“Isn’t the corn thing Thanksgiving? Why is fake corn hanging on that tree?”
“For Kwanza,” Jenkinson told her. “Trueheart said it’s one of the seven symbols. He looked it up. We’re all-inclusive in Homicide, ’cause whatever your race, color, or creed, you can get dead.”
“We should write that up under a Merry Christmas sign.”
Eve made her way to the lounge with its scatter of tables, and
vending machines. Somebody cursed at one, gave it a punch with the side of his fist. Knowing she wasn’t the only one to war with those machines cheered her right up.
She scanned a few cops, a couple talking quietly with civilians. Then the man sitting alone, staring down at his own folded hands.
She crossed to him. “Mr. Dorchester.”
He looked up at her out of red-rimmed eyes. “Yes. I’m Steven Dorchester. You’re Lieutenant Dallas.”
“That’s right. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dorchester.”
“Steven. It’s Steven. I . . . keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to be a terrible dream. Or it’s just some horrible mistake. But . . .”
He went back to staring at his hands when Eve sat across from him.
Strong face, she thought, though the strain showed. Longish hair, a few reddish streaks through the dark brown, a single silver stud through his right earlobe, a trio of stars inked on the back of his right wrist.
Something artistic about him, she thought. Someone good with his hands. She speculated on it, considered he and Catiana would have made an attractive couple, while she waited for him to compose himself and speak.
“There’s nothing I can do. I’m going over to see her family this morning, be with them, but there’s nothing any of us can do. She’s gone.” He looked up again. “I know there’s probably not much you can tell me, but if there’s anything . . . I’m going to be with her family.”
“I can tell you I’ll do everything I can to see that the person responsible for taking her from you, from her family, who took her life, is punished to the full extent of the law. There may be something you can do to help.”
“Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“When did you last see or speak with Catiana?”
“Yesterday morning, when she left for work. We went to a party Saturday night, and she stayed at my place. We were . . . we were going out last night, then going back to my place again. Sort of an early Christmas, just the two of us, because we were going to the parents’ tonight. Mine, then hers. We were spending Christmas Eve at her mother’s, the night, I mean. They have a big deal, so we were staying, and we were going to have our own little Christmas last night. But . . .”
“Can you tell me if she was upset about anything? Worried about anything?”
“No. She was great. We were great. I . . .” He reached in his pocket, took out a pretty little box. “I made this for her. I do some silverwork, and I made this for her. I was going to give it to her last night.”
He opened the box. Inside a small, intricate key hung on a delicate chain.
“It’s beautiful work.”
“It’s the symbol—the key. I was going to ask her to move in with me. We said we were taking it slow, but I wanted her to move in with me. So, the key. For her.
“How did this happen?”
“When I have all the details, I promise I’ll tell you. Did she talk to you about Trey Ziegler?”
“Yeah.
Jerk.
That was her word for him. He put some moves on her. She gave him the brush-off, so he spread it around she went for girls. Like if she brushed him off she didn’t go for men. Didn’t bother her. Why would it? I went by the gym a couple times, just to give him the needle. Probably shouldn’t have.”
“You talked about his murder.”
“Yeah. It shook her up some. She didn’t like him, but still.”
He stroked the key, still in its box, with his finger. “She has a soft heart.”
“Did she talk to you about who she thought may have killed him?”
“We played that game, you can’t help it, right? And after—when it came out what he did to Tella, and Cate said he did the same with other women, we figured one of them found out and did it. Or one of their husbands or friends, you know. It’s why she went to work on Sunday, even though she could’ve taken the day off. She wanted to be around for Tella.”
“You didn’t talk to her on Sunday after she left for work?”
“No. We were supposed to meet at eight for dinner, at this place we like, and she didn’t show up. I tried to reach her, but she didn’t answer her ’link. I went by her place, but she wasn’t there. I even went to the Schuberts’ place, but they weren’t there, either. Then her sister . . . Her sister tagged me, and she told me. And everything just stopped. Everything stopped. I don’t know if it’ll ever start again.”
“Do you want some coffee?”
“No, thanks, no. I don’t think I could swallow anything.”
“Steven, can you tell me how she felt about Natasha Quigley, JJ Copley?”
