The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(29)

Barbie laughed at that. “Don’t forget I know exactly how much of an insult that was. I was married to a cop.”

“And how was your marriage in the months leading up to your husband’s murder?”

She arched a brow. “Oh, you’re going straight for the jugular. You forget, I’ve been asked these questions a thousand times. You aren’t going to shock me or surprise me.”

“Good. Then we can skip over the niceties. How was your marriage in the weeks leading up to your husband’s death?”

“It was very ordinary for people married ten years with three kids and not quite enough money. It was a partnership. Ted had his job, I had mine. When we had time together, we were too exhausted for sex, so we argued about money instead. Occasionally we both got enough sleep to wake up and remember how much we used to like each other.”

“Were either of you dissatisfied with that arrangement?”

“I think both of us were dissatisfied with that arrangement, but that’s life. At that stage of the game, I didn’t know any couples that were entirely happy. Are you married, Detective?”

“Divorced.”

“Kids?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have enough time for everything? Is there ever enough money? You dumped your husband for a reason—or he dumped you.”

“I dumped him for a reason, all right,” Nikki said. “What about Ted? Was he the kind of guy who fooled around? And remember: I am a cop, and I know cops. My ex was a cop. I know that animal.”

“I don’t know if Ted was fooling around,” she said, glancing down at the arm of her chair, pretending to pick at a piece of lint. “I was too tired to care at the time.”

“So you wouldn’t know if there was a jealous husband or boyfriend who might have wanted to eliminate the competition?”

“No.”

“How was Ted acting around that time? Up? Down? Distracted?”

“Well . . . he was either the most generous, caring guy you’d ever met, or the biggest prick on the face of the earth. It depended on what kind of case he was working. The sicker and more depraved the case, the darker and angrier he was.”

“Did he talk about his cases with you?”

“No. He said the things he had to deal with were too horrible to bring home. He didn’t want it touching the kids,” she said. “He’d been glum. He always hated this time of year—the shorter days, the rotten weather. He always complained that everything died in November. I always thought he had that seasonal disorder. But the Duffy men are just prone to their moods. That Black Irish thing, you know.”

“Had there been any strange calls to the house?” Seley asked. “Was he acting secretive?”

Barbie Duffy rolled her eyes. “Do you know how many people have asked me these questions in the last two and a half decades?” she asked impatiently, checking her watch. “You have to have all these answers in a file somewhere.”

“Yes, but see, we’re here right now,” Nikki said. “So we can ask you in person, and that’s always better. You might arch an eyebrow, or tip your chin, or look down to the left, and all of that means something.”

“That sounds like you think I’m a suspect.”

“Why would we think that? You were at the supermarket when it happened.”

“There were people who found it suspicious that Big Duff and I ended up together,” she said. “You probably do, too. Some people thought we must have conspired to kill Ted so we could be together.”

“Did you?” Nikki asked, just to see her response.

She didn’t bite.

“Of course not. We didn’t even like each other before Ted died.”

“You’ve been married a long time,” Seley said.

“Yes. That all seems like a lifetime ago. I guess it was,” she said quietly as she glanced at her watch again. Then she took a deep breath to conjure up more energy. “Anyway, I was at the supermarket buying cranberry sauce, and Big Duff was in Wisconsin, so no, we didn’t kill Ted.”

“We’ll need to speak with your kids,” Nikki said, knowing they were running out of time.

“They won’t have anything to say that they haven’t already said. They were little then—five, seven, and nine.”

“Still, we’ll need contact info.”

Barbie Duffy huffed a sigh. “They’ve lived their whole lives with this investigation. The children of a murdered cop. Jennifer had to see a therapist off and on for years, she was so traumatized by the aftermath of Ted’s death. Thank God for insurance.”

“And you had a couple of foster kids living with you at the time?”

“Yes,” she said coolly. “I’m sure you have their names somewhere. They’re probably in jail or dead.”

“They were difficult?”

“They were teenage girls from broken homes with drug-addicted mothers and their mothers’ abusive boyfriends. They had a lot of issues. I sent them back after Ted was killed. I had enough to deal with. I couldn’t cope with their problems, too.”

“Your neighbor made a comment to us about the girls being”—she looked to Seley—“what’s the word he used?”