by Robb, J. D.
“She wouldn’t be the first to kill to maintain appearances.”
“No, sir, but … she’s more likely to lie. She’s really good at it, or was. I’m betting she’s even better at it now. Practice usually does that. And she knows how to play the victim. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it’s hard for me to see her picking up a hammer and caving in a skull. That’s, well, that’s messy. She’d use tears, manipulation, charm, lies to get around anything, anyone.”
“Okay, Shelby. This is helpful.”
Shelby rose. “I want to say her brother? He’s a good guy. He took off right after that summer—maybe during it. They cut him off, sir, in every way. Financially—at least according to him—they put blocks on his trust funds. But more than that, they just cut him off, forgot him. He doesn’t exist. Not to them, not to Gwen. There’s a coldness in that. It’s in her, too.”
“Are you going to have a problem if I put any of this into my report?”
“No, sir, Lieutenant, none at all. I’m a cop. Anything I can do to aid your investigation I’ll do. No question, no problem.”
“You’re a solid cop, Shelby. That’s why I brought you into Homicide.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Can I ask if you’ll keep me apprised of the situation when it’s appropriate?”
“Already planning on it. If you need time to settle—”
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
“Good. Ask Peabody to come in—and if she hasn’t yet sent uniforms to House Royale, Huffman’s residence, to obtain any security feed on staff and service exits, alternate exits, you and Officer Carmichael head uptown and take care of that. See Felicity on the desk.”
“Yes, sir.” When she reached the door, Shelby hesitated, turned back. “Lieutenant, I don’t want to be a suck-up, but I want to say, I’d have related all of this information to any primary investigator or supervisor. But I wouldn’t have been as comfortable doing so with anyone else.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
Eve sat a moment, digesting all of it. Then began to write it up. She continued working when she heard Peabody’s boots clomp in the hallway.
“I started to come back before, but your door was closed.”
“That’s right. Shelby had some information and insight on Huffman.”
“No shit? She knows Huffman?”
“Knew is more accurate. Close the door.”
Intrigued, Peabody closed the door. She contemplated the visitor’s chair, and opted to stand.
“I’m writing it out, but quickly, Shelby and Huffman had a brief but intense romantic relationship when they were teenagers.” Eve stopped, swiveled in her chair. “Huffman’s parents found out—likely from some weasel—and broke it up. The parents are part of Natural Order.”
“Jesus, those people are—”
“Lunatics,” Eve finished. “Bigoted asshole lunatics. The thing is, Shelby sought out Huffman back in New York, and got kicked hard to the curb. Meanwhile Huffman’s brother was and is friendly with Shelby’s. They stay in touch. Huffman not only kicked Shelby, but, along with her parents, cut off the brother.”
“Cold.”
“Cold’s one word for it. Shelby’s take is while she doesn’t see Huffman as violent, she is—confirming my take—an inveterate liar, manipulative, a status seeker. I’m adding to that. This is a woman without loyalty or genuine emotion. I’m going to share all this with Mira, get her opinion.”
Peabody eased a hip on the corner of the desk. “Someone with those qualities could, on impulse or out of self-preservation, kill, and without much remorse, if any. But.”
“Yeah, but, current evidence indicates Huffman was tucked up in her apartment at the time of the murder. New information, however, tells us the Huffmans are part of the whacked fringe group Natural Order.”
“Members of which have been known to use violence. The group leadership disavows violence,” Peabody added, “but.”
“Yeah, but again, the violence happens. Huffman’s pissed, slams out of Byrd’s apartment. Maybe she doesn’t secure the door. Maybe being pissed, knowing Byrd could threaten her cushy life and splashy wedding, she contacts someone she knows is capable of violence, of murder. Possibly she spins them a story—she’d be good at it—or possibly she tells them the truth, depending on her connection with this person.”
“I’m liking this.” Eyes on the board, Peabody nodded. “What if she contacts someone, spins that story, a little weepy, a little desperate, and asks them to go put a scare into Byrd, threaten her so she’ll back off.”
