“WE HAVE proof that both of you were at the scene of the murder,” Veena explained. “I have a video clip on my phone that shows your car, Francine, and the figures of two women who look like you and Maya. It won’t take much digital forensic work to positively match both of you to those women.”
Maya smiled. “It was the guy in the hoodie, right? I thought he was snapping a photo of Archie’s car.”
Veena was puzzled. “So you admit you were there?”
Maya shrugged. “Go on.”
“Obviously, one of you drove Archie there in his own car with the other following in Francine’s burgundy Bentley, the only other car you had available on such short notice. Which means that Archie was shot and killed elsewhere, and his body was left in his car at Eakins Oval so that it would look like a carjacking gone wrong.”
“No,” Francine said quietly. “It was a message.”
Cooper’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“Archie and I met at the Museum of Art. I was performing on the Fourth of July, and he was one of the parade guests. We met backstage. He told me he’d been in love with me since he was a kid. I figured I ought to say goodbye to him in the same place I’d said hello.”
Cooper couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Francine, you do realize you’re admitting to killing your husband, right?”
“No, she’s not,” Maya said. “Also, at best, you have evidence of us leaving the scene of a crime. And I don’t think you even have that. You two like to bluff.”
“The murder weapon was buried right here! In the flower bed in back of your house!” Cooper said.
Francine shot Cooper and Maya cold, hard looks. “Keep your voices down. Please.”
“Could have been a home invasion gone wrong,” Maya continued. “Archie resists and is killed. The killers force us to drive with them to the art museum to dump his body. And then they get frightened and let us go.”
Cooper shook his head. “So these alleged home invaders forgot to bring a gun and had to borrow yours, Vanessa? The very one you received from Mickey Bernstein? Who, by the way, should be a thousand miles away from this murder investigation.”
“Stop it, I’m begging you!” Francine shout-whispered.
“The details don’t matter,” Veena said. “We just want the truth. That’s all we’ve wanted since the beginning of this thing.”
Francine lowered her head and shook it gently as if to the beat of the saddest, slowest ballad she knew. She was beyond weary. This entire conversation seemed to drain the life from her body. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said.
“Easy,” Veena replied. “Just tell me which one of you shot and killed Archie.”