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I shrug. “Do you want to tell me?”
“Don’t even pretend I didn’t see you floundering like a schoolboy during that interview.”
“She’s got nothing to hide,” I say, my defense weak. “If I’d had time to read the file beforehand, I’d have known she was an addict before Lyla told us. I could have pressed the Sascha Sokolov questions more.”
“And?” Mani waggles his eyebrows.
“I’m not blind. She’s a gorgeous woman.” While I won’t admit it, the interview wasn’t my best. “They’re all gorgeous.”
“But Catherine struck a nerve.”
“You’re exaggerating again, Immanuel.”
Mani cackles at my use of his first name, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he asks, “Why didn’t you get into the weeds on the escorting thing? We could have made them sweat a little.”
It’s a good question. The answer is less so. “I panicked when Joan Stark introduced herself. We ask them to come in so that we can gather information about Elizabeth, and they brought an attorney.”
“So, they have something to hide?”
“Not necessarily. They’re smart and have resources. But they were already on guard. Talking about the granular details of their escorting business would have lit a fire under Joan Stark andthatwould have scared them.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a homicide investigation, Mani. We’re going to have plenty of time to talk to the girls—preferably when their lawyer isn’t sitting across from us.” Elizabeth’s blank, green-eyed stare flashes in my mind. “And once we know more, once we’ve done some digging and have theautopsy back, we might have something remotely interesting to ask them.”
He knows where I’m going. “We build their trust first.”
“Exactly. Let’s stick to gathering information and chasing alibis for now. We’ll organize the search on Elizabeth’s room in the house on Clementine Lane, give the girls a chance to get used to us being around.” I consider each of the girls we met today. “Besides, it’s unlikely that one of them killed Elizabeth York.”
As all the information we gathered filters through my mind, I try to separate it and sort it. It’s still too early to tell how deep the girls’ relationships are, but I know one thing for a fact: Five women living together for years is bound to generate more drama than we learned about in just one afternoon.
I don’t let it worry me. Secrets have a way of rising to the surface when you least want or expect them to. “What did you think of the phone call?” I ask Mani.
“It was weird.”
“Why?”
“Joan Stark received the call, but the call was for Toni.”
I don’t chastise him at the use of Antoinette’s nickname. “Did you notice that of all four interviews, Ms. Stark only had her phone out for Antoinette’s?”
“No.” Mani shakes his head. “It was on the table already.”
“No,” I argue back, “it wasn’t. When you took Juliette Dorn out, Joan Stark removed her phone from her briefcase, checked her emails, and then left it on the table afterward.”
“You think she was expecting the call?” he asks, surprised.
“I do.”
“Now that you say that, Antoinettedidseem surprised when Joan handed her the phone.”
“Yeah. But once the initial shock had passed, Antoinette didn’t flinch. She listened to the call, said goodbye, and hung up.”
“‘Okay. See you later, Nonna’.” Mani repeats the only words Toni spoke on the call. “I wonder who she was talking to?”
“It could be nothing,” I say. “But we can always check with her grandmother if the need arises.”
“Phone records are a bitch to subpoena.”
