A Trace of Murder. Блейк Пирс

He sounded relaxed, completely unruffled.

      This isn’t working. He’s too practiced at batting away attacks about his clients. I have to poke somewhere else.

      “That’s a cute quip, Mr. Cave. I’ll bet it’s one you use when defending your work to folks like him,” she said, pointing at the city councilman in the photo she’d been looking at. She turned quickly to see his reaction and saw that he still seemed unfazed.

      “Is this what you came here for, Detective—to try to guilt-trip me? How boring…and disappointing. I expected more of you.”

      “Sorry to disappoint. But I can’t help wonder why these people aren’t more reluctant to be seen with you. After all, isn’t that the CEO of a major rape crisis center in that picture with you?” she asked, pointing to an older woman almost melting into Cave as he wrapped his arm around her.

      “Lovely lady,” he said, unperturbed. “Nice gams too.”

      “And this gentleman, the monsignor,” Keri continued. “I’m wondering if he had to go to confession after meeting with you. Or at least take a Silkwood shower.”

      She was surprised that Cave didn’t come back at her with another blasé reply. In fact, she noticed that he’d visibly tensed. The plastic smile still covered his face. But for the briefest of seconds she saw something in those blue eyes she couldn’t quite identify.

      He regrouped quickly, regaining his normal expression, and stepped around to her side of the desk.

      “This has been wonderfully fun,” he said, “but unfortunately, I still have a lot of work to do tonight. And unless you’re here for some reason other than to attack my personal character, I’m going to have to end our little get-together.”

      He pushed a buzzer and the woman who had brought Keri in immediately appeared to take her away.

      “This way please, ma’am,” she said politely but firmly. “They can validate you at the front desk.”

      As she walked out the door, Cave called after her with an almost musical lilt in his voice.