In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

because of what happened with her husband. Not because of what I did that night! Please, not because of that.”
    “Yeah, because of that.”
    “How can I ever forgive myself?” She wept then, harsh, angry sobs. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Oh, Tommy. Tommy.”
    “Do you need a minute, Ava?” Eve reached over, patted her hand. “This is rough. I’m sorry I was so hard on you at the start of the interview. I had to get the motive.”
    “It doesn’t matter, none of it matters. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t agreed to that foolish business with Suzanne’s husband, if I’d never gone to that horrible room with him, Tommy would be alive.”
    “You’re right about that. But here’s the thing. You listening, Ava? Can you compose yourself? Okay?”
    “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll try, I’ll try. This is all such a shock.”
    “Here’s another. Suzanne Custer was never in that flop with you and her husband.”
    “Of course she was. I saw her. I spoke with her.”
    “She was in her apartment, blocks away, leaving messages on her husband’s ’link while you were slitting his throat. While you came out of the bathroom, sealed up with a six-inch serrated blade and raked it across his throat, she was home, pacing the floor, trying to reach him while you watched him bleed out, while you hacked off his dick, then climbed out the window. While you practically flew ten blocks to the auto lot where you had parked your Mercedes, New York plate A AVA, in the slot you’d reserved.”
    It was tingly, Eve realized. It was downright tingly to watch Ava’s face.
    “I got the time in, I got the time out. Time out comes twenty-one minutes after time of death. Here’s something else. You sealed up, but you didn’t think about how dirty the windows are in those flops, how nasty the sills are, how that crud might latch on to the bottom of your fuck-me shoes. We’ll be processing your shoes, Ava, and I’m betting on them.”
    Eve shrugged. “Not really important though, since you’ve admitted—on record—that you were there.”
    “And I told you why, and that the man was alive when I left. What possible reason would I have to kill him? To-to mutilate him afterward? I didn’t even know him.”
    “You’ve already said why. If Custer hadn’t been killed, Tommy would be alive. See this?” She tapped the ’link. “Piece of crap, as I said. Most people think these crappy disposables can’t hold transmission history. But those EDD geeks? They’re freaking magicians.”
    Eve leaned forward, smiled brilliantly. “ Good girl. Do you remember saying that to Suzanne—from the balmy shores of St. Lucia, when she reported she’d done the job? Wanna hear for yourself?” Eve pressed a button on the link, and Ava’s voice buzzed out.
    Good girl.
    “They’ll clean that up some, but I wanted you to hear it as soon as it was ready. Nice of you to give Suzanne that little pat on the head.”
    “This is ridiculous, and you’re pathetic. It’s obvious Suzanne killed her husband and mine. She must be horribly sick. As far as that ’link goes, I spoke with her any number of times over the last months.”
    “From St. Lucia? They triangulate these transmissions really well.”
    “I don’t recall. I might have.”
    And more tingles, Eve thought, as she saw the pulse in Ava’s throat start to pound. “Previous statement: You haven’t spoken or had contact with Suzanne Custer since the night her husband was murdered.”
    “I might have been mistaken about that.”
    “No, you lied about that. It’s the lies that tripped you up. It was a pretty solid plan, I’ll give that to you. But you couldn’t keep it simple. You had to elaborate, make yourself more of a stoic, loyal, and loving wife by painting your husband as so much less than he was. You had to make him pay for all those years you played the loving wife. He never hired LCs, never had affairs, never demanded kink from you.”
    “You can’t prove or disprove what happens between people in the privacy of their bedroom.”
    “Yeah, that was your thinking on it. It’s not bad. But I can prove no one who ever knew him or had business with him can corroborate your claim. I can prove you substituted a sleep aid for his nightly vitamin the morning before you left for St. Lucia. I can prove you conspired with Suzanne Custer in a scheme where each of you agreed to murder the other’s spouse. I can prove you approached at least two other women, fishing the