-and-personal visit with Barbara Perry and her loss. Now it did its best to shrink into her spine, while her lungs froze up in that limbo that comes before a sob.

Oh, Paul.

Was life ever going to seem good again?

Stop. Focus. Concentrate on the work. Did I learn anything from the interview? Only that Jillian had been healthy, and her princess Cara would not be rescued from the castle’s turret by her grandparents.

Not that Theresa found that difficult to understand. Would I want to raise Rachael’s kids? Hell, no.

Though it would be different if Rachael’s child lay beneath a suspended sword, ready to fall from its thread the moment Evan became her official next of kin. But of course she couldn’t tell Barbara Perry that, because she couldn’t prove it.

Yet.

CHAPTER 19

“Thank you for seeing me.” Theresa gathered her purse and her coat and stood up with as much grace as she could muster carrying these heavy accoutrements. Normally grace did not register on her list of priorities, but something about the muted colors and pristine leather of the firm’s waiting room prompted her to awaken her inner Emily Post. The offices of the venture capital firm Cannon, Jennings, and Chang made Barbara’s antiques shop look like a garage sale.

Mr. Cannon led her through the well-appointed hallways to his office, which bulged with enough expensive good taste to cap off the tour. She had stopped noticing, however, and slid into a suede armchair with barely a glance around. “If you remember from the tech show, Mr. Cannon-”

“Nick.”

“Um, Nick. I work for the medical examiner’s office-”

“Our local CSI. Yes, I remember. I hope you’re here to take me up on my lunch invitation, though I can’t do it today. I have a noontime meeting at John Q’s with my two partners and a guy who’s going to revolutionize the data services field. Or so he says. I would much rather have lunch with y-”

“No.” Her stomach had had a bad day so far, and the idea of eating out with a man who was not Paul finished it off. “Thank you, but I will need only a few minutes of your time. We’re still looking into Jillian Kovacic’s death, trying to figure out why it happened.”

If disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm for his company, he hid it well. He also wore a wedding ring on his left hand, which made her go hmm. But he nodded with no change of expression and she went on. “Everyone who knows Jillian is at a loss to explain how she wound up in those woods. I’d like to know if there were any financial worries in her life. I’m sure your arrangements with Kovacic Industries are confidential-”

“Not necessarily. We keep fairly open books here, once a deal is made. Secrecy produces things like the Enron disaster. Cannon, Jennings, and Chang does not believe in secrecy.”

She stifled the urge to smile at this prim announcement. “At the tech show you told me that you finance Evan’s work. I understand he’s been quite successful.”

“Enormously.”

“So he and Jillian should have plenty of money.”

The man chuckled and leaned back. “Successful doesn’t always mean plenty of money. His games are selling like hotcakes. We expect part two to sell equally as well, which is why we lent him the start-up money to produce it. We’re sort of the meantime people.”

She lifted her eyebrows, and that gave him all the encouragement he needed to go on. “In the meantime, between selling game one and when game two will be on the shelves and generating income, Evan needed extra cash flow to buy equipment, hire more staff, and support himself while he’s writing the game. We provide that cash flow. We became limited-term partners with Kovacic Industries.”

“So both sides are betting that the new game, part two, will be successful enough to pay everyone back.”

“With a healthy profit, yes.”

“But there’s a risk.”

“There is no profit without risk, Mrs. MacLean. We study it, do our best to minimize it, of course, but there is always risk. The biggest risk here would be a competitor releasing a similar, or worse, better product shortly before we do. That would be about the worst that could happen. Other than that, Kovacic Industries is a sure thing.”

He beamed, delivering this reassuring news. Problem was, it did not reassure her about her theory. If Evan had no money woes, why would he kill his wife?

Perhaps she was wrong, biased, overreacting in her grief. “At the tech show, you said something about a release date.”

He stopped beaming. “Yes. Polizei Two was supposed to be out five months ago. Evan has been too distracted with his factory and his virtual-reality tie-in to finish it. Not that it isn’t all going to make money eventually-I’m not as enamored of the virtual-reality hardware as I am of Polizei Two since it doesn’t have a proven track record, but I