Memory in Death (In Death #22)(65)

"Am I a suspect?"

"The fact that you're not answering a routine question makes me wonder."

"I was twelve," Carly snapped. "I was under her care for eight months. My aunt was able to get custody and I went to live with her. Matter closed."

"Then why are you angry?"

"Because a New York cop is calling my home and asking me questions about a murder. I have a family. I'm eight months pregnant, for God's sake. I'm a teacher."

"And you still haven't answered my question."

"I have nothing to say about this or her. Nothing. Not without a lawyer, so leave me alone."

The screen went black. "That went well," Eve commented.

While she didn't see Carly Tween waddling her way to New York to bash Trudy's brains in, she kept her on the list.

On the next call she was switched to voice mail—two faces, two voices, both of them glowing to the point Eve wished for sunshades.

Hi! This is Pru!

And this is Alex!

We can't talk to you right now because we're on our honeymoon in Aruba!

They turned to each other, giggling insanely. Catch you when we comeback. If we come back.

Apparently someone was taking advantage of those low rates to the islands, Eve thought. If Pru and Alex had tied the knot, they'd done so recently enough that the data hadn't caught up.

She confirmed with vital records in Novi, Michigan. Pru and Alex had indeed applied for a marriage license, and had put it to use the previous Saturday.

She doubted they'd detoured to New York to commit murder on their way to sun, surf, and sex.

"All right, Maxie Grant, of New L.A., let's see what you're up to. A lawyer, huh? And with your own firm. Must be doing pretty well. I'd bet Trudy would've liked a piece of that."

Factoring the time difference, she tried Maxie Grant's office number first.

It was answered on the second beep, in brisk tones, by a woman with a great deal of curly red hair around a sharply defined face. Her mossy green eyes fixed on Eve's. "Maxie Grant, what can I do for you?"

"Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD."

"New York? You keep late hours, Lieutenant."

"You answer your own 'link, Ms. Grant."

"Entirely too often. What can I do for New York?"

"Trudy Lombard."

The smile that curved across Maxie's face was anything but friendly. "Tell me you're Homicide, and the bitch is on a slab."

"That's just what I'm going to tell you."

"No shit? Well, strike up the band and hand me a tuba. How'd she buy it?"

"I take it you weren't a fan."

"I hated her guts. I hated the atoms that made up her guts. If you've got who did her under wraps, I'd like to shake his hand."

"Why don't you tell me your whereabouts from this past Saturday through Monday."

"Sure. I was right here. On the coast, I mean. Even I don't spend every minute in this office." She eased back in the chair, pursed her lips in consideration. "Okay, Saturday, eight to noon, I was volunteering at St. Agnes's. I coach girls' volleyball. Get you a list of names to verify if you want them. Did some Christmas shopping after, with a pal. Spent too much, but hell, it's Christmas. Got the pal's name, and my receipts. Party Saturday night. Didn't get home 'til after two, and didn't come home alone. Sex and breakfast in bed Sunday morning. Went to the gym, hung around the house. Did some work from home Sunday night. How about some details. Did she suffer? Please tell me she suffered."

"Why don't you tell me why you'd enjoy that?"

"She made my life hell for nine months. Unless you're a total f**kup—and you don't look like one—you've got my file right there. Went into the system when I was eight, after my old man finally beat my mother to death and got his sorry ass locked up. Nobody wanted me. I got shot to that sadistic bitch. She used to make me scrub floors with a toothbrush, locked me in my room every night. Cut the power to it sometimes, just so I'd be in the dark. Told me my mother probably deserved what she got, and I'd end up the same way."

She took a deep breath, then reached for the bottle of water at her elbow, drank. "I started stealing, squirreling money away for my escape fund. Got caught. She showed the cops all these bruises on her arms, her legs. Told them I'd attacked her. I never touched the bitch. So I'm slapped in juvie. Got bad, lots of fights.

"You've seen this picture before."

"Yeah, a few times."

"I was dealing illegals by the time I was ten. Bad ass," she said with a smile that said she was ashamed of it. "In and out of kid cages until I was fifteen and a deal went south. I got cut up. Best thing that ever happened to me. There was a priest... This sounds very Vid of the Week, but there you go. He stuck with me, wouldn't quit. He turned me around."

"And you went into law."

"Just seemed to suit me. That sadistic bitch had me when I was eight, and I was scared. I'd watched my mother die. She used that, did her level best to ruin me. And she nearly did. I won't be sending flowers to her wake, Lieutenant. I'll be strapping on red shoes and drinking French champagne."

"When's the last time you saw her?"