After signaling Roarke to stay with Webster, Eve went into the crime scene to consult with the sweepers.
“No prints on the bedroom window lock,” the head sweeper told her. “None on the window, or any window in that room, inside or out. Clean as they come. We bagged the glass and contents. Victim’s and his spouse’s prints there.”
“She brought him the drink.”
“Logically, yeah. The only prints on the victim’s workstation, the D and C, his ’link are his own. Same with the weapon recovered on scene. But I want a closer look at the prints on the weapon in the lab.”
“Because?”
“They’re perfect. Right thumb, right index finger.” The sweeper cocked her fingers as if on a trigger. “One print each, one print only. Otherwise, it’s clean.”
“Okay.” Eve nodded. “A guy’s going to self-terminate this way, he’s likely to handle the weapon more than once. He’s going to check, make sure it’s on full. He’s probably going to hesitate, no matter how committed.”
“That’s my but.”
“It’s a good but, Frowicki.”
“Pilates,” she said, patting her own ass. “Three times a week.”
“Funny. Other prints, bedroom, crime scene.”
“Elizabeth Greenleaf. Several of hers on the bedroom closet, the dressers, nightstands, the bedroom lamp to the right of the bed. A few on the doorjamb to the crime scene. Some hair on the bedroom floor, a few strays that match the strays in the brush on the dresser.”
The sweeper looked around. “Not much to sweep, Dallas. The place is seriously clean. We’re picking up traces of what’s going to be furniture polish and over-the-counter cleaners, so somebody did the job recently. But we’ll keep at it.”
“You’re going to find Webster’s prints on the front door. Let me know if you find them anywhere else.”
“Will do.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“Only by rep. A hard case is what you hear.”
“Yeah.”
As she stepped back into the living area, she heard a trill of female laughter outside the door, and the slide of the lock. Webster surged to his feet.
“Please, let me.”
At her nod, he moved to the door. More laughter spilled in when it opened. “I’d’ve paid twice as much, she says. I can’t get over it. Don! You’re still here.”
Beth Greenleaf, a small, trim woman, had ashy blond hair that curved toward both cheeks. Laughter still lit her bright blue eyes as she threw her arms around Webster.
“I’ve missed your face!”
“Beth.”
“I don’t think you’ve met my friend Elva Arnez. Elva and Denzel live upstairs. She’s seeing the old lady to her door.”
“I don’t see any old lady.” Elva, a beauty in her late twenties, stood back, just a step.
Mixed race, curvy in black skin pants and a hip-swinging white tank, she smiled with the statement. Then her gaze shifted over Webster’s shoulder, skimmed over Eve to Roarke.
“You’ve got company,” she began. “I’ll get going.”
“Don’s not company. He’s family.” As Beth pulled back, she spotted Eve, and those bright blue eyes reflected recognition and confusion.
Then fear as one of the sweepers moved into view.
“What—Don? What is this? Where’s Martin?”
“We need to sit down.”
“What are they doing here? What happened? Martin.” As she called her husband’s name, she tried to pull away from Webster. He held her fast.
“Beth, I’m sorry. I’m sick and I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
“Don’t you say that! Don’t you say that! He’s fine, he’s fine. I’ve only been out a couple hours. He’s fine.”
She struggled against him when he wrapped around her. “I found him when I got here.” He rocked her as he spoke. “He was gone. He was already gone.”
The struggle stopped. Eve saw her sag as the hard truth hit, as it had to hit—mind, body, heart, soul. She let out one long wail as Webster picked her up like a child, carried her to a chair, and cradled her while she wept.
“What should I do?” Elva stood in the doorway, hands clasped tight between her breasts. “Can I help? Should I go? Oh God.”
“Close the door,” Eve told her. “Take a seat.” Eve took out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. You’re Elva Arnez. You live upstairs?”
“I—yes—I—my cohab and I live two floors up. He was fine. Absolutely fine. He—Martin—he let me in when I came to get Beth.”
“You were in the apartment tonight?”
“Yes. I mean, just to get Beth to go out with some friends.”
“What time did you get here? What time did you leave?”
“Um, God. About eight-thirty. A little after, I guess. We were supposed to leave at eight-thirty, but Beth tends to run late. I was actually a little behind anyway, so maybe eight-thirty-five or so. Martin let me in, and he was fine. He joked how Beth was still putting her game face on, something like that. And she called me back.”
