“I don’t think she’s home,” ringing it again.
Tasha went to the garage door, tiptoed, cuffed her face and peered in. “I see two vehicles here. One’s a Cadillac, the other a Mercedes. Both black. You believe this, the vanity plate on the Mercedes says Pernicious.”
“What does that mean?”
“Wicked, destructive…and deadly. Let’s check around back.”
In back, a woman attired in a black-and-white two-piece bikini, sunglasses resting on her shapely midriff, reclined in a lounge chair near a heart-shaped pool. She appeared to be dreaming.
“Hello,” Bob said.
Her entire body shook, violently, and she stared up at Bob with a look of sheer terror.
She’s reliving a murder.
The woman quickly recovered, relaxing into the chair, casually putting the shades on.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Bob said, flashing his badge. “I’m Detective Bob Kelvis, and this here is my partner, Detective Tasha Montgomery. Little Rock Police.”
With her middle finger extended the woman lowered the shades and stared up at Tasha.
She’s beautiful, Tasha thought, a compliment she seldom ascribed to women.
Yes, this woman was definitely beautiful: smooth tapioca-colored skin, full sensuous lips, small aquiline nose, hazel-colored eyes and long auburn hair that fanned down her shoulders. Long, shapely legs; tight stomach and large, supple breast that ballooned the bikini top.
The woman smiled. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating two lounge chairs. “Would you care for something to drink? It’s awfully hot out here.”
“No thank you,” Bob said. “It sure is hot out--”
“Are you Perry Davis?” Tasha said.
A moment the woman simply stared at Tasha. “Yes.”
“We’re homicide detectives,” Tasha said, looking for a reaction. Perry gave none. “Mrs. Davis, we need your help in a matter we’re investigating. It would be a great help to us if you would accompany us downtown…for an interview.”
This time Perry flinched, barely perceptible, a light twitch under her right eye.
Here comes the lie, Tasha thought: ‘I’m afraid I can’t, not today. The girl who does my toenails will be arriving shortly. Maybe later, perhaps ten years.’
Perry stood, adjusted the bikini straps, nodded and said, “Okay. You guys mind if I showered and put something on?”
Bob said yes, Tasha said no. They exchanged glances, Bob grinning, Tasha frowning at him.
Perry turned to Bob. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” She walked under a red velvet patio awning, slid the patio door open, turned, waved and disappeared inside.
Bob, still grinning, waved back. “Shazam! That woman is built like Fort Knox. Solid gold.”
“Earth to Detective Bob Kelvis,” Tasha said. “Mission control reminding the detective he’s dealing with a murder suspect.”
“Yes, I know, Tash. You couldn’t take the woman downtown dressed in a bikini. Imagine the attention she’d attract.”
“We have plenty of orange jumpsuits downtown. I bet she’ll fit into one quite nicely. Seriously, Bob, we can’t allow her to dictate--”
Bob wasn’t listening, mouth wide open, tongue half out, and eyes bucked wide. Tasha followed his gaze, and her mouth dropped.
Perry stood behind the patio door, staring nonchalantly at them. Stark naked.
“Oh my God!” Bob said. “Oh my God! Tash, she’s naked. Naked as a jaybird!”
“Calm down, Bob. I see.”
They both could clearly see the woman’s silver-dollar-sized nipples, gold tummy ring, and her pubic hair, dyed blonde. Tasha locked eyes with her and held her stare.
Then Perry slipped out of view.
“Why in the world did she do that?” Tasha said.
Bob said nothing, still staring at the door, his mouth still open.
“Bob…Bob…Bob! The burlesque show is over. I’m going up front. She’s acting strange, might make a run for it.”
“Great idea, Tash. I’ll keep an eye on things back here.”
“Yeah, I know you will. Try not to hurt yourself, okay?”
“Hey, somebody gotta do it.”
In front, Tasha sat on the hood of the Taurus. Girlfriend’s acting guilty. An innocent person would have asked a million questions. Her response to two homicide detectives insisting she come downtown for questioning was to stand in the doorway naked. Why? A treat for Bob? Maybe. She was staring at me…as if she were…She heard voices.
Bob and Perry came around the house, chatting amicably, Bob expanding on the advantages of composting.
For Pete’s sake, the man lives in an apartment.
Perry wore gold silk pants, a black silk blouse with padded shoulders and black-and-gold striped pumps.
“Are you ready?” Tasha asked her.
“Yes, we’re ready,” Bob answered.
Tasha frowned at him, but he missed it, escorting Perry into the backseat, his hand on her back.
During the ride, Bob and Perry continued chatting like two old friends headed to a class reunion, Bob expatiating on the multiple uses of peat moss.
Tasha wished he would just shut up and drive.
“Excuse me,” Perry said. “Schott’s Facial Cream will clear up your skin in a few days. I use it myself.”
Tasha waited for Bob to respond. He didn’t. “Who are you talking to?” she asked.
“You, of course,” Perry said. “Your skin condition, Schott’s Facial Cream will do wonders for it.” She paused before adding: “I also know a good physical therapist, if you’re interested.”
