Lake let out a stream of air as she sat. “We just saw him last night. A dinner party at his home. Which you know, of course.” She drew in more air, let it out again. “We were there until about eleven. Johnny?”
“Yes, about eleven.” Now he sat beside her. “We were the first to leave, actually. I have rounds this morning, and Lucy has an early meeting.”
“Should I reschedule that?”
“This shouldn’t take long,” Eve told her.
“I—” She broke off when Alice wheeled in a coffee cart. “Alice, would you contact my office? Have Karl push my morning meeting an hour.”
“I’ll do just that, don’t you worry. Now there’s good black coffee for you, Lieutenant. And I’ll have yours here, Detective. You’ll have your second cup,” she said to both doctors, pouring and serving. “I’ll be right back in the kitchen if you need me for anything. Don’t you worry,” she repeated, and left them.
“If something happened after we left”—Lake looked at her husband—“someone would have contacted us. If something happened to Anthony during the dinner party.”
“He was killed after the party.”
“I don’t understand how— Oh God, Daphne. His wife.” With a hand pressed to her heart, Lake came halfway out of her chair. “Was she killed, too?”
“She’s in the hospital,” Eve told Lake. “Your hospital.”
“Her condition?” O’Connor demanded, even as he pulled his ’link from his pocket.
“Just hold off on contacting the hospital. I’ve just checked on her. She’s in stable condition, mildly sedated.”
“Her attending?”
“Dr. Delroy Nobel.”
The tension in O’Connor’s face eased, and his wife rubbed a hand on his thigh. “Then she’s under excellent care,” Lake said. “Can you tell us her injuries? There’s nothing we can do for Anthony,” she added.
“You’ll have to get the medical details from Nobel, but I can tell you Mrs. Strazza was physically and sexually assaulted.”
“Raped.” Lake’s eyes stayed level, but something in them hardened.
They’d get the details, Eve thought, so she laid it out. “Shortly after two this morning, Mrs. Strazza was found near her home, wandering outside, naked, in shock. She’d suffered numerous contusions and lacerations and was hypothermic. Dr. Nobel stabilized her. I interviewed her. Her memory is spotty, but she stated there was someone in the master bedroom when she and her husband entered after the last guest left. Dr. Strazza was restrained, Mrs. Strazza was repeatedly raped and assaulted.”
“She saw who did this?” O’Connor covered his wife’s hand with his.
“She was unable to describe or identify the assailant, and was too distraught to press on it at that time. During the assault, Dr. Strazza was killed. Mrs. Strazza suffered a blow to the head. I need to ask—to eliminate—can you verify the time you returned home and verify your whereabouts from eleven-thirty to two this morning?”
“We left about eleven, as we said.” O’Connor rubbed his temple. “We’d have been home before eleven-thirty. I think it was about ten or fifteen after eleven, actually. We’re practically neighbors. The security feed would verify it, and would verify we didn’t leave the house once we got in.”
“Is it all right if I check the feed?” Peabody asked. “Just to cross it off.”
“Yes, yes. Alice can show you.” Lake gestured. “A home invasion?” she continued as Peabody left. “Their home seems very secure.”
“We’re investigating. What was your relationship with Anthony Strazza?”
“We were colleagues. I’m his chief.”
“And you socialized?”
“Yes. That’s part of being chief. Anthony was a brilliant surgeon. Orthopedic surgeon. His talents will be sorely missed.”
“Just his talents?”
“I had no issue with Anthony.” She spoke carefully, politically. “I respected his skills. We weren’t friends, but colleagues.”
“He was a difficult man. Lucy,” O’Connor said when she shot him a sharp look. “It’s no secret. Surgeons are often difficult.” He gave his wife’s hand a squeeze as he spoke. “He was well respected, admired for his skill. He was not particularly well liked.”
“Anybody particularly dislike him?”
“Enough to kill him?” Lake shook her head. “I could see a dozen who might get into an altercation, might take a swing in the heat of the moment. But to invade his home, to kill him? To attack his wife? No.”
She leaned back on the couch, shook her head again. “No. And people tend to like Daphne. It would be easy to disdain her. The young, beautiful trophy wife, marrying status and money. But she simply didn’t fit that slot. There’s a shy sweetness about her, and a kindness. She doesn’t flaunt and strut and demand. Initially she volunteered at the hospital once a week in the pediatric unit. But after a few months, Anthony said it was too stressful for her.”
“Was it?”
“I couldn’t say. I do know she won over a lot of skeptics during that time. She has a quiet way, remembers everyone’s name—their children’s names. She hosts lovely parties, and faithfully attends all the often-tedious events required of a doctor’s spouse. We don’t know her very well—again, we’re not friends—but I like her.”
“As do I,” O’Connor confirmed. “A sweet girl. And, I think, browbeaten.”