“To the bedroom?”
“Yes. She couldn’t decide on what earrings she wanted to wear. Or shoes. It’s her way.” Tears started to leak. “And—and—and—” Elva stopped, closed her eyes, held up a hand while she drew a couple breaths. “I’m sorry. This is so horrible. I helped her decide. Ten minutes? I don’t know, really. Then she went in to say goodbye to Martin.”
“In where?”
“Oh, in the little office he has. He called out ‘Bye’ to me, and ‘Have a good time.’ I don’t understand what happened. Did he have an accident? Did somebody break in and hurt him?”
“We need to determine that. Where’d you go?”
“Bistro. It’s a fancy little bar about three blocks from here. Can I do something for her? For Beth?”
“You are,” Eve said. “Right now. Who did you meet there?”
“Okay. Okay.” She closed her eyes again and gave Eve a list of three names.
“Did anyone leave between nine and nine-thirty?”
“No, we all stayed until about eleven, I guess.”
“No one left the table?”
“Well, to go to the restroom. We were all having fun. Having some drinks, some bar munchies, that’s all. Did he have an accident? But there are so many police so I don’t—”
“We’re investigating. I appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Arnez. Please stay available, as I may have follow-up questions.”
“I— Yes. Of course. We live upstairs.”
“You’re free to go.”
“All right, but…” As she rose, she looked over at Beth. “Please, please, tell her I’m here for her, for whatever she needs. I’m so sorry.”
When she left, Eve turned to Webster.
“Beth.” He murmured it, pressed his lips to her temple. “Lieutenant Dallas needs to ask some questions.”
“I know it.” She patted his arm as she got to her feet. “Would you get me some water?” As he rose, she took the chair, then opened the little purse she wore cross-strapped, took out tissues. She mopped her face, lifted the purse off to set it on the table beside her.
“I know who you are, both of you, and you’re here because someone murdered my husband.”
“I can’t, at this time, verify homicide, Mrs. Greenleaf.”
“You sure as hell wouldn’t be here if Martin had slipped in the shower. Which he wouldn’t. Martin’s rock steady. You’ve got questions. I’m a cop’s wife, and I know how this works. But I have one first. How was my husband killed?”
Those blue eyes weren’t bright now, but piercing, and rage was slowly smothering the grief in them.
“Lieutenant Webster let himself in when Captain Greenleaf failed to answer his knock. He found Captain Greenleaf at his workstation, deceased. There was a stunner on the floor by his chair, burn marks of a contact stun, on full, on his throat, and a note on his comp screen. ‘Beth, I’m sorry but I just can’t go on this way. Too many good cops’ lives ruined, their families broken. My fault. Forgive me because I can’t forgive myself.’”
She waved the water away when Webster brought it and kept her eyes on Eve. “You’re looking at suicide? That’s nonsense, complete nonsense. Every bit of it. And if you believe that for one hot minute, you’re not as good as everybody thinks you are.”
“You asked the question, Ms. Greenleaf. That’s the answer I can give you at this time.”
Beth looked up at Webster. “Do you think Martin killed himself?”
“No.” He pressed the water on her, then sat on the arm of her chair. “Beth, I contacted Dallas, asked her to lead the investigation because she’s not just as good as everyone thinks, she’s probably better. Martin deserves the best.”
“He wouldn’t do this, not to himself, never, never to me or the children. And he believed in the work he did for the NYPSD. You know that, Don.”
“I do know that.”
“He weeded out bad cops, wrong cops, dirty cops. He had no regrets. I’d know. I was his sounding board. Aren’t you that to her?” she asked Roarke.
“I am, yes. When she needs it. It’s part of the promise we make, isn’t it? Or it should be.”
“Do you love her?”
“Madly,” Roarke said before Eve could object to the question.
“If it’s real and true and deep, it only grows with time. We loved each other. He’d never leave me this way. He loved Don like a son. He’d never have left Don to find him this way.”
She laid her head back a moment. “I don’t understand how he died in his chair. If he’d opened the door to anyone and there was a threat, he’d have fought. There’d be signs of that.”
Slowly sipping the water, she glanced around. “Everything’s exactly as I left it.”
