The organ music began to play, jolting her back to the present. It wouldn’t be for long, she told herself, but for now she’d allow herself the luxury of depending on Ethan Brodie.
If she wanted to stay alive, she really had no other choice.
With the funeral under way and Val surrounded by the protection of a church full of people and a couple of dozen uniformed police, Ethan made his way outside. He’d seen Lieutenant Hoover head out the door for a smoke and figured it might be a chance for an update.
Hoover bent his head into the breeze and cupped a hand around a match to light a cigarette, then tossed the dead match into a trash bin a few feet away. He took a long drag, then let the smoke drift away in the breeze.
“You know those things’ll kill you,” Ethan said.
Hoover looked down at the cigarette between his fingers. “My wife makes sure I know that every damn day. Now I gotta hear it from you?”
Ethan fought not to smile. “Hey, we’ve all got to go sometime. I say pick your own poison.”
Hoover just grunted.
“You come up with anything?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah. The vic had insurance on the jewelry. ’Bout a half million dollars’ worth of diamonds.”
“Plenty of motive for murder.”
“Yeah, except for the note.”
“True enough. Maybe the whole thing was a setup to steal the jewelry.”
Hoover squinted up at him through the smoke. “You think so?”
“No. I don’t think it was about the jewelry. Guy who sent the notes . . . it’s personal for him.”
“Be my guess, too.”
“Any chance he’s done it before?”
Hoover flicked an ash off his cigarette. “A serial? Nothing came up in the search. He may be planning to kill again, but if he’s a serial, I’m betting Delilah was his first.”
“Damn professional job if it was.”
“Those guys are smart. They make plans months in advance. Years. I’m thinking Delilah was La Belle’s number-one girl. He hit her to make his point.”
“Who’s number two?”
“Isabel Rafaeli. We’ve got her covered nice and tight.”
Ethan nodded, wondering where Val fell on the top-ten lineup, made a mental note to ask her. “What about the messages? Anything on the paper or the ink?”
“Regular copy paper. So far we haven’t found anything that would identify the printer.”
“Since Delilah’s being buried today, you’ve obviously done the autopsy. Find anything interesting?”
“We put a rush on it, being it’s such a high-profile case, but nothing turned up. No drugs, no excess alcohol. She was healthy and extremely fit.”
“That’s how the models keep their jobs.”
Hoover blew out a stream of smoke. “What about you? You got anything?”
“I’ve looked at a couple of different angles, tossed them around. Some of the women have kids. From the sound of those notes, I doubt our killer would approve of a mother modeling scanty underwear for a living.”
“Good thought. I’ll make sure that angle’s covered. Anything else?”
