Sam appreciated a good suck-up as much as the next cop, but this guy was a little much. Just as she was about to say so, the office door opened and a tall, model-thin blonde breezed into the room like she owned the place. Ah, Sam thought, the wife. Elle Kopelsman Jestings—socialite, philanthropist and newspaper publisher, who did, in fact, own the place. Right behind her were two tall, muscular men, who appeared to be identical twins. They stood like lumps of meat right inside the door, keeping a close watch on Elle.

Very interesting, Sam thought, that she had such obvious security.

She went right to Hill, who stood to greet her with a hug.

“Nice to see you again, Avery.” She spoke with a cultured, upper-crust voice that sounded rich—if a voice could sound rich. “Dreadful circumstances.”

“Nice to see you too, Elle. I don’t believe you know Lieutenant Holland from the Metro PD?”

Elle turned her formidable blue-eyed gaze on Sam. “Everyone knows Lieutenant Holland and her very handsome senator husband.”

Sam wasn’t sure she liked the almost predatory way Elle described her husband. It was all right for her to say that about Nick, but anyone else... “Good to meet you,” Sam said, returning the handshake.

“I’m thrilled to meet you. I was just saying to Ray last week that we need to get you and the senator to one of our dinner parties.”

“We’re a little busy investigating a murder and running for reelection to be talking about social events,” Sam said.

Judging by the surprise that registered in her expression, Elle was unused to being rebuffed when extending a coveted social invitation. “My apologies for interrupting. I came over to find out if there’s any news about Willie. It’s such an awful tragedy.”

“Yes, it is,” Sam said. “If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to conclude our meeting with your husband and Mr. Minor.” Sam would never say so out loud, but she very much enjoyed the moment when it registered with Elle that Sam was asking her to leave.

Ray got up and went to his wife. With a hand on her lower back he guided her to the door.

“Why are they bothering you when it’s clear that a crazy fan killed him?” Elle asked, loudly enough to ensure that everyone heard her.

“They’re being thorough, honey. Give us a few minutes, and I’ll be right out.”

“Fine,” Elle said in a frosty note of displeasure that spoke of entitlement and all the things Sam hated most about rich people who thought they owned the world. She wondered if poor Ray, who seemed like a nice enough guy, would be made to pay for his audacity in showing her out of a room her father had put him into in the first place.

The two hunks of meat followed their boss out of the room like faithful dogs.