Time of Death by J. D. Robb

ex-wife.”
    “But are you absolutely sure it’s her? She had a panic button, a ministunner. She knew how to handle herself. Maybe—”
    “She’s been identified, I’m sorry. When did you—”
    She broke off when he just crouched down, dropped his head in his hands as a man would if pierced by a sudden and unspeakable pain. “Oh, God, oh, God. Alless . I can’t . . . I told her to quit that goddamn job. I told her.”
    “Why did you tell her to quit her job?”
    He looked up, but since he didn’t straighten, Eve hunkered down with him. “She worked in this cult club—vampire shit—which is bad enough. But it was underground, off Times Square. It wasn’t safe, it’s not safe down there, and she knew it.”
    “Then why’d she work there?”
    “Made three times what she made on street level. Sometimes four with tips. No doubles. She wanted to buy a house, a little house, maybe in Queens. We’ve got a boy.” His eyes watered up. “We got Sam, and she wanted a place out of the city. We share custody of Sam. But, Jesus, I told her it wasn’t worth it. I went down to check it out right after she took the job. Goddamn pit in a goddamn sewer. Alless.”
    There was love here, Eve thought. Maybe not enough to make a marriage work, but there was love. “Did she talk about her work, the people she worked with? For?”
    “No, not to me. Not after we went a round about it. Haven’t fought like that since we split. Don’t know that we fought like that before we split. I was scared, if you want to know the truth. Scared for her, and I handled it wrong.”
    His hands dangled between his knees now, and he stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “Flat out told her she was going to quit, and I know that’s just the way to make her dig into something. If I’d handled it better, she might’ve . . .”
    He looked up, looked past Eve. There were people gathered on the other side of the barricades, as people always did.
    What happened? they’d ask, and as word trickled down, they’d think how awful, how terrible, even as they continued to gawk, to linger, to hope to catch a glimpse of the dead body before they had to head off to work.
    Because it wasn’t them, it wasn’t theirs the city had swallowed up. So they could gawk and linger and congratulate themselves that it wasn’t them or theirs—and the next time it might be.
    Sabo didn’t see them, Eve knew that, too. Because for him, it was the next time.
    “Mr. Sabo, did you meet any of her coworkers or her employer while you were in the club, or after?”
    “What? No. No.” He scrubbed his hands hard over his face. “Didn’t want to. I only stayed about twenty minutes. Illegals passing around like party favors. People coming out of the private rooms licking blood off their lips, or it looked like it. She wanted a damn house in Queens.”
    “Mr. Sabo, I have to ask. It’s routine. Can you verify your whereabouts between two and four a.m. this morning?”
    “In bed, at home. I got Sam. I can’t leave Sam alone at night.” He rubbed at his eyes now before his hands dangled uselessly again. “I have building security. In and out. You can check. Whatever you have to do so you don’t waste time, so you find who hurt Alless. Was she raped?”
    Before Eve could respond, he shook his head. “No. No. Don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know either way. Walk from the subway, after two in the morning, alone. Because of that damn job. Now what am I going to tell our boy? How am I going to tell our Sam his mama’s gone?”
    “I can have a grief counselor contact you, one who works with children.”
    “Yes. Please. Yes.” His throat worked on a swallow. “I’ll need help. Alless and I, well, we couldn’t stay married, but we were a team when it came to Sam. I’ll need help. I have to get back to my kid. I left him with the neighbor. I have to get back to Sam. Can you let me know when . . . when I need to do whatever I need to