“Not bad,” Eve considered. “It could tie in with her going back in the morning. Lattes and muffins, let’s make up. Let’s be friends. Sees the body, realizes things went too far. Now she has to figure out how to get herself out of it, how to manipulate the situation so she’s just an innocent bystander.”
“We’ve got her on her relationship with Byrd. I bet it’s her DNA on the sheets, her prints.”
“And pubic hair,” Eve added. “Harvo came through.”
“So did the uniforms,” Peabody added. “We have her buying the wine, the flowers two blocks from Byrd’s residence—when she claims to have been urban strolling uptown. The statements, from both vendors who ID’d her, is she comes in at least once a week, always pays cash.”
“She doesn’t want a paper trail. But she had to cobble all this together fast. She didn’t have time to polish all the details. She’s in this, Peabody. Maybe she swung that mallet, maybe not. But she’s in this.”
“Want me to have her picked up?”
Eve shook her head. “Let’s play it this way. Contact her. She’ll remember you as sympathetic. Request she come in to sign an official statement. Let it slip we’re looking at this as a botched burglary. That’ll take the pressure off her so she may not knee-jerk into tagging her fiancé. And he can’t spend all day with her if he’s prepping for a court case, can he?”
“Which he is, that’s confirmed. He and five others worked in the conference room at the law firm until after midnight. Nobody left. They ordered food in—twice. And the wedding planner confirms the meeting with Huffman. They met at about eleven-thirty, parted ways about quarter to two.”
“Which gave Huffman plenty of time to shop for sexy underwear.”
“A Merry Widow—that’s a kind of corsety thing—white silk with red rose accents, matching G-string, and a bottle of their Allure Me perfume. Time-stamped receipt—totaling thirty-eight hundred and change—at fourteen-forty-seven. She charged it.
“Oh,” Peabody added, “she’s a regular.”
“Contact her. I’m looking forward to watching her try to swim through her sea of lies.”
Peabody pushed off the desk. “On it. You know, Dallas, it couldn’t’ve been easy for Shelby to tell you all that really personal stuff. She stands up.”
“Agreed.”
“And, I’m just saying, I love her new do.”
“Do what?”
“Hair, Dallas, the pixie do with the highlights. It’s a good look for her, but then it would be. She went to Trina.”
“Trina? How does a uniform with barely two years on the job afford Trina?”
“Trina gives a cop discount.”
“Trina gives …” Eve thought of the thoroughly terrifying Trina. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, a solid twenty percent discount at her salon for cops. She started it after the Ziegler investigation last December.” Peabody flipped at her own red-streaked curls. “She said cops—us—stood up for her and her good friend Sima, so she was standing up for cops and making sure they looked damn good. Since Shelby was in on that in the end—Copley resisted and clocked her, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“Trina gave her the new do on the house.”
Peabody went out, leaving Eve frowning after her. A person could be loyal, she thought, even generous, and still be pushy, bossy, scary.
She figured that wrapped Trina up in a bow.
And, putting it aside, went back to
work.
As she read over her report to refine it, an incoming interrupted. She saw Feeney’s name, answered.
“Dallas.”
“Shuffled your shit in,” he told her. “No glitch on the security feed. What you see is what was what.”
“Damn it.”
He gave her a half-assed smile. He had a hangdog face with baggy basset-hound eyes. His silver-threaded ginger hair exploded over it.
She caught herself wondering if he took advantage of Trina’s twenty percent.
“Bat five hundred, you’re a baseball star. I can give you the five hundred.”
“Victim’s door.”
“Yep.” Something rustled, then he popped a candied almond in his mouth. “Not tampered with, but bullshit on the unsecured. Key card used to open it at zero-seven-eighteen.”
“About four minutes after Huffman bought the takeout.”
“If you say. Last key-card use prior, twenty-two-forty-six.”
“Is that so?” Eve narrowed her eyes on her board, and the TOD of twenty-two-forty-eight. “Is that fucking so?”
“It’s fucking so.”
“Same card? Can you tell?”