Tasha crossed her arms: she feared her hands would impulsively strike the woman. She didn’t reply--couldn’t reply. Any words out her mouth would have been a prelude to a fight. Bob stole nervous glances at her. No doubt he expected one of her snappy comebacks, but she just sat there, mute, hugging herself.
At the station, Tasha got out, slammed the door and walked off, leaving Bob to escort Perry upstairs to an interrogation room.
Tasha wanted to scream, wanted to pick up something only to throw it down. Mostly she wanted to slap the taste out of the mouth of one Perry Davis.
She went straight to the woman’s bathroom, kicking the door so hard it bounced off the wall. She kicked it again. Again. Her foot was raised, poised to punish the door yet again, when she checked herself. She lowered her leg and, feeling watched, turned. Four uniforms, three civilians and two plainclothes were staring at her, oddly.
Smiling, she said “Stupid door!” and stepped inside.
Calm down, just calm down.
She inhaled deeply and exhaled through her nose.
I’m letting her get to me--just what she wants. Schott’s Facial Cream!
She crossed to a sink and splashed water on her face. Looking in the mirror, she rubbed her right cheek, where a cluster of bumps had formed. Since junior high she’d been at war with acne, and acne had won the majority of battles.
I have bad skin, so what!
“Just a few bumps,” squeezing a pimple that was dead center on her forehead.
Don’t pop it; it’ll only make it worse. Schott’s Facial Cream. Never heard of it. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to try it.
“I might not be as pretty as she...”
Maybe another hairstyle.
The last six years she’d worn her hair in a self-styled hi-low, a little curly on top--which would remain so if the temperature didn’t top eighty degrees--and tapered near the edges, similar to Toni Braxton’s, though not as attractive, nor as long.
Maybe some weave. Not to the point of ridiculous, just enough for a new look.
She stepped back for a broader view; pressing her stomach with both hands, she pirouetted. “I’m not really what you can call fat…big boned.” She tiptoed, adding two inches to her five-feet, three inches.
The door opened and Detective Lisa Wells entered. She and Tasha had partnered on the vice squad before Tasha transferred to homicide.
“Hey, Tasha.”
“Hey, Lisa,” returning to the sink, feigning indifference to the mirror.
“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”
Tasha splashed more water on her face. “Just great. You?”
“Same old shit, you know.”
Tasha nodded, dried her face with a paper towel.
“I saw the suspect your partner brought in. She’s all that and a free spin.”
Tasha started for the door. “I’ll see you around, Lisa.”
“Tasha, don’t let her get under your skin. If she’s dirty she’ll use anything to get the upper hand, including her looks. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” Tasha said, and walked out. She met Bob as he exited an interrogation room. “You read her her rights?”
“Sure did. Tash, are you ready for this?”
“Yes, I’m ready. Why? You don’t think I can conduct a simple interrogation?”
“Oh, I know you can. It’s just…”
“What?” Tasha snapped.
“Well, you seem teed off.”
“No, Bob, I’m not teed off! We’ll give her a few minutes to refresh her lies, and then I’ll go in and ruffle her scales.”
“I thought we agreed to me playing the heavy?”
“We did. Now I think I should do it.”
“Okay. Let me know when you need me.”
* * * * *
Perry drummed her long, candy-apple-red fingernails on the Formica-topped table, wondering when were they going to get the show on the road.
She had no intention of sitting here all day waiting for them to get their act together. She had things to do.
Why after all this time were they bringing this shit up now? Why?
Did she overlook something? No! Someone was dipping in her business, sticking their funky nose where it didn’t belong.
Probably that funky-ass insurance investigator. It doesn’t matter. They’re fishing for whatever they can catch, doesn’t matter what bites the hook they’ll take it and run with it.
Play it cool, see what type of bait they’re using.
She’d rather talk to fat boy; he seemed reasonable. She could work him.
They’ll probably send in the other one, the one with the bad skin and nosy eyes. Bitch makes me sick and I just met her. All those damn bumps on her face. What kind of detective can she be if she can’t take a few minutes to care for her skin?
She’s pissed, too. Gave her healthful advice and she got pissed. I can’t help it if she’s ugly. She was ugly long before she met me. I’ll have to watch her. She’s jealous, that’s all. I’d be jealous too, if I was all fat and nasty and my skin looked like a stucco wall. She probably--
The door opened and Tasha entered the room carrying a three-inch thick manila folder, in which all but a few sheets was comprised of blank typing paper.
“Certainly,” Perry said, “all that’s not about little old me.”
“I’m afraid so,” Tasha said, sitting in the chair opposite her.
“My, my, my! Somebody’s been awful busy. That’s a lot of paperwork for an accident.”
“Which accident?”
Perry smiled. “Please, Detective, let’s not kid each other. I came down here willingly. The least you can do is not bullshit me.”
“Okay, Mrs. Davis,” left eye twitching. “For the record, your name is Perry Davis?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Davis, you’ve been read your Miranda rights, and you fully understand them, is that correct?”
“Yes, I have, and yes I do.”
