So Alone, page 6
“We’ll follow up,” Michael replied. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”
Dr. Jensen accepted the offered hand. Faith said her own goodbyes, and the two of them left. They stopped by the desk sergeant and got the keys to one of the cruisers along with Deputy Watkins’ disturbingly slim file on the case.
The hotel was one of the nicer versions of motels that had been in existence seemingly since the dawn of the automobile. Michael approached a stoic-looking woman of indeterminate middle age and asked for two singles.
The woman looked between the two agents, seemingly surprised by the request. “Ain’t got two singles,” she said, “but I have a double queen with a walk-in closet.”
Michael pursed his lips. In a recent argument, Ellie had pointed out her discomfort with the fact that Michael shared rooms with Faith while they were on cases. He had committed to getting separate rooms since, even after Ellie apologized for her outburst.
Faith noticed his discomfort. “I can look for a room at the other motel down the road,” she offered. “We can meet at one of the cafés in the morning.”
“No, it’s fine,” Michael said, handing the stoic woman his Bureau credit card. “Ellie isn’t worried about that anymore.”
The stoic woman lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Michael didn’t bother correcting her obvious suspicions. She handed them each a keycard, then looked down and seemed to see Turk for the first time.
“Dog’s an extra twenty a night,” she said, “No charge if you tie him up outside.”
Michael placed a twenty on the table and smiled. “Thank you.”
The woman didn’t return his smile and said nothing else as the three agents left the lobby and headed to their room. Faith dropped her bag on the floor near the room’s one window and informed Michael she was going to shower.
Maybe it was just the uncomfortable memory of his argument with Ellie, but Michael felt his thoughts drift a little too close to imagining Faith naked in the shower.
He had convinced Ellie that he had no more romantic feelings for Faith and saw her only as a friend. Now he was wondering if she still shampooed first and washed her body later. Could Ellie have been right to worry? He had no plans of cheating on her, but thinking about Faith at all in this way concerned him. Maybe he should have allowed Faith to room at the other motel.
He sighed heavily and kicked his shoes off, then plopped onto his side of the bed and switched the tv on. He would shower in the morning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Genevieve was on her phone when the agents arrived. She looked contemptuously at Turk and asked, “That dog’s not going to shit on our floor, is he?”
Gigi Demetrious lived with her daughter, Genevieve, and her mother, Olivia, in a large, well-appointed two-story home in the Rolling Hills Estates in the extreme northeast corner of Goldwood, the opposite side of town from where Gigi's body was found. Both women appeared to be carbon copies of Gigi, Genevieve, a younger version, and Olivia, an older version. Neither woman seemed all that upset at Gigi’s death.
Upon being reassured that Turk was, in fact, housetrained, she returned promptly to her phone and put on the expression of practiced boredom Faith associated with the plastic women whose insecurity demanded that they make it clear to everyone how bored they were with everyone and everything around them.
Olivia was somewhat less haughty but still looked down her nose at Michael and Faith, as though she were doing them a great favor by speaking to them.
“I assume you’re here to ask me about Gigi,” she said in a regal tone.
“Yes,” Faith said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Genevieve scoffed at that. Olivia nodded with the barest politeness.
Faith and Michael shared a look. Then Faith began. “When was the last time either of you saw Gigi?”
“The morning of her death,” Olivia replied. “She was here for breakfast, as she was every morning, then she left for work.”
She said the last word as though it was a dirty word.
“What did she do for work?” Faith asked.
“She owned a clothing boutique in Goldwood. Le Courtesan. I imagine you can deduce what sort of apparel she sold.”
Faith could and could also deduce Olivia’s disapproval of her daughter’s line of work. Then again, maybe it was the idea of work in general that disgusted her.
“Did she seem different to you in any way?” Faith asked, “more irritable than normal? Aloof, anxious?”
“My daughter was not an anxious woman, officer,” Olivia replied.
