"Who's Angie?" Romero asked me.
"I work with a woman named Angie, but we're just friends," I explained.
"I have no idea why Rebecca would've said that."
"Yo, you think I'm lyin'?" Ray said to me, as if challenging me to a fight.
"No," I said, "I believe Rebecca told you that, but it's not true."
"Why would she lie?" Ray said.
"I don't know," I said. "She was always making up stories, getting paranoid. Come on, you knew Rebecca. You knew she was crazy, right?"
"Becky wasn't crazy, yo," Ray said. "She was a little wild, that's all."
"Did Rebecca tell you anything else on the phone this evening?" Romero said to Ray. "Did she say something else was bothering her?"
"Yeah," Ray said, "she said she was afraid David was gonna dump her ass on the street."
"Thank you," Romero said. "Can you wait outside, please, Mr…?"
"Ramirez," Ray said. "Yeah, I'll wait." Then he left the apartment, pulling on the door handle to make the door slam.
"I guess I'll get out of your way now too," Romero said to me, "give you some time alone. But about this Angie he mentioned. What's her last name?"
"Nothing was going on between Angie and me," I said. "I have no idea why Rebecca told Ray that."
"I believe you, but can I have her last name anyway?"
"What does she have to do with anything?" I said. "I mean, I don't want to drag her into»
"Can I just have her last name please?" He sounded frustrated.
"Lerner," I said.
"Thank you," he said as he wrote in his pad. Then he said, "Phone number?"
"Don't know it," I lied. I had her home number programmed into my cell phone.
He looked at me suspiciously, then said, "How about a work number?"
I gave him the main number at Manhattan Business, figuring it would be easy for him to get it anyway, then said, "But please don't drag her into this if you don't really have to."
Romero put his pad away in his jacket pocket.
"I'll be in touch with you after the autopsy results," he said. "You'll be around, right?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good."
After the door shut I went into the foyer and listened. Sure enough, I heard the doorbell to the apartment across the hall ring, and then Romero started talking to Carmen. Their voices were so muffled that, even with my ear against the door, I couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. Their conversation lasted only a few minutes; then the door closed and there was silence. I walked away, deciding that I should call Angie at home and warn her that Romero might call her. I reached into my pocket and took out my cell phone, then decided that I wasn't in the mood to talk to her. But while I had my phone out I decided I might as well get it over with and call Rebecca's mother. I went to the hallway where Rebecca's pocketbook was hanging on the knob of the closet door. I found Rebecca's cell phone, but her mother's phone number wasn't programmed in. I didn't know why I expected the number to be there, since Rebecca had barely been in touch with her mother. I remembered Rebecca telling me her mother's name was Edna, and that she'd never remarried after her husband took off. Rebecca had said that her mother had moved from Duncanville to another part of Texas I couldn't remember if it was Houston or San Antonio. After striking out in San Antonio, I tried Houston, and sure enough the operator had a listing for an Edna Daniels. I dialed the number.
"Edna Daniels?"
"Who's this?" the woman asked with a Southern drawl. A TV was blasting in the background.
"My name's David Miller," I said. "I'm sorry to call so late, but are you Rebecca Daniels's mother?"
There was a long pause, and all I heard was the TV noise; it sounded like the Home Shopping Network.
"Are you still there?" I asked.
"Yeah, I'm still here."
"Are you Rebecca Daniels's mother or not?"
"I used to have a daughter named Rebecca, but, far as I'm concerned, she's been dead a long, long time."
"So she is your daughter," I said.
"Was," she said. "What's this all about anyway? Becky's in some kinda trouble, I'm sure."
"I'm afraid I have some very bad news," I said. "Rebecca and I have been living together for about a year, and she… well, she committed suicide today."
For several seconds all I heard was TV noise. Then Edna said, "That's all you called to tell me?"
"Yes," I said. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Never been finer, if you wanna know the truth.
Is that all you want to say?"
"Maybe you didn't hear me," I said. "Rebecca killed herself today."
"I heard you."
"I just thought you'd want to know."
"I told you, my daughter's dead to me before you called, so what difference does it make, you call me up and tell me she's dead?"
"None, I guess."
"You know how much humiliation that girl caused me? You know how much pain she caused? Good, I'm glad she's dead. She's better off dead.
Now when I tell people she's dead it'll be the truth. Can I hang up now?"
"Sure," I said, and the call clicked off.
I held the phone up to my ear for several seconds before shutting it off. Although Rebecca had never given me many details, she'd always made out as if her mother was extremely overbearing and controlling, and I knew they'd had serious problems when Rebecca was a teenager.
Still, I couldn't imagine what had happened between them that had made her mother become so cold and heartless that she didn't care that her own daughter had died.
I hadn't peed since I'd come home from the bar, and I had to go badly.
About to enter the bathroom, I hesitated, then went in, trying to avoid looking toward the bathtub. I had to stand over the bowl for a long time, feeling like an old man, waiting for my urine to start coming out. Finally it started to dribble out, but it took a few minutes for my bladder to drain completely. After I flushed I accidentally glanced toward the bathtub, which looked perfectly normal, as if nothing had happened. Then my legs started buckling and I had to rush out of the bathroom and catch my breath.
In the hallway I started breathing semi-normally, but then the tears started coming and then the momentum-crying kicked in. Finally I pulled myself together, reminding myself how crazy Rebecca was, and how she'd attacked me earlier and could've seriously hurt me.
I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water from the Brita pitcher. I drank it quickly and poured another and drank that too. I felt better for a while, and then I remembered the sight of Rebecca's naked body bobbing in the bathtub how white she'd looked and I decided that spending the night someplace else could be a good idea.
I thought about where to go, and the first idea that came to me was Barbara's; then I had to actually remind myself that she was dead. I laughed, shaking my head, then considered taking a train out to the Island and spending the night at Aunt Helen's. She'd definitely let me stay for as long as I liked, but did I really want to deal with her nagging? When she found out about Rebecca, she'd start hounding me to see her friend Alice's son, the grief counselor, and that was the last thing I needed.
Maybe I could stay at a friend's. Keith lived right across town, on Seventy-fifth and Second, but since the failed intervention over Rebecca I'd fallen out of touch with him and the rest of my friends. A few months ago, he'd called me at work and asked if I wanted to meet up for lunch sometime. I was on another line and told him I'd call him right back, but I never did. It would have been awkward to call him now and say, "Sorry I've been such a dick lately, man, but my girlfriend's dead, so could I crash at your place for a couple of nights?"
Without realizing it, I'd picked up the phone and started dialing.