Forgotten in Death(90)

“We were married. I divorced her about twelve years ago for abandonment.”

“Have you had any contact with the deceased since that time?”

“None at all. Fact is, I didn’t know where she was until you contacted me yesterday.”

“Do you know or do you have any knowledge of an Alexei Tovinski?”

“Never heard of him. Russian-sounding name, isn’t it? Is he the one who killed Alva?”

“He confessed to her murder from the chair you’re sitting in right now. Satisfied, Detective?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir, but the commander issued the directives.”

“You’re dismissed. Peabody, Detective Delia, exiting Interview.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “He issues directives like that because he rides a desk instead of riding suspects.”

He laughed while she picked up the thick file on top of the box. Eve used her penknife to cut the seal on the box, then sat again.

She smiled. “You said Alva was flighty and forgetful.”

“That she was. Sweet, but in another world half the time or more. I don’t know where she picked up the name Quirk, but it suited her. She was a quirky one.”

“Flighty, forgetful, quirky.” Eve nodded. “Is that why you, routinely, beat the crap out of her?”





18





The humor—at his dead ex-wife’s expense—didn’t just drain out of his eyes. They went feral.

“You’ve got no business saying such a thing to me.”

“Sure I do. It’s all written out—in details, with dates—in her books.” Eve patted the box. “And those injuries and dates match the conclusions from the chief medical examiner of New York, and our forensic anthropologist. And I have photos as well as medical reports.”

She opened the file. “Like these pictures—also dated, as you see—of Alva’s facial injuries, her broken fingers, the burned fingers, the bruising on her ribs. You’ll note they’re time-stamped, two days after you filed a missing persons report on her. The medical—a Dr. Grace Habit—certified the injuries as approximately seventy-two hours old.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” He started to rise.

“Stay in your chair or I’ll cuff you to it.”

“You and who else?”

“I don’t need anyone else. And I’d be delighted to add assaulting an officer to the charges.”

“What charges? There’s no proof of anything in a half-crazy woman’s scribbling in some book. Some pictures? She could have gotten her ass whooped after she took off, and you can’t prove different. And you’re talking to a cop, you stupid bitch. There’s a statute of limitations on domestic abuse.”

“There is, but there isn’t on rape, there isn’t on felony rape.”

“We were married. A man can’t rape his wife.”

“I bet you believe that, but the law disagrees. Strongly disagrees. You’d beat her next to unconscious, then rape her. You’d break her fingers, then rape her. On the night before the morning she ran away from you, you did this.” She shoved the pictures across the table.

“Then raped her. And to the many counts of rape documented in her books, I’m going to shoot for enforced imprisonment. You wouldn’t allow her to visit or be visited by her family—under threat of more beatings. You had her brother beaten, her sister raped, to prove to her you could hurt them if she didn’t toe your line. It’s all in here.”

He shoved the photos away. “None of this is going to hold up in court. None of this. I’ve got better than twenty-five years on the force. I’m the fucking chief of police. I’ve got a wife who’ll swear I’ve never laid a hand on her.”

“She might. But, hey, your second ex-wife’s going to be a different story. I’m betting a lot of it’ll hold up. A long, ugly, humiliating trial for you, but if you’ve got a smart lawyer, you’ll probably get some of it tossed. Not all though.”

She sat back. “No, not all. Especially when we sent investigators to Oklahoma. Someone like you? They don’t just pound on a woman half their size. Give them a badge and a weapon, they like to use it. I’m betting you’ve tuned up more than a few suspects in your day, guilty or innocent, and done the same with someone who just pissed you off.”

She gazed up at the ceiling. “Add it all up, I’m betting we could get you twenty years. Twenty to twenty-five. With good behavior—which I don’t think you can pull off—you could, maybe, get out in fifteen.”

She smiled at him, fiercely. “Want to try it?”

“What do you want? And don’t tell me this is about Alva. You didn’t even know her. You looking for a score? Looking for something under the table?”

“A bribe? Are you offering me a payoff for tucking all this away?”

“I asked what you want.”

“I’ll tell you. Hold on a second.” She took out her ’link. “Hey, Nadine. Locked and loaded?”

“You bet.”

“Pull the trigger.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thanks.” She put the ’link away. “I’ll tell you what I want. What I want right down to my bones. I want you to spend the rest of your life in prison for what you did to Alva, for the shit you’ve smeared on your badge. That’s what I want. Now, what I’ll take?”