In Death 10 - Witness in Death

how many different ways he insults or evades her."
    "Really, Lieutenant, that's a character." Eliza puffed up like a bird who'd just had its tail feathers plucked. "Surely you're not suggesting that I had anything to do with this."
    "It's all about character." Eve studied Eliza's outraged face. "Sir Wilfred, protecting his client, risking his health, only to learn in the end he's freed a murderer. Leonard Vole, pretending to defend his beloved wife, helping her to escape a crumbling Germany years before, only to use her again and again to protect himself. And Christine." Eve shifted her gaze to Areena. "Risking her reputation, sacrificing her freedom to cover for him. Out of love that was thrown back in her face in the crudest and most careless of ways when she had served her purpose."
    "We know the play," Carly said with a dainty yawn. "I suppose you'll say that while only the understudy, Michael was ranged with Richard, that is, Vole."
    "That's right. And with Draco out of the way, he becomes Vole. What better way to right an old wrong, to avenge his mother's honor?"
    "Just a minute. That's enough. I've had enough of this. I don't have to take that sort of thing from you." Michael's fists bunched at his sides as he took one threatening step toward Eve.
    "Michael." Roarke's voice was quiet. He shifted so that he blocked Michael's reckless advance, and the actor came face-to-face with iced violence. "I could hurt you in ways you can't possibly imagine."
    "Roarke," Eve would have cursed him for the interference, but it would have changed the mood.
    "Step back, Michael," Carly advised, and only the grip of her hand on the chair indicated her concern. "You'll only embarrass yourself. You're running through our happy troupe rather quickly, Lieutenant."
    Carly crossed her legs, all but purring to shift the attention to herself. "But you haven't touched on me or my character counterpart. I don't believe Diana was protecting anyone."
    "She would have." Eve turned, walked slowly to the witness chair. "Wouldn't she have seen that, after it all came tumbling down? That she would have followed after Christine, being used, being exploited, then being cast off when he looked for fresher prey? I think she would have hated him for that. Hated him," Eve repeated, resting her hands on the arms of the chair, leaning down. "For spoiling her party, her pretty dreams, for making her see what a fool she'd been to fall for something despicable, disgusting."
    The pulse began to hammer in Carly's throat. "You're giving the character more depth than she deserves."
    "I don't think so. I think Vole underestimated her. People, particularly men, often underestimate beautiful women. They don't look past the surface. He didn't know you, did he? Didn't know what kind of strength and passion and purpose lives inside you."
    A spotlight flashed on, bathed Carly in a cool, white glow.
    "You don't frighten me, Lieutenant."
    "No, you don't scare easy. And when someone bruises you, you hit back. Harder. I have to respect that. He thought he could toss you aside, like an LC after the hour's up. He thought he could humiliate you in public, right here, on this stage, in front of the cast and crew. So they'd look at you with scorn or pity. You wouldn't, couldn't swallow that. He had to pay for that."
    "Stop hounding her." Michael gripped the edge of the evidence table. "Leave her alone. You know what she's been through."
    "She's just grasping at straws." Her mouth was dust dry, but Carly managed to keep her voice level.
    "Men don't toss you aside, do they, Carly?" Eve glanced back at Michael. "That's not allowed. Not tolerated. It was easy to plan it, really. Just step by step. And it was so beautifully tailored to suit. He would die right here, almost at your feet."
    "I want a lawyer."
    "You can have a team of them." Eve stepped back, wandered to the evidence table, tapped a finger on the handle of the knife. "It was easy to get the knife out of the kitchen. Who notices a missing knife where there are so many? You knew the pace of the play, how much time between a change of sets. Even if someone saw you, it wouldn't matter. You belonged here, like part of the scenery or an important prop. Slip the dummy knife up your sleeve, set the murder weapon down, and walk away.
    "Was it hard to wait?" She turned the knife in her hand so that it caught the lights, shot glints. "To say your lines, to listen to others, while in your head you could see that last scene play,