"I know Jonny. He's not like that."
"Yeah, the lieutenant tried, but racism in a place like Duluth is like drinking water. It's as natural as breathing, girl. They're doing it when they don't even know they're doing it. Stride included. He was always busting my ass over things that white cops did all the time."
"Like what?"
"Sometimes I missed shifts. My boy was sick. For white folks, that's called a child care issue. For me, it's being a lazy-ass black cop."
"That doesn't explain your hair being found in the apartment where your husband and his lover were killed."
"No, I'm just saying you got to understand the context."
Serena leaned forward. The plastic chair was uncomfortable. "Look, I've read the newspapers. I talked to Abel. I talked to Jonny. What I understand is that you had six months of hell. You had a good shooting on the bridge, and then you had everyone on your back over it. You were questioning yourself every damn day, reliving that moment when you pulled the trigger. Believe me, I know what that's like. I've been there. Then your husband started an affair with a teenage whore, and there you are, stuck on leave and feeling guilty and ashamed, trying to raise a boy, and feeling like the whole world is against you. Do I understand the context?"
Nicole was silent. She chewed her lip and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, okay. That was me."
"You were fragile."
"Yeah, but I was dealing with it. I was getting help. I was happy to be back on the job. Stride had me pull cold cases, because he didn't think I was ready to be back on the street, but that was okay. I liked it. I was on the phone and the Web ten hours a day, and I made some breaks in cases that had been stone-cold for years. It gave me my confidence back, you know?"
"What about your husband?"
"He was a prick. No other way around it. I was going to dump him."
"You didn't stalk him and his little girlfriend?"
"Okay, yeah, I did that a few times. I was wallowing in it, you know what that's like? Feeling sorry for myself. But I was done with that. I did not go over there that night. I did not kill them."
"Then who did?" Serena asked.
"Hell, I don't know. The girl was a junkie. Probably a dealer. But no one checked the drug angle."
"You said you were never in her apartment."
"I wasn't."
"How did your hair get there?"
Nicole jabbed a finger at Serena. " 'Cause it was planted, that's how."
"Who do you think did that?"
"I know exactly who. Abel fucking Teitscher, that's who. He framed me."
"Why would Abel do that?"
"He never wanted me as a partner, and he thought I was guilty, and this was the only way he could make the case. You know as well as I do that cops aren't angels. You've never helped a case along when you knew you had the perp and the evidence was weak?"
"No."
"Well, that's real high-and-mighty, but here in the real world, it happens."
Serena sighed. "So what does this have to do with Maggie?"
"Are you kidding me? Two detectives from the same bureau wind up on the hook for murdering their husbands? That doesn't smell like rotten fish to you?"
"Your case was six years ago. That's a long time."
"And I'm telling you, there's got to be a connection somewhere. You've got Abel on the case again, don't you? He had it in for me then, now he's got it in for Maggie."
"That doesn't sound like Abel," Serena told her. "He's a pain in the ass, but he's a straight shooter."
"Yeah, well, a lot of my hair wound up in Abel's car, girl, but the only way it got into that apartment is because someone carried it."
"You're not suggesting that Abel killed your husband and his girlfriend. Or Maggie's husband. Are you?"
Nicole shrugged. "I'm saying anything's possible. Maybe he's got it in for chick cops."
"Come on, Nicole."
"Look, I don't know. When I was a detective, I didn't like coincidences. This is a big one. Two cops with dead husbands."
Serena got up. "If I find anything that links the two cases, I'll call you."
"Yeah, right."
She extended her hand, and Nicole took it sullenly.
"That's all I can do," Serena said.
Nicole folded her arms over her chest. "My boy is going to college now, did you know that? A state school near his grandmother in Tennessee. If I'm lucky, I see him a couple of times a year. He's eighteen now. Almost nineteen. I missed the last six years of him growing up."
"I'm sorry."
"I didn't do this. He knows that."
"Okay."
"Say hi to Stride for me."
Serena nodded. Nicole shuffled toward the door that led back to the cells. Her head was down. Serena watched her go. She left the prison and was glad to get away from the antiseptic smell and the claustrophobia of the walls. As she got into her car, she realized everyone was right. Nicole was a waste of time.
Serena hoped she would have better luck at the Ordway.
She had visited Saint Paul several times in the past year. It was an easy two-and-a-half hour drive down I-35 from Duluth, and many of her investigative jobs had roots in the Twin Cities. Minneapolis was the larger of the siblings, with steel skyscrapers, trendy restaurants, and a fast-paced corporate culture. Saint Paul was slower, quieter, and smaller, boasting only a handful of high-rises that would have been dwarfed in other towns. The dominant look in the downtown architecture was turn-of-the-century stone. The state government took up most of the office space, and life in the city revolved around two domed buildings on the hill, the cathedral and the capitol. Between the twins, Serena preferred Saint Paul.
She found a parking place at a meter in Rice Park. The park was no more than a single square city block, with a central fountain and an odd juxtaposition of statues, including F. Scott Fitzgerald and characters from the Peanuts comic strip. St. Paul didn't forget its favorite sons, whether they were authors or cartoonists. The Ordway Center was only a few steps away, and the other buildings on the square were classical and grave-the mammoth central library, the Landmark Center with its clock tower and green dormers, and the venerable Saint Paul Hotel.
It was late afternoon and already dark. The streetlights were on. White lights twinkled in the trees in the park, and faery ice sculptures glistened, awaiting the opening of the city's annual winter carnival. Serena made her way to the Ordway, which was getting ready for a performance of The Producers that night. A doorman in a cape and top hat held the door for her. She was early; the theater staff in the lobby were sweeping the floor, arranging posters and T-shirts for sale, and preparing for the rush of ticket holders.
She found a security attendant in a white shirt. He was in his fifties, short and round. He remembered talking to Maggie the previous day.
"I was hoping to get some more information from the ushers," Serena told him.
"Suit yourself," he replied pleasantly. "But you've only got half an hour. When the guests start arriving, everyone will be busy around here."
"Do you know who would have been working a week ago Saturday?"
The security guard pointed at a kid in his early twenties, who was perched beside a velvet rope leading into the waiting area outside the orchestra doors. "Start with Dave."
Serena thanked him. Dave was a talkative farm boy who was majoring in geology at the University of Minnesota and used his ushering job to watch theater performances for free. He was dressed uncomfortably in a black tuxedo, with a paisley cummerbund and a bow tie that was so twisted it looked more like an hourglass spilling sand. Serena couldn't resist straightening it for him.