“We thought we would be meeting Peter back there in a couple of days when we returned to the city, so we kept the room.” Her voice was so low, Johnson could barely catch her words. She sounded so sad, he felt a stone weighing on his chest. Johnson pressed a hand to his heart.
Gregori stirred slightly, stroking Savannah’s hair and neck, his fingers moving in a soothing massage. She was broadcasting her inner sorrow too loudly, and the detective was becoming affected. Breathe deeply, mon amour. We cannot afford to have the policeman suffer a heart attack in our presence. He is very susceptible to you.
I can’t stand lying like this. There were tears in her voice, in her mind. She was clinging to Gregori’s mind as an anchor, and it made him feel the connection with her was real and solid. Perhaps even unbreakable. Peter deserved better.
That is so, bébé, but we cannot very well tell this man the truth. We would both be locked up as insane. Gregori leaned forward and stared directly into Johnson’s eyes. You will seek attention for your heart problem after we leave this place. For now you will cease to question Savannah and direct your queries solely to me.
Johnson blinked, his eyes slightly glazed. Had he fallen asleep? He wasn’t feeling very well. He wiped perspiration from his forehead. Perhaps he would make a quick trip to the hospital and have those tests he had been putting off. Meanwhile, Savannah looked so distressed that he focused on Gregori. There was something about the man’s voice that enthralled him. He could listen to it forever. “No one seems to know of your marriage. We found no record of it,” he ventured.
Gregori nodded. “Savannah’s career demanded she appear—how should I put this?—available. A single woman is much more of a draw than a married one. We have been husband and wife for nearly five years. The marriage took place in our country. Savannah’s mother is from the United States, but her father’s homeland is in the Carpathian Mountains. We were married there.”
Johnson refrained from saying she looked far too young and innocent for a man as powerful as Gregori. It was nearly impossible to tell his age. “Mr. Sanders was fine with the marriage?”
The silver eyes slashed like steel. “Of course he was.” Gregori could see that that question upset Savannah even more. He leaned close to the detective again. You will cease this line of inquiry.
Johnson shook his head. “We’re getting off the subject here. Do you know of any enemies Mr. Sanders may have had?”
Gregori took his time answering, looking very thoughtful. Eventually he shook his head. “I wish we could help you more, Detective, but everyone liked Peter. Well, with the exception of the reporters—he was very good at protecting Savannah’s privacy and thereby preserving the mystique of the show. I do not think you will find anyone who would speak ill of Peter.”
“He handled the finances for the show, didn’t he?” Johnson asked shrewdly.
“Yes, he did,” Gregori answered easily. “Peter was a full partner with Savannah. He earned it, too.”
“Were there any problems with the books?” Johnson slid the question in, watching their faces.
Savannah looked so pale and filled with sorrow, he felt as if he was tormenting her. No emotion showed on Gregori’s face, and Johnson knew nothing he said or did would change that. “I am independently wealthy, Detective, with more money than I can possibly use in a lifetime. Savannah did not even need the income from her show. If there was ever a discrepancy, and I certainly do not know of one, I am certain, as is Savannah, that it would be an honest one. Peter made good money from the shows and would have no need to doctor the books. I am sure you can easily check his bank accounts and our books. You are certainly welcome to do so. Peter Sanders was not a thief.”
Savannah lifted her chin. “Peter would never have stolen anything. And if he’d ever needed money, all he would have to do is say so. We would have given it to him, and he knew it.”