On Thursdays, she leaves as soon as I arrive. I took the elevator up to the nineteenth floor. Where you are now asking me questions instead of telling me when I can deal with my car. My stolen car.”
Hodges made a mental note to ask the housekeeper if she had noticed Mrs. T.’s Mercedes when she left.
Pete asked, “At what point did you take your key from your purse again, Mrs. Trelawney?”
“Again? Why would I—”
He held the key up—Exhibit A. “To lock your car before you entered the building. You did lock it, didn’t you?”
A brief uncertainty flashed in her eyes. They both saw it. Then it was gone. “Of course I did.”
Hodges pinned her gaze. It shifted away, toward the lake view out the big picture window, and he caught it again. “Think carefully, Mrs. Trelawney. People are dead, and this is important. Do you specifically remember juggling those boxes of food so you could get your key out of your purse and push the LOCK button? And seeing the headlights flash an acknowledgement? They do that, you know.”
“Of course I know.” She bit at her lower lip, realized she was doing it, stopped.
“Do you remember that specifically?”
For a moment all expression left her face. Then that superior smile burst forth in all its irritating glory. “Wait. Now I remember. I put the key in my purse after I gathered up my boxes and got out. And after I pushed the button that locks the car.”
“You’re sure,” Pete said.
“Yes.” She was, and would remain so. They both knew that. The way a solid citizen who hit and ran would say, when he was finally tracked down, that of course it was a dog he’d hit.
Pete flipped his notebook closed and stood up. Hodges did likewise. Mrs. Trelawney looked more than eager to escort them to the door.
“One more question,” Hodges said as they reached it.
She raised carefully plucked eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Where’s your spare key? We ought to take that one, too.”
There was no blank look this time, no cutting away of the eyes, no hesitation. She said, “I have no spare key, and no need of one. I’m very careful of my things, Officer. I’ve owned my Gray Lady—that’s what I call it—for five years, and the only key I’ve ever used is now in your partner’s pocket.”
18
The table where he and Pete ate their lunch has been cleared of everything but his half-finished glass of water, yet Hodges goes on sitting there, staring out the window at the parking lot and the overpass that marks the unofficial border of Lowtown, where Sugar Heights residents like the late Olivia Trelawney never venture. Why would they? To buy drugs? Hodges is sure there are druggies in the Heights, plenty of them, but when you live there, the dealers make housecalls.
Mrs. T. was lying. She had to lie. It was that or face the fact that a single moment of forgetfulness had led to horrific consequences.
Suppose, though—just for the sake of argument—that she was telling the truth.
Okay, let’s suppose. But if we were wrong about her leaving her Mercedes unlocked with the key in the ignition, how were we wrong? And what did happen?
He sits looking out the window, remembering, unaware that some of the waiters have begun to look at him uneasily—the overweight retiree sitting slumped in his seat like a robot with dead batteries.
19
The deathcar had been transported to Police Impound on a carrier, still locked. Hodges and Huntley received this update when they got back to their own car. The head mechanic from Ross Mercedes had just arrived, and was pretty sure he could unlock the damn thing. Eventually.
“Tell him not to bother,” Hodges said. “We’ve got her key.”
There was a pause at the other end, and then Lieutenant Morrissey said, “You do? You’re not saying she—”
“No, no, nothing like that. Is the mechanic standing by, Lieutenant?”
“He’s in the yard, looking at the damage to the car. Damn near tears, is what I heard.”
“He might want to save a drop or two for the dead people,” Pete said. He was driving. The windshield wipers beat back and forth. The rain was coming harder. “Just sayin.”
“Tell him to get in touch with the dealership and check something,” Hodges said. “Then have him call me on my cell.”
The traffic was snarled downtown, partly because of the rain, partly because Marlborough Street had been blocked off at City Center. They had made only four blocks when Hodges’s cell rang. It was Howard