She probably would be able to handle seeing Des. At least, she could fake it for the short time it would take. She’d never been squeamish. And she knew very well that a person’s essence left the body when that person died. It wouldn’t be Desmond she was seeing. Not really.
Suppose McDonough did miss something? Would she know enough to find it? And if she did, would he admit the error? At least if she was courageous enough to see what a real investigator should, he might take her wish to help more seriously.
“I won’t faint,” she assured him. “I’ve seen bodies before.” He nodded and offered no further argument. Nina only wished she had convinced herself as easily as that.
Chapter 2
Ryan wished he could insist on taking Nina to her apartment before going to the palace as he had planned. Her arrival had thrown a monkey wrench in his schedule.
Strange as it seemed, that old adage about criminals returning to the scene of the crime did hold true occasionally in homicides. Consequently, Ryan had stationed one of his best men, Joseph Braca, at Desmond’s house at night to keep watch. The back doors purposely had been left unlocked for easy access, and Ryan had hidden two motion-activated cameras in strategic locations to record the image of any intruders.
In addition to bringing Joe up to date on the preliminary forensics report, Ryan needed to make him aware of the new wrinkle in the investigation. Nina. While Ryan kept her busy later today, Joe would be running her background, checking the alibi and going over the victim’s phone records to see if there had been any contact other than what she’d admitted.
Ryan could have phoned Joe instead of coming over, probably should have, given the circumstances. Or he could have requested that Joe report to him at the office before going off duty. The truth was, Ryan employed any reason he could think of to get out from behind that desk and into the field. Also, this might satisfy Nina Caruso that he was allowing her to assist him.
A scant quarter hour later, they drove through the gates of the palace. Ryan scanned the royal compound, realizing how many hundreds of people must be residing, employed or visiting there. Any one of them might be responsible for killing Desmond Caruso. And it was up to him to discover the needle in this palatial haystack.
The landscaping prevented driving right up to the front. There was a large paved parking area for vehicles situated between the wing of the palace that contained the heritage section and the wing housing the throne room. In deference to Nina, who must be tired and was wearing high heels, Ryan decided to forgo the walk from there. The flagstones and graveled paths would be hell on her feet in those shoes.
He pushed a button and gave the driver his orders. “Bypass the regular parking area. Pull around and park as near the guesthouse as you can. Once you let us out, you can drive Mr. Pavelli back around front. I’m sure he has a report to make.”
He turned to Nina. “The guesthouse where your brother lived is virtually isolated,” he explained, pointing as they rounded the heritage wing of the palace. “It’s there, just beyond those trees. As you can see, the gardens between the palace and the guesthouse conceal it from view. Even if someone had been looking out the windows of the throne wing, which is usually deserted late at night, they wouldn’t have seen anything.”
She concentrated, leaning forward and looking up, stretching within the seat belt as far as she could. “And the second floor?”
“It’s called the first floor here. Ground floor, then the first,” Ryan informed her. “Those are the princesses’ bedchambers above the throne room, and there would be a better view of the guesthouse from there. If anyone had been up there and looking in that direction. Unfortunately, none of the princesses are in residence. I haven’t had a chance to question their staff yet.”
“I’ll do it,” she volunteered, sitting back and clasping her hands in her lap. “I’m not afraid.”
Ryan chuckled. “Well, neither am I, but it probably won’t prove useful. You can bet your favorite lipstick the king has already determined whether anyone on duty has any information to add to the investigation. If they did, it would have come to me through channels already.”
“Channels?” she questioned. “Are you serious?”
He shrugged. “Protocol. I’ll be given a list of who was on duty and work from there.”
She shook her head and gave a disgusted huff. “This whole thing is going to get buried in bureaucracy. Mired down and unsolved. I just know it.”
Ryan let that go as the car came to a stop, glad to change the subject. Protocol was a sore point with him, but one he had to live with. In this instance, he trusted Lorenzo would make sure he got what he needed. “Here we are.”
His fellow passenger was frowning, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and eyeing the guesthouse now like she might be dreading this. Wait until we get to the morgue, he thought with a reluctant pang of sympathy.
He could keep her from viewing the body if he chose to, but he wanted to see her reaction. It would tell him more about the relationship between Nina and Desmond Caruso than hours of interrogation.
Ryan couldn’t envision Nina Caruso actually killing anyone. If she had anything at all to do with her half brother’s death, she had probably hired it done. And if she had, that would mean Murder One, premeditated, conspiracy, not the crime of passion indicated by the evidence.
God only knew there were plenty of wackos out there greedy enough for a buck to kill anybody anywhere. Though security was fairly tight, someone with a little ingenuity might gain entrance into the palace grounds. Service people came and went, as did numerous tour groups. But Ryan was pretty sure that the victim had known the person who killed him. That narrowed the field considerably. He assisted Nina out of the limo and kept a grip on her elbow as they marched down the pathway that led to the building.
There was no yellow-tape boundary visible out here to mar the beauty of the fairy-tale setting. Outside, all looked right with the world in happily-ever-after land.
“This is it,” he announced. On the door was a discreet sign clearly printed with Entrance Forbidden in both English and Italian.
Ryan pushed the doorbell and heard the muted chime inside. The door opened almost immediately. Joe Braca, built like a refrigerator, dressed impeccably in silk suit and tie, gave them that little leaning-forward nod with head inclined that Italians used when they wanted to look subservient or greeted ladies they wanted to impress.
“Good morning,” he said, his dark gaze roving over Nina as if she had answered his call to an escort service. Natural for Joe, of course.
“This is Nina Caruso, the victim’s half sister. She just flew in early this morning. Nina, Joseph Braca, my right-hand man.” Ryan called them both that, Joe and Franz. Truth was, they were a crackerjack duo and he was being sincere.
Joe effected his most sympathetic smile and took the hand Nina offered. “I am so sorry for the loss of your brother, Ms. Caruso,” he said gently.
“Thank you, Mr. Braca,” she replied, her gaze slipping past him to the foyer and a partial view of the living room.
Joe stepped back and allowed them to enter. He glanced at Nina’s back, then raised an eyebrow at Ryan in unspoken question.
“You know the drill,” Ryan ordered. “Get Franz going on the computer. You make the calls.”
“Yes, sir,” Joe agreed, fully understanding who the subject of inquiries would be. “I’ll phone you tonight if anything turns up.”
“You’ll phone me in either case,” Ryan said. “Before six o’clock.”
Braca nodded. Ryan passed him and followed Nina to the arched entrance to the living room where she