Tasha placed the folder in her lap and opened it to a blank page. “Let’s see here…you were married to a Lester Perkins, a Tyrone Banks and a Willie Davis, is that correct?”
“Yes I was,” leaning forward, attempting to see the file.
Tasha leaned back in her chair. “You obviously enjoy being married.”
“Is that a question?”
Tasha nodded.
“Yes. I enjoy being married, and I’m just as happy being single.”
“Mrs. Davis, were there any children from your three marriages?”
“No. As you already know, I have a daughter.”
“What’s her name?”
“Keshana Green.”
Tasha wrote the name down. “Father’s name?”
Perry forced a smile. “How is that relevant? I told you none of my three husbands are the father. Why is that important?”
“Does your daughter live with you?”
“No, she lives with my mother.”
“Here, in Little Rock?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“In…I don’t know, really. They were in Dawson, Arkansas. I called down there a while back and they were gone. Where? I don’t have a clue. If you have their whereabouts in that file, I’d sure like to know myself.”
Tasha stared at her. “Your mother leaves town with your kid and you don’t have a clue to where they went?”
Perry shook her head. “Honest. My mother has full custody, she doesn’t need my permission to take Keshana away.”
“How old was your daughter when your mother gained custody?”
“I don’t know…nine or ten. I’ll have to check.”
Tasha flipped through blank pages. “So…according to your marriage dates, your mother gained custody sometime during your marriage to Tyrone Banks, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Banks, was he the reason you gave your mother custody of Keshana?”
“No.”
“They, Mr. Banks and Keshana, got along fairly well?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Mrs. Davis, where were you the evening of January thirteenth, two thousand and five, the day that Lester Perkins died?”
“I was at home.”
“Anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t remember. I was at home, that much I do remember. Doing what? I can’t say.”
“Your third husband, Willie Davis, was he a good swimmer?”
Perry sighed. “You keep jumping around with all these questions, it’s sorta confusing.”
“To your knowledge,” Tasha said, “could Willie Davis, your third husband, swim?”
“He--I don’t know.” A long pause. “It never came up.”
“Did Willie like to fish?”
“Yes, he loved fishing.”
“You ever go with him?”
“Once or twice. He preferred going alone. He said fishing relaxed his mind.”
“Someone who loved fishing why did he buy such a small boat?”
“I bought the boat for him. A birthday present.”
“You bought him a boat, yet the subject of whether he could swim or not never came up, is that what you’re telling me?”
Perry combed back her hair with both hands. “I just took it for granted he could swim. I’m not one to pry into a man’s business.”
“This boat, where did you buy it?”
“I don’t remember. Honestly, I don’t. I do a lot of shopping and most times I pay cash. You can’t expect me to remember everything I bought and where I bought it.”
“How often did Willie fish at night?”
“Lots of times.”
“Lots of times?”
“Yes,” staring at Tasha’s forehead. “Not trying to change the subject, do you eat a lot of chocolate?”
Tasha slammed the folder on the floor. In the small room the sound echoed a gunshot. “Let me explain something to you, Mrs. Davis. This inquiry has nothing whatsoever to do with me or the way I look, do you understand?”
Perry said nothing, a thin smile on her lips.
“Do you understand?”
Perry grinned, revealing perfect teeth. “Yes, I understand, Detective.”
A long moment Tasha stared at her. Then: “How often did Willie fish at night?”
“I�
��ve already answered that.”
“Answer it again!” Tasha snapped.
Perry sighed. “Lots of times.”
“Did you ever accompany him on one of his nighttime fishing expeditions?”
“No. Never.”
“Mrs. Davis, can you account your whereabouts on the night of February sixteenth and the early morning of February seventeenth, of this year?”
“Yes. I was at home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
“Again, I can’t remember.”
“When was the last time you saw Willie Davis alive?”
“February sixteenth, the night he went fishing.”
“When were you informed of his death?”
“The next day. February seventeenth.”
“About what time?”
“I think it was that evening. I’m guessing…I think about two in the evening.”
“You weren’t alarmed when your husband failed to return home during the night?”
“No, not at all. Willie and his mother were close, extremely close. It was nothing for him to stay with her without even telling me.”
Tasha stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need something to drink. You want something, coke, coffee?”
“Water. Caffeine is bad for your skin.”
* * * * *
Bob stood outside the door. “How’s it going?”
“She’s playing games,” Tasha said. “Big time. When I go back in I’m turning up the heat. Give me a few minutes and then come in.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
Tasha returned with two Styrofoam cups of water, one for Perry and one for herself. She’d wanted a coke, but had heard enough wisecracks about bad skin to last a lifetime. Tasha waited till Perry had the cup to her lips before saying, “Mrs. Davis, we have a problem here.”
Perry took a small sip and put the cup down. “What kind of problem?”
“We have an eyewitness who can put you at Fourche Creek the night Willie Davis drowned.”
Perry leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Is that a fact?”
“You were there the night Willie drowned, weren’t you?”
“Where’s this witness? Here?”
Her attitude changed, Tasha thought. Why the sudden cockiness? “He’s not here. He said he would testify to--”
“Look here, De-tec-tive, don’t bullshit me!”
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