Payback in Death, page 4
“Then someone found a way to make it look like that.”
He stood silently as the morgue team rolled the bagged body away. “I want a drink—a real drink. He keeps a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen.”
“No. I’ll get it,” Eve told him when he stepped that way. “I’m sealed up, you aren’t.”
Roarke came back in, nodded at Eve.
“Where’s the bottle?”
“Cabinet by the window. Glasses in the cabinet to the right of the sink.”
“I’m sorry, Webster,” Roarke said when Eve went into the kitchen. “Truly sorry for your loss.”
“I get that. I appreciate that.” He sat again, pressed his fingers to his eyes. “She’ll find who did this. You’ll help her.”
“However I can. But she’ll find the one who did this. Will it be enough?”
“It’s never enough, but it has to do.”
He took the two fingers of whiskey Eve brought back.
“When’s the last time you were in this apartment?”
“Three—no, four weeks ago. Four weeks ago. His daughter’s birthday dinner.”
“So I’m not going to find your prints anywhere on scene?”
“The way Beth cleans? Not a chance.” He downed the whiskey. “You got the security feeds. I’d like to see them.”
“Tomorrow,” Eve told him. “I want you at Central at noon.”
“But—”
“I need to report to Whitney, meet with Morris, do what I have to do. Then we’ll go over everything again. If I’m satisfied, I’ll let you view the footage. I’m letting you stay on scene,” she added before he could object, “to be here for the captain’s widow. Don’t fuck with me when I’m questioning her, Webster. Don’t make it harder.”
“She loved him. They loved each other, and family was their world.”
“Then she’ll want me to do my job.”
“She will.” He glanced at his wrist unit. “She’ll be home soon. Let me tell her. Please. Let me be the one to tell her he’s gone. I won’t get in your way.”
The hardest part, always, Eve thought, was telling someone their world had shattered.
“Do it fast,” Eve advised.
Chapter Three
After signaling Roarke to stay with Webster, Eve went into the crime scene to consult with the sweepers.
“No prints on the bedroom window lock,” the head sweeper told her. “None on the window, or any window in that room, inside or out. Clean as they come. We bagged the glass and contents. Victim’s and his spouse’s prints there.”
“She brought him the drink.”
“Logically, yeah. The only prints on the victim’s workstation, the D and C, his ’link are his own. Same with the weapon recovered on scene. But I want a closer look at the prints on the weapon in the lab.”
“Because?”
“They’re perfect. Right thumb, right index finger.” The sweeper cocked her fingers as if on a trigger. “One print each, one print only. Otherwise, it’s clean.”
“Okay.” Eve nodded. “A guy’s going to self-terminate this way, he’s likely to handle the weapon more than once. He’s going to check, make sure it’s on full. He’s probably going to hesitate, no matter how committed.”
“That’s my but.”
“It’s a good but, Frowicki.”
“Pilates,” she said, patting her own ass. “Three times a week.”
“Funny. Other prints, bedroom, crime scene.”
“Elizabeth Greenleaf. Several of hers on the bedroom closet, the dressers, nightstands, the bedroom lamp to the right of the bed. A few on the doorjamb to the crime scene. Some hair on the bedroom floor, a few strays that match the strays in the brush on the dresser.”
The sweeper looked around. “Not much to sweep, Dallas. The place is seriously clean. We’re picking up traces of what’s going to be furniture polish and over-the-counter cleaners, so somebody did the job recently. But we’ll keep at it.”
“You’re going to find Webster’s prints on the front door. Let me know if you find them anywhere else.”
“Will do.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“Only by rep. A hard case is what you hear.”
“Yeah.”
As she stepped back into the living area, she heard a trill of female laughter outside the door, and the slide of the lock. Webster surged to his feet.
“Please, let me.”
At her nod, he moved to the door. More laughter spilled in when it opened. “I’d’ve paid twice as much, she says. I can’t get over it. Don! You’re still here.”
