On the other hand, from what little Sweeney had told him, she had been mostly ignored by her parents. Her mother’s lack of feeling for her own children was appalling. He knew Sweeney’s mother, though he had never met her. He had met her type. Because she was artistic, she thought that excused her from responsible behavior. She probably indulged in indiscriminate sex and drugs, and had exposed her children to God knows what.
Sweeney had grown up without love and had closed herself off from the pain by simply not letting herself form attachments. Richard strongly suspected he wouldn’t have been able to get to her so fast if he hadn’t caught her at this particular time, when the shock of those psychic episodes was sending her into a form of shock. Otherwise, she would have kept him at a distance for months. But despite her parents’ example, or maybe because of it, she shunned their dangerous, juvenile lifestyle and had made herself into a woman of strong moral fiber.
He didn’t want her touched by this, not any more than she already was. The painting involved her; if she eventually painted the face of the man standing over Candra’s body—and he had no reason to doubt she would—then that knowledge would have to be shared with the detectives. It wasn’t proof; the painting would in no way be admissible in court. But, if the detectives gave the information any credence, it would point them in the right direction. If they knew where to look, they would probably find the proof they needed. Perhaps he could steer them in that direction without mentioning the painting or involving Sweeney at all.
“Did Mrs. Worth have a will?” Detective Aquino asked abruptly.
“I don’t know,” Richard replied, dragging his thoughts away from Sweeney. “We had one when we were together, but as soon as we separated, I made a new one. She didn’t have a lot of assets, though. I own the gallery, and from what I gather, she ran up a lot of debt in the past year. I had agreed to give her the gallery as part of the settlement, but that wouldn’t have been included in any new will she made, if she made one at all.”
“Why?” Aquino asked curiously. “Why give her the gallery? With your prenup, you didn’t have to give her anything.”
Richard shrugged and said simply, “So she would have the means to live.”
“Mr. Worth ...” Ritenour tapped his pen on the desk, his brow furrowed as he framed his question. “I know you’ve been separated a long time, but would you know any of the men she’s been with lately? The housekeeper didn’t know any names. She said when Mrs. Worth had company, she tried to stay out of the way and do her job as quietly as possible.”
Richard didn’t make any comment on Candra’s sexual habits. “How far back do you want to go?”
They looked at each other. Aquino shrugged. “Since you separated.”
“My attorney has a list.” Seeing their surprise, he said, “I made it a point to know, in case I needed the information.”
They both perked up. “Did you have her watched?” An investigator’s report could be an invaluable aid, telling them where she went and when, whom she saw.
“Yes, but I don’t think it will help. There wasn’t anyone she saw more than any of the others. Candra didn’t have long-term affairs. Her attractions were of the moment, and more concerned with satisfying her own appetite than with her partner. Kai, her assistant at the gallery, was probably her most frequent partner, but only because he was convenient.”
There was another perking of investigative ears. “How do you spell that name?” Ritenour asked.
“K-a-i. Last name Stengel, as in Casey.”
“Was he in love with her, do you think?”
“Kai doesn’t love anyone but himself. I can’t see him killing her, because it wouldn’t be in his best interest. I gave Candra a free hand with the gallery and she hired whom she pleased, but her death before the divorce was final means the gallery remains mine, and Kai would know he was out of a job in that event.”
“Because of his involvement with your wife?”
Richard shook his head. “Because he’s an alley cat.”
“Mr. Worth, pardon me for asking,” Detective Aquino said, “but a man like you—How did you stand it, knowing your wife had all these affairs?”
Richard’s eyes were cold. “After the first time, I didn’t give a damn what she did.”
“But you stayed married to her.”
“I took vows.” And he had taken them seriously. He would have remained married to her, making the best of a bad situation, if she hadn’t had the abortion. He had taken her for better or for worse, but “worse” didn’t include aborting his child.
He called Gavin and had the entire investigator’s report faxed to the precinct station. Gavin offered to come down in case Richard needed his legal protection, but Richard told him there was no need. He had put in an electronic buy order with his broker just before he disconnected last night, his entry coded with his password, and his Internet provider could also verify the time he was on-line, so he was covered in case the detectives had any lingering doubt. He had no motive or opportunity, and he had cooperated with them to the fullest extent.
The next time he checked the clock, the hands had ticked past seven-thirty. He was tired and hungry, having refused their offer of stale cookies or peanut-butter crackers from a vending machine. The detectives looked more tired than he felt, but they doggedly kept at it. He appreciated their persistence, but the need to reassure himself Sweeney was all right was growing more urgent with every passing minute.