Faith decided it would be a waste of time to remind Olivia that she was a special agent and not an officer. “And you noticed nothing out of the ordinary?”
“No.”
Faith turned to Genevieve, who held her phone up and posed, her facial expression never changing. Before the end of the interview, she would no doubt post that picture with a caption that said something about peace or serenity.
“What about you?” she asked.
Genevieve didn't answer. Olivia watched, bemused, as the younger woman proceeded to snap several more pictures of herself.
Michael reached forward and snatched the phone from Genevieve’s hand. Genevieve stiffened and regarded Michael the way one might regard a fresh stain on their carpet. “Excuse you,” she snapped.
“My partner was just asking if you noticed anything out of the ordinary the morning before your mother was ripped apart by dogs,” Michael said.
Faith shot him a warning glance. She understood his frustration, but now was not the time for them to lose their cool.
“No,” Genevieve said irritably. “Can I have my phone back now?”
“No,” Michael replied. “We’re interviewing you about your mother’s death.”
“Well, I didn’t kill her!”
“It doesn’t seem to bother you much that she’s dead,” Faith said, “Either of you.”
Genevieve rolled her eyes and plopped back on the couch. “Well, I’m sorry. Do you want me to cry or something?”
Michael leaned forward, offering a hard smile that stopped well before his eyes. “If it will make things easier, Miss Demetrious, we can have this conversation at the sheriff’s station.”
“That won’t be necessary, officer,” Olivia interrupted. “My granddaughter is very upset at her mother’s death, as you can clearly see.”
“We can’t see it,” Faith said. When Olivia cast her an offended look, she added, “and we’re not concerned with politeness or etiquette. To repeat my partner’s point, if we don’t feel we’ve learned what we need from this interview, we may opt to continue this conversation at the station,” she turned to Genevieve, “where we can talk free of distractions.”
Olivia’s lips thinned in disapproval. Genevieve sighed loudly and rolled her eyes again. “Okay, look, Mom was a bitch, all right? If you think Grandma and I are tough to deal with, you should have seen her. It was always about her. Always. When I heard she was dead, I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t care. I didn’t kill her, all right? Neither did Grandma. We have security cameras all over the house. You can see that we stayed home all night. Happy?”
“We’ll look at that footage,” Michael said, “and for now, we’ll give you both the benefit of the doubt. I’d like to know why you considered your mom a bitch.”
“I told you,” Genevieve said irritably. “It was always about her. If I had a problem, she had a bigger one. If I needed help, I was being annoying. If I was upset about something, I was ruining her good vibes. She didn’t care about anyone but herself, and no one cares enough about her to be upset that she’s gone. She left me her house and money, and it was the only nice thing she ever did for me. So I’m sorry that I’m not weeping uncontrollably, but I’m just not all that upset that the bitch is dead, now can I please have my fucking phone?”
“Language, Genevieve!” Olivia exclaimed.
Genevieve rolled her eyes and fell silent.
Olivia turned back to the agents. “I apologize for my granddaughter’s outburst. I’m afraid she’s correct. My Gigi was a poor mother. She loved Genevieve with all her heart, but I’m afraid she lacked a certain quality that allowed her the patience to raise a child. I think she only had poor Genevieve to try to please her husband. I’m afraid that didn’t work out.”
Genevieve’s shoulders tensed very slightly at her grandmother’s announcement. Faith decided she needed to have a one-on-one talk with her, but first, she needed a little more info from Olivia “Where is her ex-husband?” Faith asked.
“Charles? Oh, he died a long time ago. When Genevieve was eleven. She never knew him. He left Gigi three weeks after she was born. Good riddance. I always told Gigi that nothing good could come from marrying a Scandinavian.”
Faith fought the urge to curl her lips in disgust. Olivia was the worst example of her generation, a bitter relic of the most revolting aspects of her time. Faith found herself almost hoping Olivia had something to do with the murder just so she could have the pleasure of seeing her carted off to jail.
