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“She didn’t. She didn’t because I cut her off. I cut her off because there was something in her eyes that made me think she wasn’t just imagining it. I know something about that, something about that look.”
As if exhausted, Bebe covered her face with her hands. “She wanted it. God, she wanted him dead, and she wanted me to help her. So I cut her off and started on about how she should talk to someone, like they were always telling us in the seminars. How she should make the break, and move on. He wouldn’t really cut the programs because it would make him look bad. Stuff like that, and I got out. I got out as soon as I could, even though she backed off, told me I was right. She’d just had a bad moment, and she made me promise I wouldn’t talk about what she’d said with anyone. It wouldn’t be good for the programs.”
Bebe heaved out a long breath. “She didn’t get in touch after that to ask me to volunteer. I figured she was embarrassed. And when I went to the retreat, the last one I went to at the end of August, she avoided me. When I pinned her about it, because, I guess, I thought we were friends—sort of friends—she was really cold. Ice cold. Told me she was a very busy woman, with a lot of responsibilities, how I should remember all she’d done for my boys, and be grateful for that. How I should take care of them, and myself, concentrate on that so…so the scholarships didn’t go away.”
“Did you notice her being friendly with anyone in particular at that retreat?”
“I stayed away from her. Like you said, my father used me. My brothers. Then I put myself in the position so the johns could use me, and the dealers. I stopped letting myself be used and I met Luca.”
Resentment, and some of the spit came back in her eyes. “I got it, okay? I got it. After that, she was using me. I didn’t blame her so much, considering, but I wasn’t going to put myself in that spot again. So I stayed away.”
“Smart move.”
“Is that enough? Is that want you wanted?”
“It ain’t bad.”
“You’re going to push for them to open Luca’s case? You’re going to do that?”
“I did it this morning,” Eve told her. “The two cops you made who had lunch in the place you work are supposed to be good, and they’re picking it up. They’ll be in touch with you after they review the file.”
“You…why did you do that when I didn’t give you anything for it?”
“Because your husband deserved better than he got. Because it seems to me you and your kids deserved better. And because I don’t like it when a good man is killed for no good reason.”
Bebe stared for another moment. Then she simply laid her head down on the table and wept.
“Record off.” Rising, Eve signaled Peabody. As she left the room, she heard Peabody’s voice comforting the sobbing woman.
17
EVE TAGGED FEENEY ON THE WAY FROM INTERVIEW to her office. “Give me something.”
“Christ, kid, do you know how much I got piled up here from being out? I got the backlog down from my armpits to my asshole. I’ll get to your box.”
“Can’t you just open it and see if she reprogrammed or reloaded it before…” She trailed off at his stony stare. He had a good one, she thought. She’d modeled hers after it. “Okay, all right. Just as soon as you can.”
“If you don’t interrupt me to nag, it’ll be sooner.”
She clicked off.
Circumstantial, she reminded herself. Even if Feeney proved that the dispenser had been reprogrammed and/or reloaded, it was circumstantial. She hated building a case on circumstantial. And that’s all she had. Impressions, comments, Bebe’s statement, personalities. And not a single solid piece of evidence.
Yet.
She strode back into Homicide, where Baxter turned from the AutoChef. “Dallas. The boyfriend/trannie/cross-dressing angle’s not panning out. Custer case,” he said when she looked blank.
“Right. Sorry, my mind’s elsewhere. What’s your sense, Baxter?”
“That the case is as cold as the victim. The kid and I can keep taking pokes at it when we squeeze out some time. I don’t want to put it in Inactive yet. We’re going to have to slap it down to the bottom of the pile, maybe give it a shake every now and then.”
“Not all of them close.”
“Yeah. I know. Pisser when they don’t. We closed six others since we caught this one, and it’s still a pisser.”
She sympathized, but she had her own case to close, and needed to shuffle some of the pieces, try to see a different angle. In her office, she pulled up a couple of the possibles who’d come in below Petrelli on her list. After zeroing in on the next, gauging the time, she detailed a report on the interview with Petrelli, added notes and speculations.
“Computer, run probability. Given the data, the statements, what is the probability Ava Anders is a big, fat liar?”
