“That, too,” she agrees amiably. “Every family has their traditions.”
“Aunt Myrtle…” I stare at her in disbelief. “What are we?”
She takes a deep breath. “You’re not just any old girl from any old family, Piers. You never have been. You’re a bane witch. And it’s time you start living like one.”
12Black Hoodie
The woman on the other end of the line was hiding something. Her voice was soft, as if she were holding back, afraid to be too loud. And she answered his questions with as few words as possible. He could just barely detect the trace of an accent.
Reyes pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in. He needed to stay calm if he was going to draw her out. “I know you said he didn’t leave until after lunch, but was he on time arriving the morning of the fifteenth?”
“Mr. Davenport values punctuality,” she responded. She didn’t sound annoyed exactly, just uncomfortable. “He’s a very exact man.”
He frowned. It wasn’t an answer; it was a deflection. “I see.”
Reyes leaned back in his seat. This was going nowhere. He thought about his partner and how Will might handle it. Will had a quieter way of questioning people, less direct, more open-ended. Reyes decided he needed to change direction, come at her from a new angle, knock her off her guard. She was scared. He was certain of that. Whether it was of him or her boss, he couldn’t say. “What else can you tell me about Mr. Davenport?”
There was a pause, a sharp inhale. “Sorry?”
“What’s he like to work for?” Reyes pressed. In his experience, there were two things everybody loved to talk about—themselves and other people. If he could loosen her up, get her talking, make it feel more like a conversation, maybe he could get a straight answer about Henry Davenport’s arrival at work on the morning ofAugust fifteenth. Ever since he’d learned who Mrs. Davenport was to him, this case had become his top priority. If she killed herself, he needed to understand how a woman who was lauded a hero less than twelve months ago, who saved a life without thinking, would choose to take her own. Even if it wasn’t his business, he needed to knowwhy.They were linked, their lives intersected and intertwined at a point neither of them saw coming. No matter his particular views on God, or lack thereof, Reyes didn’t think that was coincidence.
And if she didn’t kill herself, he needed to know what happened to her. He needed to give her justice. It was the least he could do. He owed her his very breath.
The woman cleared her throat. “My job is very rewarding.”
“I’m sure it is,” he confirmed. “I’m just curious what Mr. Davenport is like as a boss.” He’d made a point to callafterhe watched Henry Davenport drive away from the office, assuming rightly he’d get more out of his administrative assistant that way. “It’s Johanna, right? Is that German?”
“Dutch. My family is from Rotterdam.” She paused again, as if deliberating. “Mr. Davenport… He—he’s not unkind,” she began, which he took to mean that Henry wasn’t kind either. “Just impersonal.”
“I see.” Reyes shifted in his seat, jotting down a note. “Go on.”
“He’s a perfectionist,” she added. “A very driven, ambitious man. Very focused. I’ve learned a lot from him.”
Sure you have,Reyes thought with an eye roll. He wondered if the pretty Dutch assistant was doing more than taking dictation and fielding calls for Henry. “Is he… respectful?”
“In what way?” she pressed.
“Of you? Of women?” He hoped she had the courage to answer him honestly.
“He’s never been inappropriate, if that’s what you’re implying,” she rushed to answer.
“Your relationship has never strayed beyond professional?” he asked. He tapped his pen against the steering wheel. It wouldn’tbe the first time a man killed his wife to make way for his mistress. “I assure you, this is strictly confidential.”
“No,” she insisted. “You don’t know him. He’s not like that.”
Something in her tone made him curious. Her words had more weight than they should, like they were filled with sand. Grating. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think he likes women very much,” she blurted. “Not that he’s into men, just… he’s more critical of the women in our office. He’s short with them—us.”
And there was the crack he could wriggle into and pry open. “Short how?”
“Agitated by them. Maybe even…”
“Go on,” Reyes pressed.
She swallowed. “Maybe even disgusted.”
So, Henry wasn’t the type to shtup the secretary and bump off his wife to get her out of their way. Which meant either Reyes had misjudged him from the beginning, or he was worse. “And does he have friends? At work, I mean. Does he spend time with colleagues outside the office?”
