In Death 10 - Witness in Death

his eyes, the shape of his nose, his jaw, the color of his skin. He covered his hair with a wig, a thick mane of deep brown. He supposed it was vanity that prevented him from using the more ordinary gray one.
    He couldn't bear to look old in her eyes.
    He added a slim mustache, a slender brush of beard in the center of his chin.
    All of this came naturally, despite the anxiety. He had donned a hundred characters in his life, sliding into them as smoothly as a man slips into favorite slippers after a long day.
    He added girth to his small frame -- shoulders, chest, then covered the padding with a simple dark suit. The lifts in his shoes would give him another inch of height.
    He took his time, studying the results in the long triple mirror, searching for any sign of Kenneth Stiles. For the first time in over an hour he allowed himself a small smile.
    He could walk right up to Lieutenant Eve Dallas and kiss her on the mouth. He'd be damned if she'd recognize him.
    Empowered, as he always was by a new role, Stiles swirled on a cape and went out to meet the woman he'd loved all his life.
    She kept him waiting. She always had. He'd chosen a small nostalgia club that had fallen out of fashion. But the music was low and bluesy, the patrons minded their own, and the drinks came quickly.
    He sipped at gin and paged through the battered volume of Shakespeare's sonnets. It was their signal.
    She had given him the book all those years ago. He had taken it for a token of love instead of the friendship she'd intended. Even when he'd realized his mistake, he'd treasured it. As much as he'd treasured her.
    He'd lied to the police, of course. He'd never broken contact with her, had known where she was, what she was doing. He had simply assumed another role with her, that of confidant and friend.
    And after a time, living the part for so many years, he grew comfortable with it.
    Yet, when she slid into the booth across from him, held out a hand for his, his heart leapt.
    She'd changed her hair. It was a glorious tangle of smoky red. Her skin was a pale, pale gold. He knew it was soft to the touch. Her eyes were deep, tawny, and concerned. But she smiled at him, a hesitant curve of a lush mouth.
    "So, you still read it?" Her voice was soft and lightly French.
    "Yes, often. Anja." His fingers flexed on hers, then deliberately relaxed. "Let me order you a drink."
    She sat back, watching him, waiting, as he signaled a waiter and ordered her a glass of sauvignon blanc.
    "You never forget."
    "Why would I?"
    "Oh, Kenneth." She closed her eyes a moment. "I wish things had been different. Could have been."
    "Don't." He spoke more sharply than he'd intended. It could still sting. "We're beyond regrets."
    "I don't think we ever get beyond them." She let out a small sigh. "I've spent more than half my life regretting Richard."
    He said nothing until her drink was served and she'd taken the first sip. "The police think I killed him."
    Her eyes went wide, and wine sloshed toward the rim of her glass as her hand jerked. "But no! No, that's impossible. Ridiculous."
    "They know what happened twenty-four years ago."
    "What do you mean?" Her hand darted out for his, squeezed like a vise. "What do they know?"
    "Steady now. They know about the assault, my arrest, the suit."
    "But how is that possible? It was so long ago, and all the details were put away."
    "Eve Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas," he said with some bitterness as he lifted his own drink. "She's relentless. She managed to break the seal. They took me in, put me in a room, hammered at me."
    "Oh, Kenneth. Kenneth, man cher, I'm so sorry. It must have been hideous."
    "They think I've harbored a grudge against Richard all this time." He laughed a little, drank. "I suppose they're right."
    "But you didn't kill him."
    "No, but they'll continue to dig into the past. You need to be prepared. I had to tell them why I attacked Richard. I had to give them your name." When the blood drained from her face, he leaned over, clasped both of her hands. "Anja," he said deliberately, "I told them I'd lost track of you, that we've had no contact in all these years. That I didn't know how to find you. I told them Richard had seduced you, then when he was certain you were in love with him, he cast you off. I told them about the attempt to take your own life. That's all I told them."
    She made a small sound of despair and lowered her head. "It still shames me."
    "You were young, brokenhearted. You survived. Anja, I'm