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Parking wasn’t a problem. There couldn’t have been more than a half a dozen vehicles on the entire block. Most here, Eve thought, couldn’t afford the cost and ensuing maintenance of a personal ride.
“Revitalization hasn’t hit here yet,” Peabody commented.
“Or it took a detour.”
Eve studied the Petrelli house. It looked as if it might’ve been painted sometime in the last decade—a leg up on most of the others—and all the windows were intact. And clean, she noted, behind their bars. Empty window boxes sat like hope at the base of the two windows flanking the front door.
“You said both her kids go to private school on Anders’s nickel?”
Why the empty window boxes stirred pity inside her, Eve couldn’t say. “Yeah.”
“And she lives here.”
“Smart,” Eve replied. “It’s smart. What better way to keep someone under your thumb? Give them this, hold back that. Let’s go see what Anthony DeSalvo’s girl, Bebe, has to say about Ava.”
As they walked toward the front door, Eve saw shadows move at the windows on the houses on either side. Nosy neighbors, she thought. She loved nosy neighbors in an investigation. Rich mines to plumb.
No perimeter security, she noted. Decent locks, but no cams or electronic peeps. Locks and riot bars had to serve.
She knocked.
Bebe answered herself, through the inch-wide gap afforded by the security chain. Eve saw both the wariness and the knowledge of cop in the single brown eye.
“Ms. Petrelli, Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” Eve held her badge to the crack. “We’d like to come in and speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Once we’re in, we’ll talk about it. Or you can close the door and I’ll call in for a warrant that would compel you to come into Manhattan to Cop Central. Then we’ll talk about it there.”
“I have to be at work in another hour.”
“Then you probably don’t want to waste any more time.”
Bebe shut the door. Eve heard the rattle of the chain through it. When it opened, Bebe stood, tired and resentful, in a red shirt, black pants, and serviceable black skids. “You’re going to have to make this fast, and you’re going to have to talk while I work.”
With that, Bebe turned and stalked toward the back of the house.
Neat and tidy, Eve thought as she glanced at the living area. The furniture was cheap, and as serviceable as the black skids, but like the windows, clean. The air smelled fresh, with just a hint of coffee and toasted bread as they approached the kitchen.
On a small metal table sat a white plastic laundry basket. From it, Bebe took a shirt, then folded it with quick, efficient moves.
“You don’t need to sit,” she snapped out. “Say what you have to say.”
“Ava Anders.”
The hands hesitated only a second, then pulled out another shirt. “What about her?”
“You’re acquainted.”
“My boys are in the Anders sports programs.”
“You’ve attended Mrs. Anders’s seminars and mothers’ breaks. Retreats?”
“That’s right.”
“And both your boys are recipients of scholarships through the Anders program.”
“That’s right.” Bebe’s eyes flashed up at that, and some of the fear, some of the anger leaked through. “They earned it. I got smart boys, good boys. They work hard.”