“I need you to verify the timing and activities from your neighbor’s statement, Mrs. Greenleaf. What time did she arrive tonight?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. I knew I was running late—and that’s when I refuse to look at the time, as stressing over that will only make me later. It was probably about eight-thirty, or a few minutes later.” On a sigh, she said, “Probably a few minutes later, because Elva knows I’m always late. I called her back to the bedroom when I heard her and Martin talking, so she could help me decide what to wear. We were meeting friends at Bistro—it’s just a few blocks away. I knew I was running late because after dinner, after the dishes, I put together some snacks. I made some salsa. Don’s fond of my salsa.”
“Best there is.”
“Did you mention to anyone that Webster was expected tonight?”
“I don’t think so. Martin told me at dinner. I’d been out shopping. Bought the new shoes I decided not to wear tonight after all. He was looking forward to spending some time with you, Don. He’d never have done this. Never.”
“Did anyone in your party leave the table for any length of time?”
“No. A couple of bathroom breaks. We had fancy drinks and fancy bar snacks and lots of laughs.” Her eyes welled again; she shut them tight, willed the tears back. “We all left at the same time. Anja caught a cab, the rest of us walked. Elva always walks me to the door after a girls’ night. It’s sweet of her.”
“Was she ever alone in your bedroom?”
“What? No. Fashion consult, that’s all. Why?”
“When’s the last time you had the apartment cleaned?”
“This morning, when I cleaned it. I clean my own home.”
“Like nobody’s business.” Webster lifted her hand, kissed it.
“I may be a little obsessive about it, but I need a clean home.”
“Does that include the windows?”
“Of course.”
“Did you clean them this morning?”
“No. That’s a once-every-four-to-six-weeks job. And I do it when Martin’s out of the house because he frets about me washing the outside. As if I’d fall out.”
“You keep the windows locked.”
“Yes. Martin’s obsessive there. When I do the windows, and he always knows when I do, he checks every blessed one.”
“Have you had any visitors recently, any repair or maintenance people in the apartment?”
“Our children, grandchildren visit regularly. We haven’t had any repair people in since … early April. The dishwasher went out. He tried to fix it,” she said to Don.
He smiled. “Naturally.”
“He failed.”
“Naturally.”
“You’ve washed the windows since early April.”
“Yes. The middle of May, toward the end of June.”
She set the water aside, gripped Webster’s hand.
“An unlocked window’s how someone got in and did this to Martin. Someone got in and unlocked a window. We wouldn’t notice. I don’t think we’d have noticed.”
“Did you check them nightly?”
“No. No, after I’d wash them, he’d check. They stayed locked because he wanted them locked. Which window was unlocked? You can tell me that. It’ll come out anyway.”
“The bedroom window, facing east. It has a privacy screen engaged.”
“Yes, always. It’s our bedroom. We have a door cam, you need…” She broke off. “You’ll have that by now. But if someone got in a week ago, two weeks ago, it wouldn’t be on there. It overwrites every seventy-two hours.”
“Mrs. Greenleaf, did your husband keep a weapon, a stunner?”
“No. He turned in his service weapon when he retired. And he gave me that. No weapons in our home for the first time since we married. I didn’t have to ask for him to give me that. The stunner you found wasn’t his. Martin wasn’t suicidal.”
At the head sweeper’s signal, Eve rose. “Excuse me.”
When she came back, she remained standing. “The Crime Scene Unit’s finished for now. We will have to keep this apartment sealed for the time being. Is there somewhere you can stay, ma’am? Someone we can contact for you?”
“I’ll take you to Carlie’s.” Webster pressed her fingers to his lips again. “We’ll tell her together. I’ll contact Ben and Luke.”
“Yes, yes, that would be best. God, oh God, our poor babies.” A tear escaped this time, and she swiped it away. “I need to pack a few things.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No. Webster.” Eve shook her head. “It would be best if I went with you, Ms. Greenleaf.”
“To make sure I don’t try to sneak any evidence away.”
“To go by the book,” Eve countered. “Something I believe the captain would value.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Mrs. Greenleaf.” Roarke rose as she did. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“I believe you are, and thank you. We’re a different breed, aren’t we? Cops’ spouses. Nobody else quite fully understands.”
“No, I don’t suppose they do.”
Eve followed her to the bedroom, waited in the doorway to be as unintrusive as possible.
“Oh, come in. Don’t hover. I need some clothes, and I’ll need some things out of the bathroom.”
She wrenched open the closet, then just froze.
