Body of Lies by Iris Johansen

Orleans tomorrow morning. He wanted to be done with all these details. There’s a good chance he would have gone to the bank this afternoon and tried to tie up all her affairs. If there was a huge amount in that safety-deposit box, it would have sent up a red flag, wouldn’t it?”
    “You’re thinking someone might want to stop him from reporting that money.”
    Eve moistened her lips. “Oh, God, I hope not.” She got to her feet. “I want to go to see him. I’m getting dressed. Will you call Marie’s house and see if you can reach him?”
    “Do you have the number?”
    “No.”
    “I’ll call information.” Galen reached for the phone on the nightstand and turned on the light.
    She blinked. “You’re naked.”
    “You screamed. I wasn’t about to take the time to get dressed.” He spoke into the phone and then glanced over his shoulder. “Get moving.”
    She didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom.
    When she came back five minutes later, Galen was coming out of his room, tucking his shirt into his khakis. “Pierre didn’t answer.” He glanced at her. “Look, this may be a false alarm, but when we get there, I’m in charge. You don’t do anything until I tell you to do it. Okay?”
    “I hear you. Just hurry.”
    No one answered the knock.
    “He could have decided to leave early,” Galen said. “Or perhaps staying here brought back too many memories.”
    “I don’t like it,” Eve said. “Is the door locked?”
    “Yes.” Galen bent over the knob for a moment. “But if it will make you feel better . . .” The door swung open. “I go in first. You stay out here until I call you. If you see anything, you call me.”
    “I want to—” Eve nodded impatiently. “Hurry. If he’s not here, I need to track him down at a hotel.”
    “I’ll hurry.” Galen disappeared into the house.
    She didn’t want to wait outside. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder at the windows of the houses on either side of the street. Dark, silent.
    Watching.
    Foolishness. No one was watching.
    “Come in.” Galen was back. “It’s safe.”
    “Is he here?”
    “He’s here.” He shut the door. “But you may not want to see him. He’s not a pretty sight. His head’s half blown off.”
    Shock jolted through her. “What?”
    “There at the desk across the room.”
    The lights were off, but she could dimly see a figure slumped at the desk. “Pierre?”
    “As far as I could tell.”
    “Murdered.”
    “It’s staged to look like a suicide. The gun’s still in his hand. He may have actually pulled the trigger.”
    “Like Marie was forced to eat the stew,” she said dully.
    “Right.”
    “I want to see him.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “It won’t be the first corpse I’ve seen, Galen.”
    “I know, but I have to fight my protective instincts.” He flicked on the lamp by the door. “Don’t touch anything.”
    Blood and brain matter were splattered everywhere. She forced herself to walk forward until she stood in front of the desk. Several framed pictures of Pierre’s mother were spread on the desk in front of him. To one side lay a pile of letters spattered with blood.
    “It looks”—she swallowed hard to ease the tightness of her throat—“as if he was going through her things.”
    “And became despondent and took his own life. Everyone at the funeral would testify to how distraught he was. Very nicely staged. Or do you believe he’d actually do this?”
    Eve shook her head. “He wanted to make all her hard work worthwhile. He wouldn’t—” She had to get out of here. She turned and headed for the door. “It wasn’t him—somebody else did this.”
    “That’s what I thought.” Galen followed her, stopping only to wipe his prints off the lamp and the doorknob while she waited outside. “But the verdict will probably be suicide.”
    She drew a deep shaky breath as she reached the street. “We could tell the police about