Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(73)

When her lips pressed together, Eve read both hope and dread on her face.

“Do you know Nigel McEnroy or Thaddeus Pettigrew?”

“No, I … wait, I heard about that killing uptown. The McEnroy person. I heard about that. I don’t know … I know someone named Pettigrew, but she’s a woman.”

“Darla Pettigrew. Thaddeus Pettigrew was her ex-husband. You may have missed the reports that he was also murdered.”

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I didn’t know either of these men.”

“You knew women connected to them, women in your support group.”

She went very stiff. “I go to a support group for women, it’s confidential. It’s anonymous. We only use first names.”

“I’m aware of that. I’ve spoken to Natalia Zula, who formed the group. I’ve spoken to three other members, ones connected to the victims.”

“But I’m not. I didn’t know them.” Stress spiked through her voice. “I don’t know anything.”

“Would you like your drink, Ms. Ruzaki?” Though Roarke spoke gently, quietly, she jerked. “Let me get it for you.”

He walked over, got it off the table.

“You knew Darla’s last name,” Eve pointed out.

“She did me a favor. She helped me.” Una took the glass from Roarke with hands that trembled.

“You seem nervous,” Eve commented.

“I have police in my house talking about murders. And my group, that’s private. Yeah, I’m nervous.”

“Why don’t you tell us where you were last night, and the night before, between nine P.M. and four A.M.”

“Oh my God, I’m a suspect. How can I be a suspect about murders of men I didn’t even know?”

“It’s a routine question. Can you answer it?”

“I was here.” Her eyes darted from Eve to Roarke, back again. Not in evasion, to Eve’s gauge, but with the look of prey frozen before a predator’s pounce. “I was home. I have a three-year-old. I—I’d have been studying. After I put Sam to bed, about eight, I pick up around here, then I work or study. I’m taking courses, online business and management courses. Ah—ah, night before last we had an interactive lesson from nine to ten. I can show you! And I stayed on with a couple of the other students until about ten-thirty. Then I got ready for bed. I didn’t go out at all. I have a baby.”

“And last night?”

“I studied until about ten. Then— Oh! Rachel came over. My friend. We had a glass of wine and talked until about eleven. Rachel, she watches Sam while I go to work.”

“That would be Rachel Fassley? Another member of the group?”

“It’s private,” she said as tears filled her eyes.

“Una.” Roarke drew her attention with that same gentle tone. “Would you be more comfortable if I asked Rachel to join us?”

“I don’t want to drag her into this. I just—”

“We’re going to talk to her anyway.” Eve spoke crisply, letting Roarke hit the soft spots. “We can do it separately or together.”

“I— All right. Don’t scare her. I can show you my work, show you I was online.”

“We’ll get to that,” Eve said, and gave Roarke a nod. When he went out, she leaned into Una.

“When we came in, you thought—worried—we were here about something else.”

“I thought maybe it was something about my ex.”

“You had difficulties with him.”

“We’re divorced. I have a restraining order. He has visitation rights with Sam, but he never uses them, and I’m glad. I’ll tell you about Arlo if I have to, but I can’t tell you about what the others talked about in the group. It’s private.”

“But Darla did talk about her ex-husband?”

“Please don’t ask me. Please.”

“How about telling me the last time you saw or spoke with her?”

“Right before Christmas. She helped me get this apartment, she paid two months’ rent and the security deposit. Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me before. She’s so kind.”

“But she hasn’t been back to the group.”

“No. I keep hoping, because I want to thank her again.”

“You don’t know how to contact her?”

“No. Even if I did, it would be rude. She knows where I live because she helped. If she wanted to talk to me, she could. We don’t invade each other’s privacy.”

She looked up as the door opened, and relief spilled out when a woman—trim, blond, in flannel pants and a sweatshirt—came in.

“Oh, Rachel.”

“Easy does it, Una.” She had a sharp, native New Yorker voice and a no-nonsense attitude as she walked over, sat next to her friend. She gave Una a pat on the knee. “Okay, what’s all this about murder?” She took a glance at the device in her hand, set it on the table. “My boy’s across the hall sleeping. I’ve got a monitor on him in case.”

“We’re investigating the murders of Nigel McEnroy and Thaddeus Pettigrew.”

“I heard there was a second one, but … Wait a minute. Pettigrew. That’s not Darla’s ex, is it?”