"She made breakfast for her girls, got them off for the day, and lay down for a nap," Mike said. "That's what the nanny said."
No, April thought. There was a lot more to it. "Was she alone at the time?"
"The nanny took the girls to their play school. They're there now. She said that Alison was like that when she came back."
"She has a name. It's Lynn." April was aware of her breakfast again—that gluey cereal was a rock in her stomach. The end of Alison's dark ponytail poked out from underneath the sheet Seeing it, she felt ill. "Did anybody touch anything?'' she asked.
"Lynn says she didn't."
"What about the chief?"
Mike shook his head.
"Where is Lynn now?" April leaned against the wall. She was going to throw up.
"Downstairs. Alison's husband is downstairs, too."
April closed her eyes against the nausea. She wished she could take herself off this case.
"Querida, are you all right?" Mike took her elbow.
"I messed up. I really messed up this time, Mike. I didn't think she was in danger." Her words came quickly. She felt like a suspect breaking down, crumbling under the pressure.
"Hey." Mike's voice, usually soft and supportive, sharpened. "Calm down." He led her down the hall away from the ears of the Crime Scene detectives. "You need a bathroom?"
"No." She voiced the negative, but knew she was going to throw up anyway.
"There's a powder room in here." He led the way down the hall to the front of the house.
April glanced at the room quickly. Where Wayne had his octagonal library, the Perkins couple had-a cute little living room. Mike punched a wall with faux bookshelves and books painted on it A narrow door popped open to reveal a tiny corner powder room.
April was surprised. "How did you know that was there?"
"I took a look around while you were talking to the chief."
I can't use this—it's too close to the scene, April thought. Then a powerful wave of nausea changed her mind. She ducked inside the small space, closed the door, and stood in the dark struggling for control. She didn't believe in hormone myths. Where she came from, no one talked about things like PMS. Moody was moody, weepy was weepy, and none of it was tolerated. You did what you had to do and never mind the plumbing. "Don't tell anyone when you don't feel good" was the credo. And sometimes people took their modesty too far. Recently, Skinny's close friend Ma Ma Choi died of uterine cancer because she didn't want to lose face by telling anyone the embarrassing truth about the tumor she knew was growing inside.
April had a weak stomach. Nausea and other unpleasant symptoms caught her all the time. She heard that a lot of people had the syndrome now, and there was even a name for it: irritable bowel. Stress made it worse, and so did her mother. She swallowed and switched on the light. Then she sat on the toilet, ducked her head between her knees, and did some yoga breathing. The powder room was wallpapered in a tight black-and-white geometrical pattern. The tiny sink was black porcelain. The floor was translucent white marble. She tilted her head from side to side, trying to ease the frozen muscles in her neck.
She wasn't sick after all. Finally the nausea began to recede, and she opened her eyes to her surroundings. Instantly her attention was captured by an item that shouldn't be there. A gray feather was on the floor, like the kind of feather from the underbelly of a duck or goose that was used to stuff pillows. April had a sudden horrific vision of someone pushing a pillow into Alison's dozing face. Her eyes and mouth opening as she struggled for air and freezing that way.
She shook it off and reached into her purse for the plastic gloves, tweezers, and envelopes she kept in there along with her off-duty gun, address book, gold shield, and other vital paraphernalia. She slipped on two of the gloves and used the tweezers to pick up the feather. With it closer to her face, she saw the particular kind of fuzz on the feather that confirmed it as goose down. April had seen it when she was pricing her own bedding. The fuzzy feathers were far and away the most expensive kind, but soft and lighter than air. As April studied the feather, she realized something was caught in it. About three inches long and very shiny, it looked like a human hair, and was definitely not a dog hair. The hair was not black, not dark brown. It was a light color, possibly with a reddish tone, or a honey blond, and it was coarser than baby hair.