“I think we’ll make more progress if we interview the two of you separately,” Faith said. “Miss Genevieve, you’ll come with me.”
“Can the dog stay here? This is a four-thousand-dollar dress. I don’t want him getting fur or drool on it.”
Faith glanced at Turk, who seemed to have no desire at all to get close to Genevieve. He fixed a look of exasperation on Faith, and Faith shrugged. "He'll stay with Michael and your grandmother."
“Fine,” Genevieve said, standing and stalking away.
Faith shared another look with Michael, then followed Genevieve. The younger woman led her to the back of the house, then out into a spacious backyard dominated by a swimming pool fed by a rock-lined waterfall. She walked to a pair of lawn chairs and draped herself over one with the practiced ease of someone used to being watched. “Can we talk here?” she asked, a rather unnecessary request since she’d already sat. “I haven’t gotten any sun today, and I feel drained.”
“Here’s fine,” Faith said, sitting on the edge of the other lawn chair.
She waited silently for Genevieve to speak. If she was correct, Genevieve had more to say but would close up like an oyster if prodded. If left alone, maybe she would open up, just a little.
After a few minutes, Genevieve turned her head lazily and regarded Faith with a gaze that seemed to be intended to be contemptuous but succeeded only in being vulnerable and afraid of opening up. Faith continued to wait, and when Genevieve evidently decided that she could trust Faith not to belittle her, she spoke.
“Mom was hard to love. I know you want to know who I think might want her dead. The answer is probably everyone who met her. I don’t think I ever heard her say I love you and mean it. She definitely never said it to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Faith said.
Genevieve shrugged with practiced carelessness. “It is what it is. I got over it by ninth grade. If she didn’t want to love me, that was fine. I didn’t have to love her.”
Faith was silent a moment as she allowed that admission to sink in. Then she asked, “Did your mother have a boyfriend that you know of?”
Genevieve chuckled. “Boyfriend? No. I don’t think Mom cared at all about sex, and if she married someone, she might be expected to pay attention to him.”
A tear welled in the corner of the young woman’s eye. She stared up at the sky and didn’t seem to notice it was there.
“Do you have any idea what your mother was doing in the industrial park on the opposite side of town last night?” Faith asked.
Genevieve shrugged again and shook her head. "I never understood why Mom did anything. Sometimes I think she would just do whatever came first to her mind to fill the days."
“I thought you said she was invested in her business.”
“She liked owning a business. She didn’t like running it. She didn’t like doing anything but listen to other people treat her like a queen.”
“So you don’t know why your mom might have been in the industrial park two nights ago?”
Genevieve sighed. "No." She turned to Faith, and there were two clear tracks down her cheeks. "I'm sorry I can't help you more. Mom and I were more like roommates for the past few years."
Faith was a little disappointed at the lack of useful information she got from her, but she was gentle in her response. “Genevieve, I really am sorry for your loss.”
Genevieve smiled bitterly. “Don’t be. I never had anything to lose in the first place.”
***
In the car, Faith asked Michael if he learned anything useful.
“Other than that the whole family is a piece of work?” he said, “not much. Olivia shared that Gigi wasn’t well-liked, but we got that point pretty clearly from the first part of the interview. She then spent the rest of the interview talking about how she detested Goldwood and wished they had remained in Charleston.”
“Lovely,” Faith said.
“Anything from Kid Bitchy?”
Faith cast him a reproachful glance. “She just lost her mother, Michael.”
“She seems really broken up about it,” Michael replied sarcastically.
“She is,” Faith insisted. She might not show it, but she’s very upset at her mother’s death. I believe that Gigi was cold to her, but she’s an orphan now. She has no one left but her grandmother, and she didn’t seem the easiest woman to get along with.”
“Neither of them were,” Michael replied.
Faith let the argument drop. “We’ll call Tom and get him to send detectives to Le Courtesan to interview the employees.”
