Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(18)

He shook his head, kept shaking it as his eyes, a brilliant green behind a forest of black lashes, filled. “Someone killed Jamal. My God, my sweet God. They tried to steal the car? Was that it? We’re supposed to cooperate in a jacking. It’s firm company policy. No car is worth a life. Jamal.”

“I know this is a shock,” Eve began, “and it’s very difficult, but we need to ask you some questions.”

“We’re having dinner tonight. We’re all having dinner tonight. A cookout.”

“You were here last night. You were running dispatch?”

“Yes. No. Oh, God.” He pressed the heels of his hands to those wet, brilliant eyes. “I was home, running dispatch from home. He had this late run, you see. He took it because Kimmy had two night runs in a row, and West was on an early one this morning, and it was Peter’s son’s birthday, and . . . it doesn’t matter. We flipped a coin, winner chooses dispatch or the run. He took the run.”

“When was it booked?”

“Just that afternoon.”

“Who was the client?”

“I . . . I’ll look it up. I don’t remember. I can’t think.” He dropped his head into his hands, then jerked it up again. “Mamie, the children. Oh, God, oh, God. I have to go. I have to get my wife. We have to go to Mamie.”

“Soon. The most important thing you can do for Jamal right now is give us information. We believe whoever was in the car with him killed him or knows who did. Who was in the car, Mr. Chin?”

“Wait.” He rose, went to the unit on the counter. “It doesn’t make sense. I know it was a new client, but he just wanted to surprise his wife by picking her up in style at the airport, then taking her out to a late supper. I remember that. Here, here it is. Augustus Sweet. The pickup was in front of the Chrysler Building. He was going to work late, and wanted to be picked up at his office. I have his credit card information. We always take that information in advance. I have everything here.”

“Can you make me a copy?”

“Yes, yes. But he was going to pick up his wife at the airport. He did request our best driver, but he didn’t even know Jamal, so I don’t understand. I could have been driving. Any of us could have. It was just . . .”

The flip of a coin, Eve thought.

He fell apart when Eve allowed him to call his wife in. Sobbed in her arms. She was six inches taller with flaming red hair, and was hugely pregnant.

Eve watched tears run down her cheeks, but she held together.

“We need to go with you,” she said to Eve. “She shouldn’t hear this from strangers. I’m sorry, that’s what you are. She needs family with her. We’re family.”

“That’s fine. Can you tell us the last time you saw or spoke with Mr. Houston?”

“Yesterday, about five, I guess. I’d gone over to Mamie’s because she was watching Tige—our son. His babysitter needed the day off. He came in just as we were leaving. He had that run later, and he went home for a few hours first. And I guess you need to know, because that’s the way it is. Michael got home about six-thirty, and we had dinner with our boy. Michael gave him his bath and put him to bed just before eight, because I was tired. He ran the dispatch from home. He came to bed about eleven. I know because I was still awake. I was tired,” she added, rubbing her belly. “The baby wasn’t. I don’t know the exact times, but that’s close.”

Eve ran them through a few more routine questions, but she already had the picture, had a sense.

The Houstons had a large and pretty suburban house with big windows, a rolling lawn, and a front garden that made Eve think of Ireland. Mamie Houston, a wide-brimmed straw hat protecting her face from the sun, stood snipping long-stemmed blooms and putting them in a wide, flat basket.

She turned, started to smile, to wave. Then the smile froze, and her hand dropped slowly to her side.

She knows something’s wrong, Eve thought. She’s wondering why her friends, her partners would drive to her house with a couple of strangers.

She dropped the basket. Flowers spilled out on the green lawn as she began to run.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Mamie.” Michael’s voice cracked. “Jamal. It’s Jamal.”

“Has there been an accident? Who are you?” she demanded of Eve. “What’s happened?”

“Mrs. Houston, I’m Lieutenant Dallas with the NYPSD.” As Eve spoke, Kimmy Chin moved to Mamie’s side, put an arm around her. “I regret to inform you your husband was killed last night.”

“That’s not possible. That can’t be true. He’s out for his run, or at the gym. I . . .” She patted her gardening pants. “I don’t have my ’link. I always forget my ’link when I come out to work in the garden. Michael, use yours, will you? He’s just gone out for his run.”

“He came home?”

“Of course he came home.” She snapped it at Michael, then bit her lip. “I . . .”

“Mrs. Houston, why don’t we go inside?”

She rounded on Eve. “I don’t want to go inside. I want to talk to my husband.”

“When’s the last time you did?”

“I . . . When he left last night for work, but—”