Page 32 of View from Above
Payton maneuvered around the massive oak desk, closing in on the assistant’s personal space. The man she’d lost herself in for hours this morning was gone. In his place, a detective obsessed with getting answers, solving puzzles, and isolating himself from anyone and everyone who cared about him. “Was there anyone else Roland Kotite argued with around the time of his death?”
Joy shook her head, backing toward the door. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I can help you. I’m in the process of trying to transfer to assist one of the associates. If the partners here learned I was giving away personal information, my career would be over—”
“Roland was murdered, Joy.” Mallory shoved to her feet. “And I own this company. Whether you agree with the way I ended things with my father or not, I’m the one who decides whether or not your career is over.”
Roland’s most trusted advisor snapped her mouth closed. “What are you talking about? That’s not… The police said he jumped, that he was depressed.”
“New evidence suggests otherwise,” Payton said. “Now answer the question. Was Roland having any other problems around the time he went off this roof? Did he express any concerns for his safety or voice complaints about anyone in his life, including his employees?”
“New evidence? I don’t believe this.” Joy’s chin wobbled. “Yes. Okay? There was one other incident the same week Roland died. I had to call security and have someone removed from the building. They’d closed the door, but I could still hear them arguing. She was screaming about an affair he’d had years ago, that he’d lied to her and everyone knew but her, and that she’d make him pay.” The assistant waved her hands. “But she left without any issues, and I haven’t seen her since the funeral.”
“She?” Mallory’s instincts twisted her insides. “Who?”
“Roland’s wife.” Joy leveled defeated blue on eyes on her. “Lucille Kotite.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You’re going to bring her in as a suspect, aren’t you?” Mallory stared out over the expanse of her newly inherited kingdom from an impressive length of glass and steel railing down the hall from her father’s office.
He pressed his forearms against the beam beside her. From this angle, he could see everything, but he didn’t have attention for any of it. Only her. “I’ll need to verify Lucille’s alibi and talk to her about the argument she had with Roland, but I know she’s not the woman I fought on that rooftop. I’ve met your mother. She doesn’t fit the description of the suspect in the surveillance footage, but that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. If what Joy Leonard says is true, your mom had the means, motive, and the opportunity to have Roland thrown off that roof.”
“This coming from a woman who idolized my father and would do anything to honor his memory.” Her scoff punctured through the low ringing in his ears. “I mean, who the hell commissions a portrait like that for a man who’d just as soon toss her to the wolves with the rest of his mistresses? She practically turned his office into a museum, for crying out loud. First Kiera Wood. Now Joy Leonard. How little self-awareness did it require to get in Roland Kotite’s pants?”
“Mallory, I know you don’t want to hear it, but this is getting us one step closer to figuring out what really happened to your father. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? And we both knew I’d have to question your mom at some point. I didn’t have anything solid on her before, but I can’t ignore it now.” He was trying to justify his attempt to leave her mother out of the investigation with logic, but the truth was, he’d done it for Mallory. To ease the pain that came with a case like this. She’d already lost her father—the bastard he was. She didn’t deserve to lose anyone else. But he wasn’t sure how much more he could shield her from. “The ME is officially redesignating Roland’s death as homicide. What happened between us… I’m still a detective. I have a responsibility to see this through, to find the truth.”
“I know.” She stared down into the minimalist, dark lobby below. “I want the truth. I want to move on. I just… thought I was ready for it.”
“You’re stronger than you think you are, Mallory. It might not feel like it after everything you’ve been through, but I see it. You’re the most persistent, independent woman I’ve ever met, and you’re the reason we’ve gotten this far.” He tugged his keys from his jeans and unwound his house key, handing it off. “But I think it’s best if Trooper Wells and I handle the interview with your mother. When things get personal, emotions get involved, and we can’t afford to make any mistakes. Why don’t you go back to my place? Rest. There’s a burner phone in that green desk. I can call you as soon as we’re finished.”
She pried herself from the railing and turned to face him. “After everything you just said, you want me to tuck my tail between my legs and bow out?”
“No, and truth be told I’d rather have you in there with me. You know Lucille better than anyone. You know her history and her trigger points, what makes her tick, but pushing yourself to heal instead of letting it happen naturally is only going to backfire.” His thoughts wandered to what else he’d kept locked away in his father’s desk all these years, to the missing persons file he’d sworn never to open again a dozen times. “Take it from me.”
“She’s going to see you coming a mile away. My mother might play the grieving widow who refuses to acknowledge who she married, but she’s not one of these bimbos who fell for the lies he told them.” Mallory waved off-handedly to the array of employees scurrying back and forth through the office. “Your best chance of getting anything out of her is to let me sit in. If she had something to do with my father’s death, I’ll be the one who gets the truth from her.”
Damn it. She had a point. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“Did you when you were investigating your father’s disappearance?” she asked.
“No.” That was one of the things he admired about her. The challenge she presented, and shit, if that didn’t intrigue him more, but while he’d opened up to her about his past, he didn’t want this to become a thing between them. He didn’t want her to keep digging for answers in the dark corner he’d buried the feelings linked to his dad’s case, and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He’d found a way to move on—whether it worked for her or not—and he’d leave it at that. He unpocketed his phone and offered it to her. “All right. I gave you my word if I had to bring your mother into this, I’d keep her name out of the investigation, and I intend to follow through. Instead of going to her, I need you to bring her to us.”
“I can do that.” Mallory took the phone and walked a few feet along the railing, her back to him. The call lasted less than two minutes before she handed back his phone. “She’ll meet us at the precinct in thirty minutes. I told her about the exhumation order they executed this morning at the cemetery and that you needed to update her on the investigation.”
“Thank you.” He tucked his phone back into his jacket and hauled the box of Kotite Litigation records into his hip.
“Don’t thank me yet. Your captain only got a taste of Lucille Kotite. Between the fake tears and her encore role of concerned parent at the hospital, there’s no telling who will actually show up.” Mallory led them back toward the elevators and down to the lobby.
Within minutes, they’d secured the Kotite files in the rear of his SUV and headed back to the precinct. Hints of the soap she’d borrowed from his shower filled the cabin of the vehicle, pulling him back into that bubble he hadn’t wanted to leave. Even for this case.
That internal war—the one where his past experiences with therapists countered everything he knew about her—raged stronger as he studied her in his peripheral vision. She’d slipped into his life through a series of messages, voicemails, and deaths. She’d claimed a piece of him he hadn’t been willing to give up to anyone else. But the way her mind worked—how she took a single action, a sentence, a memory to discover the root of her patient’s being drove her. She solved puzzles for a living, but he wasn’t going to be a project for her to solve, to fix.
He didn’t want that to be all he was to her.
He wanted more.
Payton pulled into the underground parking garage and parked. She moved to shoulder out of the vehicle, but he slid his hand across her thigh. “Doc, hold up. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
Warm brown eyes centered on him, and he was instantly lost in the possibilities. He could hand this case off to another detective. He could use the vacation days he’d hoarded over the years, turn this car around, and take her back to bed. They could walk away and pretend the circumstances under which they’d met never happened.