In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

meeting?”
    “Peabody.” Eve nodded toward Lissette, then moved to the blonde. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Elizabeth Blackburn, and who the hell are you?”
    “Dallas, Lieutenant, NYPSD. I’ve just informed Mrs. Foster that her husband’s dead.”
    “He’s…what? Craig. Oh, sweet Jesus. Lissy.”
    Perhaps it was the pet name, or the tone of grief in it, but as Elizabeth started across the room, Lissette simply slid to the floor. Elizabeth went down on her knees, gathered Lissette up.
    “Craig. My Craig.”
    “I’m sorry. Lissy, Lissy, I’m so sorry. Was there an accident?” she demanded of Eve.
     
    26
    “We’ll need to speak with Ms. Foster about the circumstances.”
    “All right, all right. My office is to the right, end of the corridor. I’ll bring her there to you as soon as she’s able. She needs a few minutes, for God’s sake. Just wait in my office.”
    They left Lissette in the arms of her boss. There were a number of curious looks from offices and cubes, but no comment until they reached the corner office at the end of the hall. At that point a little brunette popped out like a jack-in-the-box.
    “Excuse me! That’s Ms. Blackburn’s office.”
    “Where she just asked us to wait.” Eve yanked out her badge. “Go back to work.”
    Inside was a glossy workstation, a cushy sofa, and two pretty chairs. A fairly stunning flower arrangement stood on the table under the south-facing window.
    “If she faked that reaction,” Peabody began, “she’s got major talent.”
    “Not so hard to fake if you practice. But yeah, it seemed genuine. Go on out before they get here, have someone show you her cube. I want to know what she has in there.”
    “On that one.”
    Eve wandered to the windows, pausing long enough to note what Lissette’s boss kept on her desk. A framed photograph of a girl somewhere in her blossoming teens, a loaded disc file, a pile of memo cubes arranged in a pyramid, and a file that revealed artwork for what was likely a disc cover when Eve flipped it open.
    Outside the windows, snow continued to fall on the city in thin, slick flakes. An airtram chugged through it holding a clutch of miserable passengers.
    Personally, she thought, she’d stick with the vicious traffic on the slick streets below.
    She turned as Peabody stepped back in.
    “Nothing much, and not a lot of room for it. Files, memos, notes on current work. She’s got a wedding picture of her and the vic in a really nice frame. I’m betting wedding present. Some snaps of him, or them, pinned to the cube walls. Oh, and a little file of ads and pictures from decorating magazines. That’s about it.”
    “All right. We’ll give her another minute, then we’ll take this back in the conference room. We’ll swing by the morgue next. I want to know exactly what killed Craig Foster.”
    It didn’t take a minute. Seconds later Lissette came in, leaning heavily on Elizabeth Blackburn.
    27
     
    “You’re just going to sit,” Elizabeth told her. “And I’m going to sit with you. I gave her a soother,” she said to Eve, then jutted her chin pugnaciously before Eve could speak.
    “And don’t even think about starting on me about it. She needed something. It’s mild, and won’t keep her from talking to you.”
    “You her boss or her legal rep?”
    “I’m whatever she needs me to be right now.”
    “Are you sure?” Lissette’s voice was cracked and raw, and carried the awful pain of fading hope. “Are you absolutely sure there’s no mistake? That it’s Craig?”
    Knowing her strengths, Peabody took point. She moved to the couch where Lissette sat with Elizabeth. “I’m very sorry. There’s no mistake.”
    “But…He wasn’t sick. We had full medicals before we got married. He was healthy.
    People don’t just…Did someone hurt him? Was there an accident at the school?”
    “We need to find out why and how this happened. We have to ask you questions. You can help us find out.”
    “I want to help. I want to know. I love him.”
    “Let’s start with this morning. You said you packed his lunch.”
    “I did. I always do.” Her eyes fluttered, widened as she shot a hand out to grip Peabody’s arm. “Was something wrong with the sandwich? He liked that awful processed poultry substitute. Did it make him sick? Oh, my God.”
    “We don’t know that, Mrs. Foster. Did anyone come to your apartment today, before your husband left for work?”
    “No. He leaves so early. He likes to use the