Festive in Death (In Death #39)(14)

No tears, Eve noted, but if she was faking the shock and denial, she was damn good at it.

“You’ve made a mistake,” Alla said, the words slow, careful. “Trey’s not dead.”

“Trey Ziegler,” Eve said, keeping her tone flat and brisk as she brought his ID shot up on her PPC. “This Trey Ziegler.”

“This can’t be right. This can’t be true.”

Still no tears, but trembles in the voice, in the hands.

“You and the victim were involved.”

“Vic—victim? Victim?”

“Here you are, Alla. Would you like to split a yamberry muffin? A fresh batch just came out.”

“We’re fine,” Eve said when Alla only stared straight ahead. “Go away.”

“How . . . what happened? How?”

“When did you last see or speak with Trey Ziegler?”

“I . . .”

“Are you missing a pair of red shoes, Alla?”

“Oh God. Oh God.” She covered her face with her hands. “I was going to lie. I don’t even know why. I can’t take it in. I saw him yesterday, just yesterday. He was fine.”

“Tell me about yesterday.”

“I’d seen him that morning, early, at the gym. Buff Bodies. I was there for my early yoga class and . . . we’d started thinking about seeing each other again. He’d broken things off with the woman he’d been living with, and he said he missed me. It was stupid. I was stupid, but he asked me to come to his place. I took off for a couple hours, even dressed up for it. Stupid, stupid. And I jumped right back in bed with him.

“I missed the sex,” she admitted. “He’s good in bed, and he’s got a way of making you feel you matter, for as long as he wants to make you feel that way. Afterward, he started talking about going to Aruba or St. Bart’s, starting up a fitness spa. At first I thought he was asking me to go with him, how we could start up this whole thing together. It was fantasy, but it was nice. But that wasn’t it.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth, rocked herself a moment. “That wasn’t it at all. We had a second round of sex, and I really needed to get back, but I would’ve stayed if he’d asked. That’s how stupid he could make me. Instead he said I was one of the best bangs, that I could make a living at it. Like I should be flattered. Then he asked if I’d be interested in doing a threesome, that he had this client, and she was looking for a little adventure. He . . . He said he’d pay me.”

Tears shimmered now. “He’d pay me.”

“That must’ve pissed you off.”

“I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. How stupid, and all for an orgasm. I told him to go to hell. I started grabbing my clothes, and he’s lying there laughing, saying, Oh, come on, baby, it’ll be fun. How he’d make it worth my while, how I was the first woman he’d thought of when it came up.”

The tears flowed out now, but not from grief. Eve read the shame clearly.

“That’s what he thought of me. I allowed him to think that of me. I got out, I got out, and I said . . . Oh my God, I said I wished he was dead. Now he is.”

“You left in December, with no shoes.”

“I had my work shoes in my bag.” She showed Eve the navy blue recycled-material clogs. “I didn’t even think about the damn red shoes. I never want to see them again. I wore them for him. I let myself think he cared about me, but he didn’t.”

“What time did you leave the apartment?”

“Um, about three in the afternoon. I went home, took a shower, and I came right back here. I needed to work. I think I was back here before four. You can check with any of the staff.”

“And what time did you leave here yesterday—for the day?”

“Six-fifteen, six-thirty. I went home. I live right upstairs. I went home, and I had a good cry. Then I ate my entire secret stash of cookie dough ice cream—the real stuff. I drank a half bottle of wine and watched cheesy vids.”

“Did you talk to anyone, see anyone?”

“No. I turned off my ’link. I wanted to wallow, so I wallowed. I didn’t kill him. I said I wished he was dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

Back outside, Eve gauged the distance from the health-food store to the crime scene.

“She could have walked out of here at six-fifteen, gone back to his place, bashed him on the head. Plenty of time to get from here to there by TOD.”

“Yeah, but her statement really rings,” Peabody argued. “Eating ice cream, drinking wine, watching sad vids. It’s what a lot of women do after a bad breakup or an emotional jolt.”

“Which is why she’d run that route for us, wouldn’t she? It may ring, but she had motive and she’s got no alibi.”

“It feels more like she’d have bashed him, if she’s inclined to bashing, when he brought up the threesome and paying her for it.”

Though she agreed, Eve shrugged. “Maybe she’s a slow burn. Let’s go check in with Morris, then we can start working on the clients. Maybe we can find out who he had in mind for the third member of his threesome.”

• • •

The white tunnel of the morgue smelled of a recent cleaning. Something that brushed lemons over death and left an undertone of industrial antiseptic.