Beth Greenleaf, a small, trim woman, had ashy blond hair that curved toward both cheeks. Laughter still lit her bright blue eyes as she threw her arms around Webster.
“I’ve missed your face!”
“Beth.”
“I don’t think you’ve met my friend Elva Arnez. Elva and Denzel live upstairs. She’s seeing the old lady to her door.”
“I don’t see any old lady.” Elva, a beauty in her late twenties, stood back, just a step.
Mixed race, curvy in black skin pants and a hip-swinging white tank, she smiled with the statement. Then her gaze shifted over Webster’s shoulder, skimmed over Eve to Roarke.
“You’ve got company,” she began. “I’ll get going.”
“Don’s not company. He’s family.” As Beth pulled back, she spotted Eve, and those bright blue eyes reflected recognition and confusion.
Then fear as one of the sweepers moved into view.
“What—Don? What is this? Where’s Martin?”
“We need to sit down.”
“What are they doing here? What happened? Martin.” As she called her husband’s name, she tried to pull away from Webster. He held her fast.
“Beth, I’m sorry. I’m sick and I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
“Don’t you say that! Don’t you say that! He’s fine, he’s fine. I’ve only been out a couple hours. He’s fine.”
She struggled against him when he wrapped around her. “I found him when I got here.” He rocked her as he spoke. “He was gone. He was already gone.”
The struggle stopped. Eve saw her sag as the hard truth hit, as it had to hit—mind, body, heart, soul. She let out one long wail as Webster picked her up like a child, carried her to a chair, and cradled her while she wept.
“What should I do?” Elva stood in the doorway, hands clasped tight between her breasts. “Can I help? Should I go? Oh God.”
“Close the door,” Eve told her. “Take a seat.” Eve took out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. You’re Elva Arnez. You live upstairs?”
“I—yes—I—my cohab and I live two floors up. He was fine. Absolutely fine. He—Martin—he let me in when I came to get Beth.”
“You were in the apartment tonight?”
“Yes. I mean, just to get Beth to go out with some friends.”
“What time did you get here? What time did you leave?”
“Um, God. About eight-thirty. A little after, I guess. We were supposed to leave at eight-thirty, but Beth tends to run late. I was actually a little behind anyway, so maybe eight-thirty-five or so. Martin let me in, and he was fine. He joked how Beth was still putting her game face on, something like that. And she called me back.”
“To the bedroom?”
“Yes. She couldn’t decide on what earrings she wanted to wear. Or shoes. It’s her way.” Tears started to leak. “And—and—and—” Elva stopped, closed her eyes, held up a hand while she drew a couple breaths. “I’m sorry. This is so horrible. I helped her decide. Ten minutes? I don’t know, really. Then she went in to say goodbye to Martin.”
“In where?”
“Oh, in the little office he has. He called out ‘Bye’ to me, and ‘Have a good time.’ I don’t understand what happened. Did he have an accident? Did somebody break in and hurt him?”
“We need to determine that. Where’d you go?”
“Bistro. It’s a fancy little bar about three blocks from here. Can I do something for her? For Beth?”
“You are,” Eve said. “Right now. Who did you meet there?”
“Okay. Okay.” She closed her eyes again and gave Eve a list of three names.
“Did anyone leave between nine and nine-thirty?”
“No, we all stayed until about eleven, I guess.”
“No one left the table?”
“Well, to go to the restroom. We were all having fun. Having some drinks, some bar munchies, that’s all. Did he have an accident? But there are so many police so I don’t—”
“We’re investigating. I appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Arnez. Please stay available, as I may have follow-up questions.”
“I— Yes. Of course. We live upstairs.”
“You’re free to go.”
“All right, but…” As she rose, she looked over at Beth. “Please, please, tell her I’m here for her, for whatever she needs. I’m so sorry.”
When she left, Eve turned to Webster.
“Beth.” He murmured it, pressed his lips to her temple. “Lieutenant Dallas needs to ask some questions.”