“She got along fine with them. She was really tight with Tella, and she and Tella’s sister got along fine. She didn’t much like the husband. She said he was a little bit of a prick.” He smiled a little. “She had opinions. She’d help Ms. Quigley out now and then.”
“Like for her holiday party.”
“Yeah, like that. I got to go, and it was okay. A little stiff for me, if you know what I mean. But she’d help out like that now and then. With parties, sending out invites, or thank-yous if Ms. Quigley was slammed. She didn’t mind. She liked the job.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t help any.”
“You did. You’ve given me a good picture of her. Who she was, how she was. I hope it helps you to know she matters to me. Getting justice for her matters.”
“Did you ever wish you could turn back the clock? Just one day.” His red-rimmed eyes, swimming with tears, bored into hers. “Even just a few hours. If I’d said, Please don’t go to work today—or Hey, I’ll go with you. Something. It wouldn’t have happened. Did you ever wish you could do that, just turn the clock back?”
“All the time.”
When he left, Eve went into her office to shake off his grief. It wouldn’t help in interview.
“Knock, knock.” Cher Reo walked in. The pretty blonde with Southern roots might have looked delicate, but Eve knew she could be an Amazon in court. “I was in the building, keeping close in case. Give me coffee and we’ll talk John Jake Copley.”
“Help yourself. You got the report. No sign of break-in, just him in the house with dead body and unconscious wife. Wife’s nine-one-one call that clearly speaks his name.”
“I listened to it myself.” With her coffee, Reo walked over, sat in Eve’s desk chair. “I’m not sitting in that awful visitor’s chair. You talked to the wife this morning?”
“She’s awake, maybe a little confused yet.” Eve relayed the gist of the interview. “She won’t pull the trigger,” Eve finished. “Won’t confirm Copley struck her.”
“Could be a little problem.”
“The nine-one-one recording—”
“Oh, we’ll use the hell out of it, but if I were his lawyer I’d use it, too. I’d claim the victim was in shock, in fear, was calling
for
her husband, was then attacked, and this unknown assailant fled.”
“How—the cam clearly shows—”
“Out a window, into a hidey-hole until he or she could slip out undetected. It’s weak, Dallas, and I can promise we’ll tear it to shreds, but it could be a little problem. A confession eliminates that little problem. We’d deal the murder to Man One—”
“Bullshit!”
“Listen. Man One on Dubois, assault with intent on the wife. He does twenty-five—no parole. Another ten concurrent on the wife. Again, if I were his lawyer, I’d take it. Saves a trial, eliminates the possibility of life in a cage. Twenty-five years is a good long time.”
“Catiana Dubois won’t get another twenty-five.”
“Nothing we do changes that. But consider how a man like Copley will deal with a quarter of a century in prison.”
He’d cry and wail and blubber like a little girl—but it wasn’t enough. “I’ll get him on Ziegler, too.”
“If you get him on Ziegler, deal’s out.” To illustrate, Reo flicked her fingers in the air. “That’s two murders and one attempted. Murder Two on both, but the addition of the knife in the heart? The jury will be appalled, I promise you. But you have to get him, and right now, you don’t have him.”
“The day’s young.”
“You can tag me until eight. After eight, I’m off the clock and I mean it, until December twenty-sixth. Tie him up before that, we’ll put a bow on it. Otherwise, have yourself a merry little Christmas. I mean that, too.” She rose, patted the bag Eve had given her. “I love this.”
When she sauntered out, Eve kicked her desk. “Man One, my ass!” She thought of Steven Dorchester and the key he’d made, put in a pretty little box. Fuck Man One.
She strode out. “Peabody! With me. Let’s do this,” she said as Peabody scrambled up from her desk.
“His lawyer’s not here.”
“Then she better hustle.”
Eve pushed open the door of Interview B. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia, entering interview with Copley, John Jake.”
“I’m not talking to you without my lawyer.”
“Then don’t talk.” Eve tossed down her files, played the nine-one-one call, hit replay, hit it again.
On the third play he broke, just a little. “She was calling for me, calling for my help. Anybody who hears it will know that.”
“Really? I heard it, that’s not what I know. Peabody?”
“Didn’t sound like that to me. Just the opposite.”
