“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.”
“Maybe things didn’t go the way you figured. He’s not a smoothie like Charles Monroe. Maybe you were trying to get your kicks on, seeing as your husband leaned that way. Help me out here. Gotcha, Ava.” Eve tapped the photo. “I’ve got you in the bar, with Custer. In the flop, with Custer. You can help me, and help yourself, or I let Suzanne pick up the story from here.”
“It’s not what you think. Not at all what you think.”
Trueheart came in with a plastic glass filled with ice and ginger ale. “Excuse me. I’m sorry it took so long.”
Eve waited while Trueheart stepped out, while Ava sipped. Yeah, you think, Eve mused. Think how to play it. Bet I know how you will.
“Suzanne…I felt sorry for her. I wanted to help her.”
“By offing her lousy husband? Man, who couldn’t use a pal like you?”
“Good God, no.” Ava pressed a hand to her heart. In lieu of the not-currently-in-fashion wedding ring, a bloodred ruby glowed. “I took an interest in her, and it was frustrating that she refused to help herself. I know it was foolish of me, I know that, but to prove a point, I arranged a kind of intervention between her and her husband.”
“What kind of intervention would that be? The kind that involves castration?”
“Don’t be so horrible and crude! I wanted to help. Why would I conceive the mothers’ programs unless I wanted to help these women?”
“What did you do? To help?”
“I went to the bar that he frequented and lured him-you could say I lured him-to that horrible hotel room. Suzanne was there. It was a way to catch him in the act, to make him face what he was doing. I left immediately after she came in, to give them privacy.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I haven’t spoken to her since. She hasn’t contacted me, and didn’t take my few attempts to reach her. I assumed things didn’t work out as we’d hoped. But I had no idea…If she killed him, Lieutenant, if that’s what happened, it had to be in self-defense. It had to be.”
“Let me just compact all this. You dressed up like a hooker, went to the bar, to the flop with Ned Custer, as a favor to his wife?”
Ava lifted her chin. “I don’t appreciate your implications, or your attitude.”
“Gee, pardon the hell right out of me.”
“Lieutenant, it’s so easy to become involved with the lives of these women, to feel for them. Suzanne was desperate to save her marriage, her family. She was so certain that if he was caught that way, he’d agree to counseling. And, well, I admit, it seemed exciting. We’re very hands-on at Anders. Tommy and I believed in involvement. I made a terrible mistake. And now a man’s dead.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Okay, let’s clarify for the record. You state that you met Ned Custer in the bar on the night of January twenty of this year, that you went with him to the flop.”
“Yes, yes, to meet Suzanne. He was angry, of course, but she asked me to go. To leave them alone so they could talk it out. I should never have left. I see that now.” As if in a plea for understanding, Ava held out her hands to Eve. “How could I know she’d kill him? She said she wanted to save her marriage, how could I know she’d kill him?”
“That’s a tough one. You couldn’t know.”
“I feel terrible about it. Sick about it. But Suzanne, my God, she must’ve been-”
This time it was Baxter who stepped in, carrying several evidence bags. He murmured as he leaned down to Eve. “Custer’s en route.”
“Thanks. And look what we have now. Black market bypass remote. And these security discs taken from your home.” Eve lifted the disposable ’link. “Cheap-ass piece of crap. Pressure syringes, cock thickener, tranq. All confiscated from Suzanne Custer’s apartment.”
“My God, my God, is that…is that the device used to circumvent our security?” Ava’s voice dropped down to a strained whisper. “When Tommy…Suzanne? Oh my God, did Suzanne kill Tommy?”
“Bet she did.”
“But, but why? Why? Her children were in the program. Tommy and I…No. No. No.” With her hands pressed to her temples, Ava shook her head from side to side in what Eve considered overacting. “Not because of what happened with her husband. Not because of what I did that night! Please, not because of that.”
“Yeah, because of that.”
“How can I ever forgive myself?” She wept then, harsh, angry sobs. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Oh, Tommy. Tommy.”
“Do you need a minute, Ava?” Eve reached over, patted her hand. “This is rough. I’m sorry I was so hard on you at the start of the interview. I had to get the motive.”
“It doesn’t matter, none of it matters. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t agreed to that foolish business with Suzanne’s husband, if I’d never gone to that horrible room with him, Tommy would be alive.”
“You’re right about that. But here’s the thing. You listening, Ava? Can you compose yourself? Okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll try, I’ll try. This is all such a shock.”
“Here’s another. Suzanne Custer was never in that flop with you and her husband.”
“Of course she was. I saw her. I spoke with her.”
“She was in her apartment, blocks away, leaving messages on her husband’s ’link while you were slitting his throat. While you came out of the bathroom, sealed up with a six-inch serrated blade and raked it across his throat, she was home, pacing the floor, trying to reach him while you watched him bleed out, while you hacked off his dick, then climbed out the window. While you practically flew ten blocks to the auto lot where you had parked your Mercedes, New York plate A AVA, in the slot you’d reserved.”