Page 43 of Power Games

“We’ve been trying to contact you, sir. We were told that we might find you here at the Hay-Adams.”

He'd mentioned his destination to Thierry. “Glad you found me. How may I help, sir?”

He couldn’t think of anything he could do, but he'd dealt with the police before on various occasions: Jacobs Foundation sponsored a number of kids in need of help, for one. Sometimes, some of them ended up on the wrong side of the law. He often did what he could.

Normally, however, he was contacted by phone, and not by a detective.

“We’re going to have to ask you about your location between two and six o’clock this morning, sir.”

He frowned. “I was at a benefit last night, until..." He hadn't paid much attention to the time. "Eleven, perhaps. My wife and I went home by cab, and I left close to midnight. I checked in at the Hay-Adams around one; I was there until..." He'd met Aiden at ten. "Nine-thirty? Wait, what is this about?”

The detective didn’t even attempt to soften the blow.

“Your wife was killed this morning, sir.”

Charles froze as the words hit him like a punch in the gut.

Killed. Izzy. Killed. Dead. Izzy.

His brain was running so far. Once he'd comprehended the situation, he realized something in the way the man had addressed him. The detective didn’t think it was surprising, to him. He didn’t believe he was talking to a grieving widower. No, he believed he was addressing a murderer.

“We’re going to have to bring you down to the station, sir.”

The words didn't come as a surprise. Slowly, numbly, Charles followed the detective, glad he hadn’t demanded to handcuff him. There were plenty of reporters about, cameras at the ready. He didn’t need that.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Charles realized this was probably the end of the campaign he hadn't started. He'd be acquitted, but there was no cleaning his hands of that accusation. The board of Jacobs Enterprises might assign another chairman, too.

This would cost him a lot. This might cost him everything, he amended, turning to look back behind him.

Vanessa was watching him. There was no disgust in her eyes, no horror. Would it come later?

But she didn't seem confused or shocked either, unlike the dozens of people witnessing the scene a few feet behind her, unlike the reporters who were taking pictures, filming him as he approached the back of the policeman's car.

No, Vanessa seemed...

Determined.

Then, she stepped forward.

“Is this true?” Vanessa’s voice was trembling, and her beautiful eyes, full of tears. “Is Isabella really dead?” Her voice broke at the last word.

The detective closed in on her. “Ma’am, we’re in the middle of an investigation. We’re not at liberty to comment until…”

“Charles can’t have done it,” she said, her voice firm, final. “He was with me all night.”

The lie rolled of her tongue seamlessly, flawlessly, so pure and unadorned he might have believed it to be true.

“Ma’am?”

“I’ll come with you. I’ll give a statement. We were at the benefit together for a while. Charles left with Isabella, but we met up at one in the morning at the Hay-Adams. You can check with my grandmother, Narcissia Trent, and the doorman, the receptionist, everyone. They also have cameras. We went up to the Federal room and didn't come out till later this morning. You said between two and six? He can't have done it. I checked out at nine-fifteen.”

Vanessa glanced down towards her right-hand side; she didn't even have to say a word. A man in black stepped forward, saying, "I'm part of Miss McNamara's bodyguard, sir. I can attest that Charles Grant was on her floor last night. We left at nine-fifteen in the morning."

His words were carefully phrased so that he wasn't even lying.

Now that the detective was confronted with two accounts placing Charles away from the scene, he had no choice but to backtrack.

"Very well," he said awkwardly, realizing he'd handled the situation the wrong way. "We'll still need to ask you some questions, and someone has to identify the body."

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