Hairs were notoriously difficult to see when one was looking for them. On white sheets or a white sweater or a black suit—whenever it was embarrassing—hairs showed up. But in a room with many pieces of upholstered furniture and rugs on the floor, they blended. April got down on her knees and searched the floor for more hairs. She found another one at the base of the toilet, put the two together, and studied them. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks, but it almost looked as if there was a stripe in them from different dye jobs. Elated, she separated them, sealed one in an envelope with the feather, wrote on the outside where the sample came from, and took the other hair and put it in an envelope in her purse. She saw the splashes of water in the basin. She made some notes. Match w feathers from Perkins bedding. Check for. hair in drain of Wilson shower. Seconds later, she emerged from the bathroom to hand the envelope over and have a chat with Igor from Crime Scene, who never liked her getting in the middle of his work. Before she headed back to the bedroom, she checked the pillows in the den to see if the fuzzy feather in question could have come from one of them. She punched and felt them. All were stuffed with foam. She was back on the job.
Thirty-one
Lynn was hysterical. April saw right away that she was genuinely terrified. She was huddled on her bed in her room, hugging her pillow, and crying so hard she couldn't answer any of the questions Sergeant Minnow put to her.
"Sergeant, could I talk with her for a moment?" April stood in the doorway with the cups of hot water and coffee she'd asked a uniform to get for her.
"All yours." Sergeant Minnow rose from the small chair he'd been uncomfortably occupying and looked relieved to be offered an excuse for a break. April moved away so he could escape the claustrophobic space.
Unlike the rest of the rooms in the house that April had seen, Lynn's was just big enough for a single bed, a small armoire, and a tiny table and chair. The only light came from a fixture in the middle of the ceiling. There was a sink in one corner and a bathroom with a toilet and narrow shower across the hall. The kitchen was next door on one side and the laundry room was on the other side.
After Minnow was gone, April put the coffee on the table. "I got you coffee with milk. Is that all right?" she asked.
Lynn hiccuped and swiped at her tears with the sheet.
"Or you could have my tea." April sat in the chair, close to the bed. "Your choice."
"I'll have the coffee," Lynn said after a moment.
April handed it to her, along with a stirring stick and some sugar packets. "I'm Lieutenant April Woo Sanchez," April said.
"I know who you are. You talked to Alison yesterday. She told me about it last night."
April nodded and took a long look at the girl's hair. It was blond. Not as fair as Remy's, but blond nonetheless. And it was too long to make a match with the hair on the floor of the bathroom. April thought she'd try to take one from her hairbrush just in case. "What was her mood then? Was she depressed by the death of her friend?" she asked after a pause.
"Sure, but- she didn't kill herself. Don't think that," Lynn said quickly. "I know she didn't."
"How do you know?"
Lynn started crying again. "I just do."
"Drink some coffee. Caffeine helps." To illustrate the point, April removed the lid from her cup of water and stuck in a tea bag that she'd pulled from a zippered pouch in her purse. The water quickly turned brown and she sipped, still thinking about hair and feathers.
After a few moments, Lynn followed her example and began to revive. April smiled at her. "Better?"
"A little," she said tremulously.
"Are you hungry?" April asked.
"No, I had br
eakfast."
"Good, but-let me know when you need something. We can send somebody out." Giving her time, April slowly drank her tea and looked around at her collection of stuffed animals, shoes, magazines, T-shirts, and jeans spread out in no particular order on all available surfaces, including the floor. Lynn was no neat freak, and April was surprised that Sergeant Minnow had chosen this spot for their initial interview. Maybe he wanted to intimidate her. She also looked at Lynn's pillow. They'd have to check that, too.
After a while, Lynn said, "It feels too big, if that makes any sense. I don't know if I can talk about it."
"It's okay, I know what you mean. Take a few deep breaths. We have all the time in the world. We'll get there."
Following her advice, Lynn breathed loudly, almost gasping. It reminded April of what Alison might have gone through trying to get air into her lungs during her last moments. "That will do—you can stop now."
Lynn hiccuped again and put the cup down.
"Okay, what happened?" April said.