“I can tell you it wasn’t Huffman’s original. Copy used, but I can’t tell you if it was one copy or two copies. Might be able to if you get us the copy or copies.” He ate another almond. “That’s a might be.”
“I’ll take a might be.”
“I got McNab going over the vic’s ’link, her comp. Nothing much popping right now. She’s got art and business stuff on the comp, and a calendar. She’s got some of the dates marked with a little red heart. Including last night.”
“I could use those dates. I’m bringing a suspect into the box.”
“I’ll tell him to send them.”
“Appreciate it, Feeney.”
She got up to study the board, make some additions. Once again an incoming interrupted.
This time she saw Julie Byrd on the readout. The mother, the next of kin Eve hadn’t been able to reach to inform.
“Hell.” She went back to her desk, answered. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Yes, yes, this is Julie Byrd.”
The woman, an older version of her daughter, looked deliriously happy.
“I had a voice mail from you on my ’link. I completely forgot my ’link this morning! My daughter-in-law went into labor and we all just rushed out to the birthing center. Such an exciting day. I just got back to my son’s house. He’ll be bringing Ally and our gorgeous Fiona—seven pounds, three ounces, and eighteen inches of perfect—home in a few hours. I came back to get everything ready for the homecoming and saw my ’link sitting on the kitchen counter.”
“Ms. Byrd.”
“Yes? Oh, I forgot to stop and buy flowers.” With a laugh, the woman tapped the flat of her hand against the side of her head. “I need to run out and do that.”
“Ms. Byrd, I’m very sorry. I have some difficult news.”
“Oh, nothing’s difficult on this day. Not after watching that precious life come into the world.”
“I’m afraid it is. It’s about your daughter, Ariel. I regret—”
“Ariel. Lucas—my son—said he’d contact her when I realized I didn’t have my ’link. She’s going to be so excited! She’s an aunt!”
Never easy, Eve admitted. Notification shouldn’t be easy. But some were worse than others.
“Ms. Byrd, I regret to inform you your daughter, Ariel Byrd, was killed last night. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“What? That’s a terrible thing to say. I’m hanging up!”
“Ms. Byrd, I’m Lieutenant Dallas of the New York Police and Security Department. I’m the primary investigator on your daughter’s murder.”
“Murder? No one would murder Ariel. You can’t mean any of this.”
The screen blurred, then cleared again. Eve realized the woman had dropped down to sit on the floor.
“I’m very sorry.”
“What happened to my baby? What happened to my girl?”
There were times you didn’t lay the details on top of the weight. “We’re investigating. I know this is difficult, but if you could answer some questions, it would help us find the person who hurt your daughter.”
“I don’t understand. Who would want to hurt her? She never hurts anyone. She’s an artist. She works to bring joy and beauty into the world.”
“Do you know of anyone she had an issue with, anyone who threatened her, or she argued with?”
“No. No. No. She’s so involved with her work. I tell her she should go out more, have fun, but her work is her passion, her joy. Her fun.”
“What about romantic attachments?”
The image on-screen swayed as Julie began to rock herself. “I know she’s been seeing someone for several months now. I don’t know who—Ariel’s very private. But I know the woman she’s involved with makes her happy. Frustrates her sometimes, but that’s love, it can be frustrating. And she’s so young, so young and so talented. So much left to do and experience.”
The tears came now, in a flood. “Oh God, oh God, my baby. I have to come home to my baby. I’m—I’m in Atlanta. My boy lives in Atlanta, and I’m here to help with …”
“Ms. Byrd. Julie. I can assure you we’re doing our best for your daughter, that she’s in good hands. If you want to take a day or two before traveling back to New York, I can keep you informed.”
“I can’t leave Ariel there alone.”
“She’s not alone. Is there someone who can travel with you when you come back?”
“I … My husband … there was an accident. Four years ago now. He died. Now I have to tell my boy, on his happiest day, his sister is gone.”
“Would you like me to contact your son, tell him?”