“Of course, that’s just the two of us. We could take a poll,” Eve suggested to Peabody. “I’m betting people who hear it—like say a jury—hear what we hear. Just like they’ll hear what we heard when we talked to Natasha this morning.”
“You talked to her? What did she say?”
Eve shook her head. “He wants us to answer his questions, Peabody, but he won’t answer ours. Doesn’t strike me as what you’d call equitable.”
“I want to know what she said! Does she know I’m in here, in this place? Does she know what you’re trying to pull?”
He banged both fists on the table. Working himself up to another tantrum, Eve thought, and turned casually to Peabody.
“So, when does your shuttle leave?”
Peabody smiled. “We’re catching one at six, if we can clear things. But we’ll catch a later one if we have to. How about you and Roarke? Big dinner out? Quiet evening at home?”
“You tell me what she
said!
”
“Now, JJ, you want to watch that anxiety and blood pressure. My partner and I are just passing the time until your lawyer gets here.”
“Forget the lawyer. I want to know what Natasha said.”
“Are you waiving your right to have your legal representative present during interview?”
“Fine, yes. What did she say to you?”
“Let the record show Mr. Copley has voluntarily waived said right. What did she say?” Eve turned straight around to face him, smiled. “She said the son of a bitch tried to kill me. Lock him up and toss the key.”
“You’re lying. You’re a lying bitch.”
“Now, JJ, you’ve got to expect her to be a little upset when you bash her in the head, when she’s spending her Christmas in the hospital.”
“I never touched her. I never hit her. I was upstairs. I’ve already told you. I was upstairs. I had the game on. I fell asleep.”
“Fell asleep? That’s a new one. Are you going to keep doing these add-ons? Because I can tell you, the story’s not getting better.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Dallas.” Peabody bopped her shoulders. “You’ve got to give him a little credit for trying to add some texture to the overall bullshit.”
“I drifted off.” He set his jaw. “I played eighteen holes, shot a sixty-eight. That’s four under par.”
“Wow. Aren’t you special?” Peabody commented.
“Just shut your mouth, you ignorant twat.”
“Aw, Dallas, he called me a twat. How come you get to be a bitch, but I only get to be a twat.”
“It’s the rank,” Eve told her. “You’ll make bitch one day.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
“I’ll make you both sorry. I’ll make you both pay.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Eve levered back, smirked at him. “Do you want to brag about your golf game, exchange insults, or add more texture to your bullshit story? It’s all the same to us.”
“Goddamn it, I was upstairs. I heard her scream. It took me a minute, maybe a couple minutes, because I thought maybe it was a dream. I was asleep, a little groggy. I got up, and I called for her, and I ran out. I ran downstairs.”
“Why downstairs?”
“Because that’s where the scream came from.”
“If you were asleep, how do you know where it came from?”
“I just knew.” He slapped both fists on the table. “I ran in, and I saw her on the floor, and I saw the other one—Tella’s girl.”
“Tella’s
girl
?”
“That’s right. And I heard something.” His eyes flickered away. “Like somebody running maybe. Maybe a door closing.”
“Seriously? Now there’s running footsteps and closing doors?”
“That’s some rich bullshit texture,” Peabody put in. “You’ve got to admire it.”
Eve snorted out a laugh for form. “Right. So, JJ, why didn’t you mention these mysterious running footsteps and closing doors to the responding officer? To me in previous interview? Or, to any fucking body before this moment?”
He swiped beads of sweat from his forehead, more from his upper lip. “I didn’t think about it at the time because I could only think about my wife. I had to help Tash.”
“How? Not by calling for help.”
“I didn’t have time! I was in shock, and then the police were at the door, and everything happened so fast. I was upstairs when somebody killed that woman and hurt Tash. I want to talk to my wife, goddamn it. She’s confused and scared, and she has to be worried about me.”
“Her worry? That you’ll try to kill her again. She’s done with you, JJ. She’s done, Felicity’s done. You’ve got nothing and no one.”
“You leave Felicity out of it.” To Eve’s shock, tears swam into his eyes. “You told her lies about me, didn’t you? She left me! You told her lies, and she left me. I love her!”
“Who? Your wife or Felicity.”
“I . . .” He pulled himself in. “Both. In different ways.”