“I know it.” She patted his arm as she got to her feet. “Would you get me some water?” As he rose, she took the chair, then opened the little purse she wore cross-strapped, took out tissues. She mopped her face, lifted the purse off to set it on the table beside her.
“I know who you are, both of you, and you’re here because someone murdered my husband.”
“I can’t, at this time, verify homicide, Mrs. Greenleaf.”
“You sure as hell wouldn’t be here if Martin had slipped in the shower. Which he wouldn’t. Martin’s rock steady. You’ve got questions. I’m a cop’s wife, and I know how this works. But I have one first. How was my husband killed?”
Those blue eyes weren’t bright now, but piercing, and rage was slowly smothering the grief in them.
“Lieutenant Webster let himself in when Captain Greenleaf failed to answer his knock. He found Captain Greenleaf at his workstation, deceased. There was a stunner on the floor by his chair, burn marks of a contact stun, on full, on his throat, and a note on his comp screen. ‘Beth, I’m sorry but I just can’t go on this way. Too many good cops’ lives ruined, their families broken. My fault. Forgive me because I can’t forgive myself.’”
She waved the water away when Webster brought it and kept her eyes on Eve. “You’re looking at suicide? That’s nonsense, complete nonsense. Every bit of it. And if you believe that for one hot minute, you’re not as good as everybody thinks you are.”
“You asked the question, Ms. Greenleaf. That’s the answer I can give you at this time.”
Beth looked up at Webster. “Do you think Martin killed himself?”
“No.” He pressed the water on her, then sat on the arm of her chair. “Beth, I contacted Dallas, asked her to lead the investigation because she’s not just as good as everyone thinks, she’s probably better. Martin deserves the best.”
“He wouldn’t do this, not to himself, never, never to me or the children. And he believed in the work he did for the NYPSD. You know that, Don.”
“I do know that.”
“He weeded out bad cops, wrong cops, dirty cops. He had no regrets. I’d know. I was his sounding board. Aren’t you that to her?” she asked Roarke.
“I am, yes. When she needs it. It’s part of the promise we make, isn’t it? Or it should be.”
“Do you love her?”
“Madly,” Roarke said before Eve could object to the question.
“If it’s real and true and deep, it only grows with time. We loved each other. He’d never leave me this way. He loved Don like a son. He’d never have left Don to find him this way.”
She laid her head back a moment. “I don’t understand how he died in his chair. If he’d opened the door to anyone and there was a threat, he’d have fought. There’d be signs of that.”
Slowly sipping the water, she glanced around. “Everything’s exactly as I left it.”
“I need you to verify the timing and activities from your neighbor’s statement, Mrs. Greenleaf. What time did she arrive tonight?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. I knew I was running late—and that’s when I refuse to look at the time, as stressing over that will only make me later. It was probably about eight-thirty, or a few minutes later.” On a sigh, she said, “Probably a few minutes later, because Elva knows I’m always late. I called her back to the bedroom when I heard her and Martin talking, so she could help me decide what to wear. We were meeting friends at Bistro—it’s just a few blocks away. I knew I was running late because after dinner, after the dishes, I put together some snacks. I made some salsa. Don’s fond of my salsa.”
“Best there is.”
“Did you mention to anyone that Webster was expected tonight?”
“I don’t think so. Martin told me at dinner. I’d been out shopping. Bought the new shoes I decided not to wear tonight after all. He was looking forward to spending some time with you, Don. He’d never have done this. Never.”
“Did anyone in your party leave the table for any length of time?”
“No. A couple of bathroom breaks. We had fancy drinks and fancy bar snacks and lots of laughs.” Her eyes welled again; she shut them tight, willed the tears back. “We all left at the same time. Anja caught a cab, the rest of us walked. Elva always walks me to the door after a girls’ night. It’s sweet of her.”
“Was she ever alone in your bedroom?”