“No, that’s for me to do.” Julie swiped at her eyes, but the tears kept coming in a steady stream of grief. “Can you tell me, did she suffer?”
“No, no, Ms. Byrd, she didn’t. You have my contact information, and you should use it whenever you need. I’m going to give you the contact information for the person who’s taking care of her, and you can talk to him when you’re ready to see her.”
“Yes, please. Yes. You’re a police detective?”
“I’m the lieutenant in charge of the Homicide Division at Cop Central in New York. And your daughter is my priority.”
When she finished the call, Eve got a bottle of water, drank half of it down as she stood at her window. She didn’t turn as she heard Peabody come in.
“The victim’s mother contacted me. She’d left her ’link in her son’s kitchen—she’s with him in Atlanta—because they all rushed out early this morning when her daughter-in-law went into labor.”
“Oh boy.”
“Nope, girl. So I had to pop her shiny, happy balloon and tell her that her daughter’s dead. Anyway, that’s done.”
Turning now, Eve ran the chilly water tube over her forehead, and the headache brewing inside.
“She doesn’t know anyone—or couldn’t think of anyone—who’d had issues with her daughter, or vice versa. She did know her daughter had been in a relationship with a woman for a few months, was happy, occasionally frustrated. Byrd hadn’t shared the name with her mother.”
“Huffman’s coming in. She’s happy, too, and I think that’s sincere because I dangled the botched burglary and added our pursuit of a suspicious character.”
Eve lowered the bottle, even smiled a little. “You said ‘suspicious character’?”
“It worked because, lo and behold, she suddenly remembered her good friend Ariel mentioning she’d seen a strange guy hanging around in the neighborhood.”
“I’m shocked and stunned. What does lo mean? I get the behold, but what is lo and why is it always hanging out with behold?”
“Behold must like it because it always lets lo come first.”
“That’s right, it does. It’s never behold and lo, and it could be. Get us a box, Peabody.�
�
“Already reserved Interview B. Jenkinson and Reineke already have A, and Carmichael and Santiago snagged C.”
“Busy day in Homicide.”
“No rest for the wicked ’cause the murder cops are all over their asses.”
“That we are, Peabody.” Eve turned back to the board, looked at Gwendolyn Huffman’s photo. “That we fucking are.”
5
Eve had the box set and her basic strategy outlined. While waiting for Gwen Huffman to show up, she conferred with Detective Carmichael.
“Gotta look at the spouse, right?” Carmichael stood at Vending, contemplating her choices. “Especially when the spouse of the spouse is a cheating bastard who didn’t know the meaning of controlling his dick. So … I know this no-cal lemonade’s going to suck, but I can’t handle more caffeine.”
She punched in her code, and Eve watched—disappointed and annoyed—when the tube of lemonade slid into the slot without a hitch.
“Why is it, why, every time I try to use one of these things it rejects my order, changes my order, or bitches at me?”
“Maybe it fears you, and its chips freeze up and stutter at your approach. You want? I’ll get.”
“No.” Eve aimed a death glare at the machine. “I won’t give it the satisfaction.”
“That’ll teach it.” Carmichael cracked the tube. “So she claims she didn’t know her husband was catting around, even though we have the freaking security feed of her following him—three minutes after—into a strip bar. No cams inside, naturally, but we got the door feed. She’s wearing a wig but, Jesus, we got her. Plus, she stabbed the shit out of him right inside the vestibule of their apartment building when he got home, then dragged him out on the stoop. She’s still wearing the wig when she goes into the building, drags him out of the building. She takes his wallet and valuables, like we’ll seriously think mugging.”
“What did she do with them?”
“Threw them in the recycler, in the vestibule. Actually left a bloody fingerprint on it. And we looked at the bloody print, and thought: Hey, a clue!”
“That’s why you’re ace investigators.”
“You got it.” Carmichael tossed back her hair. Not in the sexy way, but in the get-out-of-my-eyes way Eve understood. “She goes up, cleans herself up—and stuffs her bloody strip-joint dress and wig in her kitchen recycler. How would we ever find them!”