In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

corridor.
     
     
"Peabody," she said the minute she ended transmission, "with me."
     
     
"Have we got something?"
     
     
"I had a man watching Renquist's place. The nanny just took a cab to the Metropolitan Museum, without the kid. I've been looking for an opening to talk to her solo."
     
     
Sophia was doing a slow walk through French impressionism. Eve spoke briefly to the shadow, dismissed her, then wandered in the au pair's direction.
     
     
"Sophia DiCarlo." Eve held up her badge and watched the woman jolt, and go pale.
     
     
"I didn't do anything."
     
     
"Then you shouldn't look so guilty. Let's sit down." "I haven't broken the law."
     
     
"Then don't start now by refusing to speak to a police officer." It was hardly a criminal offense, but she could see Sophia didn't know that.
     
     
"Mrs. Renquist said I wasn't to speak to you. How did you find me here? I could rose my job: It's a good job. I do a good job with Rose."
     
     
"I'm sure you do, and Mrs. Renquist doesn't have to know you spoke with me."
     
     
To ensure some cooperation, Eve took her arm and drew her to a bench in the center of the room. "Why do you think Mrs. Renquist doesn't want you to talk to me?"
     
     
"People gossip. If the family and the staff are questioned by the police, people will gossip.--Her husband is a very important man, very important. People like to gossip about important men."
     
     
She wrung her hands, as she spoke. It wasn't often Eve saw someone actually wring their hands. Nerves, and some thing closer to fear, shimmered around the woman like warning lights.
     
     
"Sophia, I checked with INS. You're legal. Why are you afraid to talk to the police?"
     
     
"I told you. Mr. and Mrs. Renquist brought me to America, they gave me a job. If they're displeased, they could send me away. I love Rose. I don't want to lose my little girl."
     
     
"How long have you worked for them?"
     
     
"Five years. Rose was only a one-year-old. She's such a good girl."
     
     
"What about her parents? Are they easy to work for?"
     
     
"They they are very fair. I have a beautiful room and a good salary. I have one full -day and one afternoon off every week. I like to come here, to the museum. I'm improving myself."
     
     
"Do they get along? The Renquists?" "I don't understand."
     
     
"Do they argue?"
     
     
"NO."
     
     
"Not ever."
     
     
Sophia went from looking terrified to desperate. "They are very proper, at-all times."
     
     
"That's hard to swallow, Sophia. You've lived in their home for five years and have never witnessed an impropriety, never overheard an argument."
     
     
"It's not my place-"
     
     
"I'm making it your place." Five years, Eve thought. At the going salary rate, the woman would have a reasonable financial cushion. The vague possibility of losing her job might upset her, but not frighten her.
     
     
"Why are you scared of them?"
     
     
"I don't know what you mean."
     
     
"Yes, you do." It was in her eyes now, too easily recognizable. "Does he come to your room at night, when the girl's asleep? When his wife's down the hall?"
     
     
Tears welled up, spilled over. "No. No! I won't talk this way. I'll lose my job-"
     
     
"Look at me." Eve gripped Sophia's busy hands, squeezed. "I've just left the hospital where a woman is losing her life. You will talk to me, and you'll tell me the truth."
     
     
"You won't believe me. He's a very important man. You'll say I'm a liar, and I'll be sent away."
     
     
"That's what he told you. No one will believe you. `I can do whatever I want because no one would believe it! He's wrong. Look at me, look at my face. I'll believe you."
     
     
The tears had to blur her vision, but she must have seen something, seen enough to have the words come flooding out.
     
     
"He says I must, because his wife will not. Not since she learned she carried -a child. They have separate rooms. It is... he says it is the civilized way of marriage, and that it's my place to let him.-.. touch me."
     
     
"It's not the civilized way of anything."
     
     
"He's an important man, and I'm just a servant." Though she continued to cry; her voice held a cold finality. "If I speak of it, he'll send me away, away from Rose, in disgrace. Shame my family, ruin them. So he comes to my room and he locks the door, and he turns off the lights. I do what he tells me to do, and he leaves me again."
     
     
"Does he hurt you?.,
     
     
"Sometimes." She looked down at her hands, and the