“What? No. Fashion consult, that’s all. Why?”
“When’s the last time you had the apartment cleaned?”
“This morning, when I cleaned it. I clean my own home.”
“Like nobody’s business.” Webster lifted her hand, kissed it.
“I may be a little obsessive about it, but I need a clean home.”
“Does that include the windows?”
“Of course.”
“Did you clean them this morning?”
“No. That’s a once-every-four-to-six-weeks job. And I do it when Martin’s out of the house because he frets about me washing the outside. As if I’d fall out.”
“You keep the windows locked.”
“Yes. Martin’s obsessive there. When I do the windows, and he always knows when I do, he checks every blessed one.”
“Have you had any visitors recently, any repair or maintenance people in the apartment?”
“Our children, grandchildren visit regularly. We haven’t had any repair people in since … early April. The dishwasher went out. He tried to fix it,” she said to Don.
He smiled. “Naturally.”
“He failed.”
“Naturally.”
“You’ve washed the windows since early April.”
“Yes. The middle of May, toward the end of June.”
She set the water aside, gripped Webster’s hand.
“An unlocked window’s how someone got in and did this to Martin. Someone got in and unlocked a window. We wouldn’t notice. I don’t think we’d have noticed.”
“Did you check them nightly?”
“No. No, after I’d wash them, he’d check. They stayed locked because he wanted them locked. Which window was unlocked? You can tell me that. It’ll come out anyway.”
“The bedroom window, facing east. It has a privacy screen engaged.”
“Yes, always. It’s our bedroom. We have a door cam, you need…” She broke off. “You’ll have that by now. But if someone got in a week ago, two weeks ago, it wouldn’t be on there. It overwrites every seventy-two hours.”
“Mrs. Greenleaf, did your husband keep a weapon, a stunner?”
“No. He turned in his service weapon when he retired. And he gave me that. No weapons in our home for the first time since we married. I didn’t have to ask for him to give me that. The stunner you found wasn’t his. Martin wasn’t suicidal.”
At the head sweeper’s signal, Eve rose. “Excuse me.”
When she came back, she remained standing. “The Crime Scene Unit’s finished for now. We will have to keep this apartment sealed for the time being. Is there somewhere you can stay, ma’am? Someone we can contact for you?”
“I’ll take you to Carlie’s.” Webster pressed her fingers to his lips again. “We’ll tell her together. I’ll contact Ben and Luke.”
“Yes, yes, that would be best. God, oh God, our poor babies.” A tear escaped this time, and she swiped it away. “I need to pack a few things.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No. Webster.” Eve shook her head. “It would be best if I went with you, Ms. Greenleaf.”
“To make sure I don’t try to sneak any evidence away.”
“To go by the book,” Eve countered. “Something I believe the captain would value.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Mrs. Greenleaf.” Roarke rose as she did. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“I believe you are, and thank you. We’re a different breed, aren’t we? Cops’ spouses. Nobody else quite fully understands.”
“No, I don’t suppose they do.”
Eve followed her to the bedroom, waited in the doorway to be as unintrusive as possible.
“Oh, come in. Don’t hover. I need some clothes, and I’ll need some things out of the bathroom.”
She wrenched open the closet, then just froze.
“Just look at us,” she murmured. “I’m the one who can’t stand dirt or clutter, but in here? My clothes are jumbled, and his lined up straight as an arrow. What a pair we are—were—always will be. I can’t reach the damn shelf for my bag. Martin always got it down for me.”
“Let me help you.”
Eve got the bag, set it on the bed while Beth pulled out some clothes.
“I loved him with every fiber of my being. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, I can.”
She looked back as she pulled some things out of a dresser. “I believe you can.” She lifted a framed photo from the dresser top, one of the two of them grinning at the camera. “Hold on to that. Hold on tight.”
She laid the photo in the bag. “He admired you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Martin admired you. You had some trouble several years back, had to turn in your badge and weapon until it cleared up.”