Michael frowned at her. “What are we gonna do?”
“I want to talk to Gerald Conway’s wife,” Faith said. “I want to see if he was as much of a ‘piece of work’ as Gigi Demetrious.”
“You think they were murdered for being assholes?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
Michael shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Faith called Tom while Michael drove to the nearby and equally egregious Tropical Garden Villas. Gerald Conway’s home was smaller and less opulent than Gigi Demetrious’s but was still far larger and more well-appointed than an average home. His money, evidently, was spent on toys. Two different Mercedes sedans sat in the four-car driveway. The other two spaces were taken by a trailer with two jetskis and a twenty-foot boat.
Jeanie Conway opened the door on the second ring. Her eyes were red and puffy, and Faith felt a touch of sympathy for her.
“You’re here to talk about Gerald,” she said.
“Yes,” Faith said. “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold and this is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince and our K9 unit, Turk.”
Turk barked formally and trotted forward to greet Jeanie. She smiled faintly and reached down to ruffle his neck. “Well, you better come inside. I don’t drink coffee, but I can boil some water for tea if you’d like. I’m having some either way, so don’t hold back on my account.”
After the previous interview, Jeanie Conway was refreshing to talk to. She led Faith and Michael to the living room and gestured for them to sit on the opulent leather couch. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a tea service.
Michael accepted his tea gratefully. The motel didn’t have a coffeemaker, and the agents hadn’t stopped for coffee on the way to Gigi’s house. “Thank you, Mrs. Conway.”
“You’re welcome, agent,” Jeanie said.
She sat across from the agents and sipped her own tea before staring pensively ahead. Faith waited patiently for her to speak first.
Jeanie blinked as though suddenly remembering something. “Do you need my alibi? For the night of Gerald’s death?”
Faith looked at Turk, who had curled contentedly at Jeanie’s feet. She was convinced the older woman wasn’t a murderer, but she decided it wouldn’t hurt to be by the book.
“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Jeanie said. “I was in Laughlin that entire week. I have pictures of myself playing Bingo the night he died. My lawyer suggested I obtain proof of my whereabouts in case the sheriff’s suspected me.”
“Have you spoken with the sheriffs?” Faith asked.
“Not since the first interview the day after Gerald’s death. They didn’t seem to suspect me. I’m afraid I had very little to tell them or you, but I’ll answer any questions I can.”
Faith nodded. “Can you tell me the last time you saw your husband?”
“Two days before his death,” she replied, “when I left for Laughlin.” Her face darkened slightly. “I’m afraid we fought rather badly.”
Michael lifted an eyebrow. “May I ask why?”
Jeanie smiled thinly and a little bitterly. “I had an affair some years ago with a business partner of his. We broke things off mutually when Gerald learned of the affair, but Gerald wasn’t really the forgiving type. I suppose I can’t blame him, though. I never forgave him for his affairs.”
Faith could see why Jeanie’s lawyer advised her to obtain proof of her alibi. “So your marriage was… troubled?”
“Our marriage was the excuse we used to justify our stagnation,” Jeanie replied. “We fell out of love decades ago. We stayed because we didn’t want to go through the hassle of divorce.”
“But you were both upset at the other’s affairs,” Michael pointed out. “Why get angry if you didn’t love each other anymore?”
“Pride,” Jeanie said simply. “That was the one comfort we both held onto. I wasn’t angry at him for sleeping with those other women because I felt I had lost his love but because I hated the idea of some pretty little tart giggling with him about how much better she was in bed. He said explicitly that it revolted him to think of me comparing his size with Harold.”
Faith and Michael glanced at each other. “Does Harold live nearby?”
Jeanie offered another thin smile. “He did. He died five years ago.”
Faith sighed. “I see. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“But it wasn’t really my loss, was it?” Jeanie pointed out. “Not Harold anyway.”
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