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o pass up a trip to the john?”
“Ha-ha. I can put her here with Suzanne. Right here in the Alexander Hamilton rest area off the Turnpike. Who the hell was Alexander Hamilton, and why is there a rest area off the Turnpike named after him?”
“Ah…”
“Never mind. There’s a new model Mercedes sedan, black, registered to Ava Anders. This little chat with Vince confirms the day, the time—and I’ll back that up because I’ll betcha that big, black Mercedes has a pass scanner for the toll. Can’t confirm what was said, but it puts Ava with Suzanne here. How’s she going to explain that one?”
“She’ll have something. Hamilton was one of America’s Founding Fathers, and its first Secretary of the Treasury.”
“Who? Huh?”
“You asked,” Roarke said, pocketing his PPC again. “Where to now?”
Eve frowned at him a moment. “Is that what you’re doing, playing with that thing all the time? Looking up trivia?”
“Among other things. Something else you’d like to know?”
“Whole bunches of things. Right now, we’re going to go to the market to find out a few.” She answered her dash ’link. “Dallas.”
“We got it. Bag was in the closet,” Peabody said, “as advertised. A disposable ’link, several security discs, and a very rocking bypass remote—along with a pair of light blue men’s pajamas, the pressure syringes, and the meds.”
“Get them in, log them. I want chain of evidence pristine. Have Feeney and McNab start on the contents. I’m in the field, got a couple more stops to make.”
“It’s falling apart on her,” Roarke commented.
“She’s going to hire a big, fat, sneaky lawyer. A fucking fleet of big, fat, sneaky lawyers. The type who get shit suppressed, tossed out, who pump in reasonable doubt. I don’t have enough. I can put her with Suzanne in Jersey a few days after Custer’s murder. Proves nothing. What Peabody just picked up only proves Suzanne was in the Anderses’ house, and pretty much sews up she killed him. We’ve got her confession already. She’s locked. Your acquaintance can state that the device was taken to the Anders residence. He can’t put it in Ava’s hands. I’ve got her lies, her association with an LC, I’ve got her father-in-law’s death, which I wheedled the local cops into opening again. Disposable ’link. Batt’s going to be dead, and when the battery dies on those, it wipes the transmissions. I need more.”
The chubby and cheerful Mr. Isaacs gave her a bit more.
“Right after her husband was killed, yes? I remember very well. Terrible thing. She comes in on Mondays, about nine-thirty on Monday mornings, poor Mrs. Custer. But this day, a few days after I hear her husband’s dead, I see her go right by carrying her market bag.”
“Was she alone?”
“No. I started to go outside, call out to her, thinking she’d forgotten where she was going. Being upset about her husband. But then I saw she was with someone. She was with a very fancy lady. Beautiful coat with fur on the collar,” Isaacs added, brushing his fingers down the front of his apron to demonstrate. “Long black coat, brown fur trim. Very nice. I think I’ve seen the fancy lady once or twice before, but not that coat.”
“You saw the woman before that day?”
“Once or twice. I know my neighborhood, I know my people.”
“Is this the woman?” Eve offered Ava’s photo.
“Yes, yes, this is the woman poor Mrs. Custer was with that morning. Such pretty hair she has. I remember, it was a very sunny day, and the sunshine seemed to bounce off her pretty hair. She wore shades. As I said, it was a very bright day, but she’s very striking. I’m sure this is the same woman. They walked right by. Mrs. Custer looked so sad and tired. She came back, by herself, a couple hours later. Maybe more, we were busy. I thought, ‘Poor little thing—Mrs. Custer—she’s been crying.’ I gave her some pop treats for the children.”
She hit the lot next, a small, overpriced two-decker.
“This sort of lot won’t have security discs for two months ago,” Roarke reminded her. “And their records won’t include license number, make, or model. It’s just the time in and out, the fee, the slot.”
“They’d have tag number, make, and model for reserved parking. No way Ava would cruise around looking for a parking spot. Not someone who plans, who researches. She’d book one. Scanner reads reservation number, and to reserve you need to verify tag number.”
“Well now, you’re right about that.”
“She’d’ve done the same thing for the Custer stalking and hit. She’d be thinking of her own convenience, and never seriously consider we’d get here. I put her vehicle here, I put it there, it adds weight. You’ve got a new assignment.”
“I’m going to be talking to auto lot owners. With her vehicle number I could find it quicker myself.”
“Channels. Pristine chain. We take the long way. I’ll drive. You get started.”
She closed herself off for twenty minutes back at Central. She shut her door, closed everyone out while she sat, feet up, eyes closed to walk herself through the steps, the stages, the routes.
