“Why share the majority of the known universe if you can have it all for yourself?”
“Right you are. And, yes, she would have tried to end me at some point. Fortunately, I’m married to the top bitch cop in the city, and well-protected.”
“Fortunately, you can take care of yourself. Tommy Anders couldn’t.” She turned back to the board, to the ID photo of Anders’s smiling, easygoing face.
“It hits me. Some of them do, and it hits me because he was a nice man who loved his wife and used his money and position to do good things. He’s dead, lives are ruined or at best forever changed, all because she wanted all the marbles. So…I’m going to squash her like the ugly spider she is.”
“Lieutenant.” Peabody poked in. “She’s just pulled into the lot.”
“Curtain up,” Roarke said.
23
TO ROARKE’S MIND, COP SHOPS TENDED TOWARD the loud, the confused, and the crowded. One such as Cop Central twisted and twined, rose and fell, in a serpentine labyrinth where cops, suspects, victims, lawyers, techs all bumped and burrowed amid constant clatter and movement.
And still, through all that, the choreography Eve had staged moved seamlessly. Perhaps as so many of the players were unaware of their role, their actions and reactions fell as natural as rainwater.
He watched on screens in an observation room with Feeney and the director herself as Trueheart and his fellow uniform-both looking as wholesome and harmless as apple pie-escorted Ava onto the elevator, then off again.
“It’ll be quicker and less crowded,” Trueheart explained in his polite tone, “if we take the glides from here, Mrs. Anders.”
As they rode up, others rode down. On the down, a man in a stained T-shirt and dingy dreads who Roarke would have made for a cop at six blocks, swiveled, pointed. “Hey, hey! That’s the one there. That’s the broad left with Cuss. Hey!”
Ava angled away toward Trueheart’s agreeable face. “Sorry,” he said. “We get all kinds through here.”
He led her off the glide, across a short span of floor, just as a female officer walked Bebe Petrelli toward the down. The reaction of both civilians struck Roarke as priceless. Shock on both faces, distress following on Petrelli’s, fury darkening Ava’s, even as the cop quickly hustled Petrelli to the left and away.
Little fissures in the mask, Roarke noted. And up the next glide they went. This time Baxter brought Cassie Gordon on just below. Cassie’s gaze tracked up, latched. “Well, hey. Hey, Ava!” A sharp and deadly amusement colored Cassie’s voice. “What’re you doing here?”
Ava glanced back, skimmed her cold eyes over Cassie. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“Sure, but then I’m just one of the horde. How’s it going?”
“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m pressed for time. Can we get this done?” she demanded of Trueheart.
“Yes, ma’am, we’re nearly there. This way.” Deliberately, he walked her by Homicide where the night clerk from the sex flop sat on a bench outside, flanked by two cops. He stared at her as she approached. The fissures widened as color flooded Ava’s face.
“Right in here.” Trueheart opened the door of Interview A. “I’ll make sure the lieutenant knows you’re here. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee maybe.”
“I’d prefer something sweet and cold. Ginger ale in a glass.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
In Observation, Eve hooked her thumbs in her pockets. “Putting her game face on. Knows we’re watching. Anybody with a brain, and brains she’s got, knows how Interview works.”
“Spooked her some.”
“Yeah, but pissed her off more. That’s what’s going to hang her. Well, time to go kick her ass.”
“Want me to kiss your head?”
“Want me to mention your sick day pajamas?”
“That’s mean. You make me proud. Go skin your fish.”
Eve didn’t want to keep Ava waiting long. Keep the temper up, those little edges of fear. She walked into Interview carrying plenty of files and attitude. “Mrs. Anders.”
“Lieutenant. I’ve had about enough of your incompetence, and your callousness. I demand to see your chief.”
“We’ll get to that. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in interview with Anders, Ava, regarding case number HA-32003, Anders, Thomas A., and all related events and crimes.” Eve dropped into a chair. “We’ve got a lot to clear up, Ava.”
“Mrs. Anders. I’d like to clear up the way you and this department have handled the media.”
Eve only smiled. “It’s been an interesting couple of days for me. How about you?” At Ava’s stony stare, Eve’s smile widened. “I don’t catch many like these, and I’ve got to hand it to you: You damn near pulled it off. I bet you’re wondering how I’m going to get you for murder.”
“What a hideous thing to say to me! A slanderous thing to say. I didn’t kill Tommy. I loved my husband. I was out of the country when he died, and you know that very well.”
“Save the shiny eyes and tear-choked voice. I know you.” Eve leaned forward. “I knew you the minute I saw you. You’re a grasping, greedy, self-important excuse for a human being. But you’ve got brains, Ava, and you’ve got patience. So what it comes down to is how you want to play this part of it. Let me give you something to think about. Suzanne Custer.”
“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”
“Think about it. Think about the fact that when we bring her in, we’ll give her a chance to slip and slide. She’ll have the opportunity to wheel and deal. Personally, I think she’s going to grab it like a lifeline.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, I have no idea what you’re trying to do here, unless it’s generate more media frenzy than you’ve already managed. And that you’re somehow blaming me for that, and the fact you’ve been reprimanded for mishandling it. It’s been established, without any doubt, that I was in St. Lucia when my Tommy was killed.”
“You weren’t in St. Lucia when Ned Custer’s throat was slit.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name. What does that have to do with me?”
“Are you going to deny you know Suzanne Custer?”
“I know a great many people.” She paused, offered a considering frown. “Suzanne? Yes, of course. I know her slightly. She’s one of our mothers.”
“The same Suzanne Custer whose husband was murdered in a sex flop in Alphabet City a couple of months ago.”
“How horrible.” Ava pressed a hand to her own throat. “Poor Suzanne. I try not to follow media reports on violence. I’m so terribly sorry to hear about this, but I don’t know what it has to do with me, or with my Tommy.”
“Makes you wonder what Suzanne might say if she gets a chance to address that.”
Peabody entered with a red wig inside an evidence bag. She nodded at Eve, slipped out. “Lookie here. Pretty.” Eve held up the bag. “Familiar?”
“I assume it’s one of mine, as I have one like it. Or did. I attend costume galas from time to time. I’d like to know how it came to be in your possession.”
“By duly executed warrant. Let me just mention Ned Custer again, a bar pickup and sex flop. Give you another shot here, Ava. You’re a striking woman. Tall and well-turned-out.” Opening the file, she withdrew a photo she’d had the police artist compose. It appeared dim, even dingy, just as she’d ordered.
“You even turn out pretty well as a cheap redhead in a crappy security cam still. Maybe not suitable for framing,” she added as Ava stared down at it. “But a picture tells a story. Here’s a story I like. You pick up Custer in the bar, take him to the flop, slit his throat, carve off his works, and boogie on. Why? You’re just going to have to help me out there. Why does a woman like you slum it with a man like Custer, and end up killing him?”
“I can hardly help you as there is no why. It’s insane.”