The In Death Collection: Books 26-29 by J.D. Robb Page B

eyes of nearly black that sparked off something approaching rage.
    He wore khaki trousers with pleats sharp enough to draw blood and a navy V neck over a white shirt. Upscale golf clothes, Eve decided. Anders missed tee time.
    â€œYou’re Lieutenant Dallas?”
    â€œThat’s right. Mr. Luce, what can I do for you?”
    â€œYou can tell me why the bloody hell you’re smearing the reputation of a good man. Why you’re spreading these salacious and scandalous lies about Tommy. The man’s dead, goddamn it all, and can’t defend himself against this slander.”
    â€œMr. Luce, I can assure you I haven’t as yet given any statement, officially or unofficially, to the media regarding the investigation into Mr. Anders’s death. Nor have I authorized anyone to do so.”
    â€œThen why in hell is it all over the bleeding screen?”
    Eve leaned back. “I’m not responsible for what the media digs out and chooses to air. It may piss me off, but I’m not responsible. You suffered a sudden and shocking loss, so I’m going to cut you a break for coming into my office and blowing off steam. Now that you have, sit down. I have some questions.”
    â€œI suggest you take your questions and—”
    â€œCareful,” Eve said with enough steel in the word to have Luce pausing, narrowing those furious eyes on her face.
    â€œWhat are you going to do? Lock me up?”
    Casually, Eve swiveled back and forth in her chair. “I like the word detain myself. Would you care to be detained, Mr. Luce, by the NYPSD for refusing to answer questions in a homicide investigation? I’d be happy to put you in holding until your attorney arrives. Otherwise, you can sit down and you can settle down. I figure you and Anders were more than business associates. You might be upset, sad, surprised by his death if that’s all you were. You might be surprised again, and shocked, fascinated, or angry with the media attention. But rage and grief come from more personal associations. So this is your second, and last break. Clear enough?”
    He turned and walked away, but to her window, not out the door. She said nothing as he stood there, his rigid back to her. “I can’t settle down. How could I settle down? Tommy…we’ve been friends for nearly fifty years. He’s godfather to my son. I stood up for him when he married Ava. He was my younger brother, in every way but blood.”
    â€œI’m very sorry, Mr. Luce, for your loss.”
    He glanced back at her. “How many times have you said that to someone, to strangers?”
    â€œToo many. Entirely too many. It doesn’t make it less true.”
    He turned now, pressed his fingers to his eyes. “We were to play golf this morning. The indoor nine at Tommy’s club. He’s never late, but I didn’t think anything of it when he was. Traffic is so brutal, and I’d run into an acquaintance. We ended up chatting for some time, until the caddy interrupted to ask if I wanted to cancel or reschedule the tee off.”
    â€œDid you try to contact him?”
    â€œOn his mobile—his personal mobile, but it went to voice messaging. So I tried his house.” He did sit now, big shoulders slumping. “Greta, the house manager, told me there’d been an accident. Told me Tommy was…”
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw him?”
    â€œThree weeks ago. He and Ava were in London briefly. Tommy and I had a meeting, and we all went to the theater. We played golf at my club—he loves golf—while our wives went shopping, or something. Maybe salon. I don’t remember.”
    â€œWhen did you get into New York?”
    â€œYesterday afternoon. My wife and I arrived about two. Our son, Tommy’s godchild, works for the New York branch. We had dinner with Harry and his family. They’ve just remodeled their brownstone, and wanted to show it off, of course.