Cord sighed. “So did a lot of women.”

Bullets kept shooting through his mind. Funeral arrangements had to be made. Someone had to deal with his brother’s business, from bills to belongings. Their father was hooked up to oxygen full-time, wouldn’t be able to handle anything-just telling him would be a crisis in itself-and thank God they’d lost their mother, because she’d have crumpled to find out what Jon had become and how he’d died.

“Who did this? Do you know?” Cord asked again.

“That’s exactly what we need your help with.”

Cord wanted to throw something. Too many people could have wanted to strangle his brother. Himself included.

He paced around the desk, stared at the black diamonds sluicing down the windows, the pitch-black night, the bleakness of it. “Look. I can’t seem to grasp any of this. You think this woman, this Campbell person, killed him? Is that why you mentioned her?”

They all pulled back for a moment. Neither man had moved from their rock-quiet position in front of him. The detective, Bassett, started to say, “At this time, this soon, there’s no possibility of our knowing anything definitively-”

But Ferrell interrupted him, looked directly into Cord’s eyes. “Your brother has been under private investigation for the last two months. I believe he’s been blackmailing two women, and possibly more. He had a pattern of targeting high-profile women, where a public scandal would have crippled their lives. My client is a senator, but believe me, she isn’t the only one who wants this matter handled as privately as possible.”

“We absolutely want to find out who murdered your brother,” Bassett clipped in.

“But we also want access to the blackmail evidence your brother had. It’s no one’s goal to impede the investigation. Everyone concerned wants the killer brought to light. But in an ideal world, the innocent victims wouldn’t be exposed to a media circus.”