Prior Bad Acts

20

THEY BOTH HEARD the car roll into the attached garage. Carey Moore looked over at the door Kovac presumed was the entrance from the garage. Her expression was transparent, even behind the bruises and swelling. Hope, eagerness, a little apprehension.

Kovac rose before she could, went to the door himself, and locked it until he heard the voices-David Moore, the Swedish girl, a child. They sounded relaxed, happy. Kovac wanted to open the door and smack the husband’s smile off his face. Instead, he opened it a crack and gave them a flat, unfriendly look.

David Moore was unpleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing leaving a woman with a concussion alone?”

“I checked on her several times in the night, Detective,” the Swedish girl said, trying to be helpful. “Mrs. Moore was fine.”

Kovac ignored her, holding his stare on the husband.

“We went out to breakfast,” David Moore said defensively. “I thought Carey should sleep in.”

A dark-haired little girl with big blue eyes sat comfortably in the crook of his arm. She had her mother’s directness.

“Who are you?”

“Honey, this is a police detective,” Moore said. “He’s here because of your mom getting hurt last night.”

She turned the look on her father. “Where’s Mommy?”

“I’m here, sweetie,” Carey Moore said, wedging herself in between the doorjamb and Kovac.

Lucy Moore took one look at her mother, and the blue eyes went liquid. “Mommy?”

“I look pretty bad, don’t I?” Carey said softly. Kovac stepped back a little and let her past. “I’m okay, though. Honest. It’s just scrapes and bruises.”

Lucy didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation. She gave her father a suspicious look, then turned it on her mother.

“You look scary,” she declared.

“I know.”

“You should maybe put some makeup on.”

Carey’s eyes glazed with tears as she smiled and tried to laugh, and reached out for her daughter. “Come on. You can help me with that, and tell me all about what you had for breakfast.”

The little girl wriggled down out of her father’s arms and went to her mother, taking her hand and leading her into the kitchen.

“I had pancakes with blueberries in them and lots of syrup. I like syrup.”

“I know you do.”

“And it doesn’t matter either, ’cause I brush my teeth.”

Kovac watched them go through the kitchen and down the hall. The mother-daughter thing touched him in a very tender, very well hidden part of his soul. He didn’t allow himself to examine the feeling. He turned back to David Moore.

“We need to talk.”

“Can I take my coat off first?” Moore asked, petulant.

Kovac turned to the Swedish girl. “You too.”

They went into the kitchen and sat down, and Kovac filled them in on the Stan Dempsey situation. The Swedish girl listened, wide-eyed. Stockholm in the dead of winter was looking better and better.

“You can’t be unavailable,” Kovac said, directing his comment at David Moore. “No cell phones turned off or ignored.”

Moore looked unsettled. “You think this guy is serious?”

Kovac refrained from asking him if he had always been this stupid or if it was a recent affliction. “I know he’s serious. You can’t just take your daughter and go off to do as you please. I’d be happier if she didn’t leave the house until the situation is resolved.”

“Should we leave town?”

“I don’t think your wife is in any condition to travel right now. She needs to get clearance from her doctor. If you just do what I’m telling you, you should be fine. I’ll have officers here around the clock.”

The nanny murmured something in Swedish. Oh, my God, or Holy shit, or Fuck this, Kovac figured. She shot a nervous glance at David Moore, who pretended not to see her. Kovac filed the moment away in his head. The nanny and the daddy? He remembered she had been defensive of Moore the night before when Kovac had asked about the guy’s schedule.

Lazy bastard. He couldn’t even put out the effort to get a mistress outside his own household.

“I have to go,” Kovac said. “You both have my card if you need me. If you need to leave the house, notify the officers out front, and tell them where you’re going and when you expect to be back.”

David Moore looked unhappy. “I’m a prisoner in my own home?”

“Yeah,” Kovac said. “Sorry it’s such an inconvenience to you to have the lives of your wife and daughter threatened.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. You don’t want to be under my thumb,” Kovac said. “What the hell have you got going on that’s so damned important? You’re suddenly Mr. Ambition?”

Moore narrowed his eyes. “I resent that.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’m working on a business deal.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s the age of telecommunication. Pick up a phone; send an e-mail.”

Moore stared just to the left of Kovac’s head. He was going to do whatever the hell he wanted. Asshole.

“I’ll need your cell phone number too,” Kovac said to the nanny.

She recited it, and Kovac wrote it down in his notebook.

“I’ll let myself out,” he said, and left them in the kitchen, pausing in the hall to listen in case they were stupid enough to go lovey-dovey before he was out the door.

“I’m going to make a fresh pot of coffee.” Moore.

“I’m going to my room. I have studying to do.” The nanny.

Kovac waited for her at the foot of the stairs. She looked surprised to see him, but not alarmed.

“Anka, I need to have a word with you.”

“I don’t know anything,” she said. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“They don’t have crime in Sweden?”

“Not like here. It’s crazy, evil, what that man did to that family, to those children. And now you say this other man, a detective with the police department, wants to hurt Mrs. Moore or Lucy?”

“It’s pretty scary stuff,” Kovac conceded. “Judge Moore is in a position that attracts a lot of attention, not all of it good.”

Anka looked away, clearly upset.

“Anka, I’m going to ask you something very personal,” Kovac said. “And I need you to answer me honestly. It’s very important that I have a clear picture of what’s going on. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” she answered, nervous, anxious.

“Do you have something going on with Mr. Moore?”

Kovac watched her expression carefully. Shock and offense.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Mr. Moore is my employer.”

“He’s not more than that to you?”

“No. Of course not.”

The answer was a beat too slow, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You’re not sleeping with him?”

She gave a little gasp. “No! I’m going upstairs now. I have nothing more to say to you. Good day.”

Indignation. Outrage.

But she still didn’t quite meet his eyes.