"I knew something was wrong when I came back from taking the girls to play school," Lynn said, her voice still a little shaky.
"How did you know something was wrong?" April took out her notebook.
"The door was open."
"Which door?"
"The kitchen door."
"You mean, it was unlocked or hanging open?"
"No, it locks automatically if it's closed right. But the door sticks, and you have to pull it hard. It wasn't shut all the way."
"Did you close it when you left?" April asked.
' Yes.' '
"Okay, what else was wrong?" She made a note.
"The dogs were locked up. They were barking. You can hear them now."
"They're not usually locked up?"
"No, they're always with her." Tears squeezed out of Lynn's eyes as she tried to hold them back. "She loved those dogs."
"What did you do then?" April asked.
"I was afraid to go inside because of Remy."
"What about her?"
"She called me this morning. She wanted to meet for coffee. I know I shouldn't have gone, but she sounded so upset . . ."
"You left the. house?" April looked up.
"Yes."
"At what time?"
"I don't know, sometime around six, six thirty. I didn't think it would be a problem going that early."
"Why was Remy upset?"
Lynn shook her head. "She shouldn't have stayed with Mr. Wilson at the hotel, but she never listens to anybody. She told me someone followed her."
"Did someone?" April asked, writing it all down.
"I don't know. Some guy was reading a paper across the street. I don't know if he followed her or not. She said it was a cop."
April didn't comment on that. "What was on her mind?" she asked again.
"She said she wanted to warn me that I was getting fired today."
"How did she know?"
"She heard Wayne and Andrew talking on the phone."
"Did you get fired today, Lynn?" There was the big question. April watched her face as she answered.
"Yes. Alison said I wasn't reliable. But then she told me to take the kids to play school. That was off, too," Lynn replied, calmer now.
"What was the problem with that?" April asked.
"If you're going to fire someone, you don't send them out with your children." She said it as if anybody should know that.
April nodded again. "Why didn't she take the kids herself?"
"She had to go back to bed." Lynn wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. April handed her a tissue from a package in her purse.
"Why did she have to go to bed?"
"Oh . . . she probably took a couple of Vicodin. She was pretty much out of it when we left."
"Could she have taken too many?" she asked.
"Enough to kill her? No, no. She wouldn't have hurt herself. She loved her children, her dogs. She would not have left them. She liked to take the edge off, that's all. She might take two, and then two and then two throughout the day whenever she started coming off it, but she wouldn't do more than that," she said with authority. "I know her." "Are you sure?" April asked.
"I know all about this. She wouldn't make that kind of mistake. I know what they do. My mother was just like her." Lynn ducked her head as if in pain. "They drink; they tell their doctors they have back pain and get pills for it. They go from doctor to doctor. They'll take cocaine whenever they can get it; it's a party all day long. They want to take the pain away; they don't want to die."
"Maddy, too?"
Lynn's soft features hardened as she nodded. "Not as bad. She was an athlete. With her it was an occasional thing."
April finished what she was writing and looked up. "What was Alison wearing when she told you to take the girls to play school?"
"Oh, jeans, a T-shirt."
"Where was she when you left?"
"I told you. She had to go back upstairs to bed."
"Did you see her before you left?"
"Yes, I always take the girls upstairs to say goodbye. Most of the time she doesn't have breakfast with them, but she always says good-bye. It's their thing." Lynn closed her eyes again. "The dogs were on the bed with her. She was still wearing jeans. The room was a mess. Her clothes were all over the place."
"Like yours," April murmured.
Lynn smiled. "Worse."
"Any sign of drugs or alcohol in her room when you left?"
"A wineglass by her bed. I know she keeps the Vicodin in her makeup bag."
"Okay, let's return to when you got back. What
did you do when you found the door open and the dogs barking?"
"I don't know. I kept thinking about what happened to Remy—you know, finding Maddy dead like that. 1 just had the strangest feeling—I don't know what it was. Even with the dogs barking, the place just felt dead. I don't know what it was."
"Lynn, if you were so certain something had happened, why did you go to her room?"
