A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb

he drove.

      Bobbie grunted a noncommittal sound to his remark about the collection. It wasn’t that she had anything against people with money. Her husband’s family had been quite wealthy. Having wealth flaunted like this was something she could live without. She supposed a man of means had a right to whatever hobby he could afford. Her shrink reminded her every other week that she needed a hobby.

      That was another thing about her choice to return to the land of the living. In order to keep her job, the chief—her godfather and pseudo uncle—had insisted she agree to counseling for however long the department psychologist deemed necessary. The last few weeks she had decided maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing since, much to her surprise, the doctor offered a decent number of valid points she hadn’t wanted to see before. She was trying harder these days to be honest with herself and to keep an open mind. Her new attitude was paying off. Recently, the shrink had lengthened the time between her appointments to two weeks instead of one.

      She was stronger, physically and mentally, which was a good thing. Better to nail the bad guys.

      On cue, the towering mahogany pocket doors slid open and Mark Hanover entered the room. The slim-fitting suit was no doubt made from the finest fabrics available, the shoes were certainly hand-tooled leather. He was younger than she’d expected, early to midfifties maybe. His dark hair was peppered with just enough gray to look distinguished. His face, on the other hand, was as smooth as the day he was born. Good genes or Botox? Her money was on the latter.

      “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he announced as he looked from Bobbie to Devine and back. “I’m Mark Hanover.” He thrust his hand toward Bobbie first.

      “Detective Bobbie Gentry,” she said as she placed her hand in his. His shake was firm and quick, his palm cool and dry. Bobbie gestured to her partner. “Detective Steven Devine.”

      The two men shook hands next. Hanover seemed to hang on to Devine’s hand a beat longer than necessary. Devine flinched and drew away. Bobbie considered what little she knew about Hanover. His marriage to one of the city’s socialites had ended last year. Considering the way he watched Devine, maybe his sexual interests ran to something more than his wife was willing to tolerate.

      “Please—” Hanover indicated the pair of leather sofas that faced each other in the center of the room “—make yourselves comfortable. How may I be of service to the MPD this morning?”

      The two men waited for Bobbie to be seated first. When they had settled, she began, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the Parker murders.”

      Hanover gave a somber nod. “Tragic. Simply tragic. Especially the girl. Who would take a child?” He shuddered visibly. “As unfair as it is the sins of the father can at times carry over to the children.”

      Bobbie wondered what sins this man kept hidden. If her father had said it once he’d said it a thousand times: people don’t get that rich and stay that way without a few skeletons in the closet. “We’re hoping Fern is still alive.”

      “Of course,” Hanover agreed. “I’m more than happy to help. I support numerous fund-raisers and activities for children. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. Perhaps a larger reward?”

      “Thank you. I’ll let the department’s liaison know you’d like to help.” Bobbie explained, “We’re interviewing all who had business dealings gone wrong with Mr. Parker. Your name is on the list.”

      Hanover’s eyebrows reared up his forehead in an unflattering expression and then he pursed his lips and shrugged. “Since I lost more than most of his other clients, I suppose it’s reasonable that I would be a suspect. Perhaps your top suspect,” he suggested.

      “Person of interest,” Devine corrected. “You and many others are persons of interest.”

      “I see,” Hanover acquiesced, his smug expression giving away his amusement. “I expect that’s the less threatening of the terms.” His tone was openly condescending, the words directed at the younger man.

      Bobbie watched him carefully. He was completely relaxed and enjoying the interview. “You’re quite the collector of—” she indicated the room at large “—daggers and swords.”

      “I am, indeed.” He glanced around the enormous space. “My father started the collection when I was a child. We spent several years in Tokyo. I attended my first five years of school there.” As if to emphasize the point he added, “Chosen-teki nado no yona jokyo wareware wa-chu ni jibun jishin o mitsukemasu.”

      Bobbie exchanged a look with Devine who appeared annoyed and said, “I assume that was Japanese.”

      Hanover gave a nod of acknowledgment. “I said, ‘What a challenging position we find ourselves in.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”

      Bobbie had friends who’d majored in international business in college. Learning Japanese and Chinese was considered beneficial for those who wanted to make their mark in the Asian market. She wasn’t surprised Hanover was proficient in one or both. Was he trying to impress them? “You lost a couple million dollars to Nigel Parker’s Ponzi scheme.”

      “I did.” He leaned back and draped one arm across the back of the sofa. “If you’re asking me if I murdered Nigel and his wife and took his daughter, the answer is no. As much as it pains me to lose money, I have plenty more where that came from.”

      “Were you a client of his wife’s?” Might as well cut to the chase. Maybe the man’s divorce was about his inability to stay faithful. His personality certainly left something to be desired. Bobbie wasn’t particularly fond of braggarts.

      Hanover smiled and glanced directly at Devine before responding. “As much as I enjoy beautiful women, frankly, I would have been far more likely to be involved with Nigel than his wife.”

      You guessed that one right, Bobbie. “You’re the only one of his clients who owns rare daggers and swords.”

      He cocked his head and studied her, more of that amusement sparkling in his eyes. “What are you suggesting, Detective Gentry?”

      “We aren’t suggesting anything, sir,” Devine responded before she could. “We’d like to examine your collection.”

      Her partner leaned forward as he spoke, his expression and tone daring the other man to deny them access. Did these two know each other? This was the first time she’d noticed her partner’s inability to avoid a pissing contest. She’d certainly never had him speak over her as if she weren’t in the room.

      “We can get a warrant,” Bobbie pointed out, looking from one man to the other. There was no need to play games.

      Hanover turned his full attention back to her. “That won’t be necessary, Detective Gentry.” He stood and fastened the center button on his elegant suit jacket. “Examine my collection to your heart’s desire.” He touched a finger to his lips as if he’d only just recalled a relevant detail. “While you’re at it, perhaps you can find the century-old dagger that was stolen from me last month. I’m certain the officer who came to the house filed a report.” He squared his shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of preparing for an urgent business trip.”

      Bobbie stood. Devine did the same. “Mr. Hanover, I’m afraid there may be a problem with your planned travel.”

      Hanover scrutinized her for another long moment, whether it was curiosity or irritation in his eyes Bobbie couldn’t say for sure. “You look like your mother.”

      Taken aback by the unexpected statement, Bobbie flinched before she could school the reaction. “Excuse me?”