“I know it’s serious. It’s just-”
“Your friend is dead. You could be next.”
“Stop trying to scare me.”
“You need to be scared. Maybe you’ll use some of those smarts you insist God gave you.”
Yvette fisted her fingers. “Why do you have to ruin everything!”
“I’m not your parent. Grow up.”
“No, you’re my employer, aren’t you? But just because you paid me to hang around doesn’t mean you own me.”
Patti leaned forward, surprised at the force of her own anger. It took all her control to keep her tone even, her voice low and clear. “Why aren’t you scared, Yvette?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re not acting like you believe your own story.”
“That’s just dumb.”
“Alma Maytree was hit in the head with a frying pan.”
“So?”
“You hit your father in the head with a coffeepot. Didn’t you…Carrie Sue?”
Yvette went white. “You know about that?”
“We know.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“But you wanted to.”
That came from Spencer, who had entered the room, Tony with him. Yvette looked at them, expression registering surprise, then fear.
“That’s not true.”
“Your father thought it was.”
“My old man’s a son of a bitch who-”
“Deserved to die?” Spencer asked.
“Who can go straight to hell,” she finished.
“Maybe he has. He’s dead, did you know?”
She hadn’t known, Patti saw by Yvette’s expression. She also saw that the girl wasn’t upset by the news.
“What does he have to do with anything?”
“That Sunday you say you couldn’t reach Tonya, a neighbor saw her drive off with a woman with long, dark hair.”
“What?”
Spencer repeated himself, then asked, “Where were you that Sunday?”
“I called her several times. Patti heard the calls.” She looked at Patti. “Right?”
“I did. But you made those calls from a mobile phone.”
“So? What difference does that…”
She let the words trail off. Getting it, Patti saw by her expression. Cell calls could be made from anywhere. Even from beside the very person you were dialing. Even when that person was dead.
Of course, cell phone records couldn’t pinpoint exact location but they could verify vicinity by establishing which towers the calls travelled through.
“I repeat,” Spencer said, “that Sunday, where were you?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “In the morning I hung out around the apartment. Then I went to the Quarter. Spent the afternoon shopping.”
“Did you meet anyone?”
“No.”
“Run into a friend? Stop into a shop where they know you?”
“No.”
“How about at your apartment? Did you speak with any of your neighbors?”
She shook her head, expression stricken.
“Is there anyone who can verify your story?”
“I don’t think…I was alone. All day.”
“What about the night Miss Alma was killed and Samson poisoned? Monday, May 7.”
“I have most Mondays off. I was home. I went to bed early. Slept all night.”
“That’s it?”
She looked pleadingly at Patti. “The Artist broke in that night. He could have killed me, but-”
“He didn’t, did he, Yvette?”
“He left me a note and locket pendant. With Tonya’s picture in it.”
“Why do you think he didn’t kill you?” Patti asked, surprised by her own ferocity, by the way the words seemed to explode out of her.
Yvette clasped her hands together. “I don’t know. How could I? Maybe because he…he loves me?”
“We want to believe you, kid,” Tony said, tone fatherly. “I want to. Problem is-”
“You’re so full of shit,” Spencer said. “You’re a liar and an opportunist.”
“I’m not! I-I want a lawyer.”
“Sure. Call one when you get home.”
“Home? I don’t understand.”
“We’re not keeping you, Carrie Sue. You’re not under arrest.”
“But what about-”
“NOPD protection?” Patti asked. “You’ve got it. If you still want it?”
“Of course I still want it!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Are you nuts? The Artist exists! He’s after me!”
“Okay then, an officer will accompany you home. He or another officer will be assigned to protect you.”
Yvette looked confused. “So I can go?”
“Absolutely.” Patti turned to Tony. “Detective Sciame, will you accompany Ms. Borger downstairs?”
“Sure, Captain.” He understood what he was to do: accompany her downstairs, hand her off to a patrol unit who would bring her home, then stay to “protect” her.
Tony stood and smiled at the young woman. “Ready?”
When the door snapped shut behind them, Patti turned to Spencer. “I want a search warrant for her apartment. You know what we’re looking for-anything to link her to the murders of Messinger and Maytree.”
“Got it, Captain.” He stood. “You coming?”
“In a minute. You go on.”
He frowned slightly, as if he found her behavior bizarre, but did as she requested.
For a long time Patti sat in the empty interview room. She rubbed the back of her neck, working at the knots of tension. She was having difficulty wrapping her mind around this. She trusted Spencer. And Tony. Everything they said made sense. The evidence against Yvette’s version of the truth was piling up.
So why couldn’t she fully buy into it? Why couldn’t she accept Franklin as Sammy’s killer? Why did she want to grasp at far-fetched straws instead?
“If you accept that Franklin killed him, you’ve got to move on. Let go of Sammy.”
“This whole thing with Yvette was a way of keeping him in your life.”
The words hurt terribly.
They hurt because they were true.
Tears burned her eyes; a lump formed in her throat. She didn’t want to let Sammy go. She wasn’t ready for a life without him.
Patti lifted her gaze to the ceiling, swallowing hard. Spencer had been right about Yvette being alive. Maybe he was right about all of it-Yvette Borger was not only a liar and scam artist, but a murderer as well.
The judge would approve the warrant. They already “unofficially” knew of one suspicious item they’d find: the gallon of antifreeze. A car-rental receipt for the weekend Tonya disappeared would be a home run. A gun. Bloodstained garments.
“Aunt Patti?” She looked up. Spencer had poked his head into the interview room. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He frowned. “It’s been a half an hour.”
“I didn’t know I was on the clock.”
“The request is on the way to Judge Boudreaux.”
“He’s good about acting quickly. Let me know when you have it.”
“You want in?”
“Don’t think so. Spencer?” When he met her eyes, she said, “You were right. About Sammy. I didn’t want to let go. I still don’t.”
He came to her side, laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know.”
Tears swamped her. Fighting them, she covered his hand with hers. “And Spencer?”
He met her eyes. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
60
Thursday, May 17, 2007
1:10 p.m.
Yvette paced her living room, emotions swinging between fury and terror. They were trying to pin Miss Alma’s murder on her. As if she could ever hurt that sweet old lady. And Tonya. The only person willing to help her.
It was bullshit! Absolute bullshit. They were questioning her? Suspecting her? While a maniac roamed free?
They’d found out about Carrie Sue.
She stopped pacing, brought a hand to her throat, feeling like she might throw up. Carrie Sue had been a pathetic victim. The day she walked away from Greenwood, Carrie Sue had died-and Yvette had been born.