She shook her head. "My mother was a drunk. You take care of them. You go to make sure . . . my feet went there. I wanted to find her asleep. I really did."
"So you went upstairs."
Lynn nodded.
"What did you find?"
She closed her eyes, and more tears squeezed out. "I could tell right away she was gone."
"Did you go into the room?"
"No. No way I was going in there."
"How did you know that she was dead?"
"Her eyes were open, and the room was clean." The words came out a whisper. "Alison never did that. "
Bingo. April had been right about Maddy's killer being a cleaner. Already she was thinking homicide. She nodded because unlike yesterday when she'd had a lot of questions about Remy's version of events, she believed every word this nanny said. It all played. Lynn admitted that her boss fired her this morning, and she was experienced enough to know addict behavior when she saw it. She didn't believe it when her boss fired her because she'd taken a pill. "Would the dogs let someone hurt their master?" she asked after a pause.
"Not if they were in the room, but they're food-driven. If Alison was out cold, and someone offered them dog biscuits, they'd go for it. Is it okay if I take them out when we're done? I feel bad for - them."
April noted another thing. Lynn was very responsible; she was still thinking of her chores. "Yeah, you can take them out, but you'll have to go out upstairs. But one more thing before you go. Did you like Alison?"
Lynn chewed on her lip. "Loved her and hated her, just like my mom,” she said.
"Is your mother living?" April asked.
"If you call it that," she replied.
"Okay, you can take a break. We have an officer at the front door who will go with you. When you come back, we're going over the whole house together. Are you up to doing that with me?"
"Do I have to?"
"Yes. I want you to tell me if anything is missing."
"Will I have to look at her?" Lynn shuddered.
"The room, the bathroom. The closet . . ." And Alison's remains would still be there, she didn't add. Yes, she'd have to look at her.
A few minutes later, April found an unusual trio in the formal living room on the second floor. Sergeant Minnow, dressed in a sports jacket, slacks, and a ratty-looking tie, and Mike, in his sharp blue captain's uniform, sat in two of the armchairs. Andrew Perkins, wearing an expensive-looking business suit, a yellow shirt, and a blue-and-yellow tie, looked like a bull beside them. He was a beefy man with thick black hair that stood straight up on his big head. His bulk dwarfed his own sofa as he leaned forward, talking earnestly to Mike.
He stopped talking when April came into the room and was even more startled when Lynn went out the front door with the two dogs and a uniformed officer. Mike nodded for April to join them and quickly introduced her. "This is Lieutenant Woo Sanchez. She spoke with your wife for some time yesterday."
Perkins's expression showed that he, too, knew who she was. He resumed talking. "I was afraid this would happen someday. I warned her about taking too many pills," he said angrily. "I can't believe she did this, today of all days."
April sat in the chair farthest away from them and prepared to listen. People often behaved strangely immediately upon learning that a loved one was gone. One mother of a hit and run victim had been furious with- her dead son for having crossed the street on a green light. It was revealing that Andrew Perkins immediately assumed that his wife was responsible for her own death.
"What was her mood this morning?" Mike asked.
"Her mood was never chipper in the morning," Perkins said sarcastically. "If I said, 'Have a good day,' she'd reply, 'That isn't in my plans.' Can you imagine?" It was clear that her death was not in his plan for the day.
"Was she, depressed?" Mike asked. He was taking the lead, and April could see that Minnow was making an effort to pretend not to mind.
"Oh, she had her usual hangover. That's all I thought about it," he said defensively. "She . . . had a tendency to drink too much, but a lot of people drink. 1 talked to her about it and she promised she'd stop." His tone changed as he defended her. "She's had problems in the past, but as long as she stayed away from the heavy stuff, I tried not to make too much of a few glasses of wine. Everybody needs something, right?" Suddenly he seemed not to want to be mad at his wife. He glanced quickly at April, then down at his watch. After he registered the time, he caught the three of them staring at him.
A Clean Kill Page 16
