Memory in Death (In Death #22)(109)

"What do you care what happened to her?" Marnie said softly.

"Who says I do?"

"I don't think you have anything. Those things?" She gestured to the evidence bag. "Mama Tru gave them to me. She loved me."

"She never loved a soul on or off planet but herself. But maybe you can swing that with a jury. You think, Peabody?"

Peabody pursed her lips as if considering. "She's got a shot, especially if she turns on the waterworks. But when you put them with the rest, chances drop sharply. You know, Lieutenant, there's the case for lying in wait—the big picture. Assuming a false identity—not a big hit, but added up." Peabody lifted a shoulder. "Assuming it's for the purposes of murder. Man, you give the jury that, the fact that she married the victim's son just to get in position to kill her former foster mother. 'Cause that's fricking cold. Then factor in the money, murder for gain. She's looking at life, off-planet facility. Hard time."

Peabody looked at Marnie. "Maybe you can convince us the actual murder was unpremeditated. Maybe you could make a case of self-defense for yourself. While you've got our sympathy."

"Maybe I should call a lawyer."

"Fine." Eve pushed off the table. "No skin off mine, 'cause I've got you. You spring the lawyer, Marnie, that's your right. Once you do, it cuts deep into my sympathy and admiration. You got a name?" Eve asked easily. "Or do you want court-appointed?"

"Wait. Just wait." Marnie picked up her fizzy, sipped. When she sat it down again, the guilelessness was replaced by calculation. "What if I tell you she was going to rake you to the bone, you and your man?

I stopped her. That's got to be worth something."

"Sure it is. We'll talk about that." Eve sat back down. "But you're going to want to lay it out for me. Why don't we start at the beginning?"

"Why not? God knows I'm sick to death of Zana, you hit on that one. You got my sheet, there. Juvie, the works?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't tell the whole story. You know how that goes. I got kicked around, since I was a kid."

"I saw your medicals. You had it rough."

"I learned to kick back. I looked after myself, because nobody else was going to." In disgust, she shoved the remainder of the fizzy aside. "Can I get some coffee? Black."

"Sure, I'll take care of it." Peabody walked to the door, slipped out.

"The system blows," Marnie continued. "Beats me to hell and back how you can work for it, after what it did to you."

Eve kept her gaze level. "I like being in charge."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that. Got yourself a badge, that frosty weapon. Kick some ass regular. I can see how that could work for you, how you get some of your own back."

"Let's talk about you."

"My favorite subject. So, they finally get me clear of my bitch of a mother, and what do they do? Dump me with Trudy. First, I figure, Hey, I can work this. Nice house, nice things, do-gooder and her boy. But she's worse than my mother. You know."

"I know."

"She was strong. I was puny back then, and she was strong. Cold baths every night—every f**king night—like it was her religion. Locked up in my room every night afterward. I didn't mind that, it was quiet. Plenty of time to think."

Peabody came in with the coffee, set it on the table.

"You know, she put something in my food once to make me sick after I took a pair of her earrings?" Marnie sipped the coffee, made a face. "Been awhile since I've been in a cop shop. You guys still can't come up with decent coffee."

"We suffer in our fight against crime," Peabody said dryly, and made Marnie laugh.

"Good one. Back to me. So, the second time the bitch caught me, she cut my hair off. I had nice hair. Wore it shorter back then, but it was nice."

She lifted a hand to it, shook it back. "She cut it off to the scalp— like, I don't know, I was some kind of war criminal or something. Then she told the social worker I'd done it to myself. Nobody did a damn thing about it. That's when I knew there'd be payback. One day, somehow. She cut my damn hair off."

Eve allowed herself a trickle of sympathy. "You ran away."

"Yeah. Thought about setting the house on fire, with her inside, but that wouldn't've been smart. They'd come after me harder if I'd done that."

And the trickle went dry. "Arson, murder, yeah, they'd've come after you hard."

"Anyway, I was young. Plenty of time for payback. But they came after me anyway. You cops ever think about just letting somebody be?"

She shook her head, took another sip of coffee.

"You got away from her when you were thirteen. That's half a lifetime ago for you, Marnie. Long time to hold a grudge."

Mamie's voice was as bitter as the coffee. "What good's a grudge if you don't hold it? She told me I was a whore. Born a whore, die a whore. That I was ugly, useless. That I was nothing. Every day I was with her, she told me. She wanted new living room furniture, so she busted it up, said I did it. The state wrote her a check and put me on restriction. She made my life hell for damn near a year."

"You waited a long time to pay her back for it."