“Just look at us,” she murmured. “I’m the one who can’t stand dirt or clutter, but in here? My clothes are jumbled, and his lined up straight as an arrow. What a pair we are—were—always will be. I can’t reach the damn shelf for my bag. Martin always got it down for me.”
“Let me help you.”
Eve got the bag, set it on the bed while Beth pulled out some clothes.
“I loved him with every fiber of my being. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, I can.”
She looked back as she pulled some things out of a dresser. “I believe you can.” She lifted a framed photo from the dresser top, one of the two of them grinning at the camera. “Hold on to that. Hold on tight.”
She laid the photo in the bag. “He admired you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Martin admired you. You had some trouble several years back, had to turn in your badge and weapon until it cleared up.”
“Yes.” It still stung. A wasp bite in the gut.
“He knew about that and, though he was retired, followed the investigation. And he told me—his sounding board—that you were an exceptional police officer, one of honor, of duty and integrity. I hope you’ll remember that, because you hold him in your hands now.”
“Mrs. Greenleaf, I promise you I’ll do everything I can, as will the whole of my department as needed, to find out the truth of what happened here tonight.”
“I believe you because he would. Will you let Don help?”
“I’ll keep Lieutenant Webster apprised of the progress on the investigation. I can’t let him in more than that.”
She opened a drawer Eve had identified as the victim’s, took out a precisely folded white handkerchief. Pressed it to her cheek before she packed it.
“Don loved Martin, so he’ll push some. He was in love with you once.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
Now she smiled. “No, he wasn’t, but he thought he was, and that’s nearly the same. What he’s found with Darcia, that has a good chance. I hate that I’m glad Don found him before I did. I think it would’ve broken me. Shattered me so I’d never find all the pieces again.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Eve said it almost casually, because she knew it for truth. “You’re a cop’s wife.”
“That’s right. That’s right.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes as if pushing tears back, then let them fall. “I need a few things from the bathroom, then I’ll get out of your way. I need to see Martin tomorrow. All of us do.”
“I’ll contact you as soon as possible.”
Nodding, Beth walked around the bed, laid a hand for a moment on the pillow on the left, then carried her bag from the room.
When Webster led her out the front door, she didn’t look back.
And when the door closed behind them, Eve breathed out, shoved both hands through her hair. “All right. Okay.”
“A hard night all around.”
“Yeah. Listen, I appreciate you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I know it.”
“I appreciate you keeping Webster contained while I dealt with this.”
“Is that what I did? Contain him?”
“You gave him someone to unload on, someone to listen—and you kept him out of my way. He did it right, he gets that, and it couldn’t’ve been easy. Greenleaf was a father to him, and he walks in, finds him dead.”
Eve circled the room as she spoke. “Finds what looks like self-termination. He could’ve tried to cover it up, not that hard to do. Stage a break-in, a struggle, get rid of the message on the comp.”
“You’d have seen through that like polished glass.”
“Yeah, but he could’ve tried; he didn’t. He called it in, got uniforms and the MTs on scene. He requested me through channels. He kept his head, and it couldn’t have been easy.”
“And still, as he discovered the body, had a connection to the victim and a key to get in, you have to eliminate him as a suspect.”
“His statement holds up, and the security feed’s going to cover the rest. They came in through the window in the bedroom, which means someone got in and unlocked it between the last time Ms. Greenleaf washed it and tonight. And since the upstairs neighbor was in there tonight, she’s on the list.”
“You’re ruling out suicide.”
“Officially, not yet. Can’t. But this was staged, planned out, timed to hit when he was alone in the apartment. Do it quick so he doesn’t have time to react or fight, press his fingers to the stunner, drop it, get the message up. Time stamp on the message is less than a minute after TOD, but you can’t hang a case on that. Time stamp could be off, gauges aren’t a hundred percent to-the-minute accurate. It’s close enough to hold.”
She walked back to the bedroom. “You have to know he’ll be alone for two or three hours, so you time it for well after the wife’s out. Don’t want her doing a: Shit, forgot my whatever, and running back. Then it’s up or down the fire escape, depending. Do you know he’s a little hard of hearing? Bet you do. You know how he lives, his habits, his basic schedule.
“He’s got the game on-screen,” Eve added as she envisioned it. “Not too loud, but loud enough. Still, you’re quiet as you cross the room, look out, listen.”
She went back to the door, walked out. “Stop, check the stunner, make sure his back’s to the office door. Step behind him.” Eve stopped behind the chair. “Jab the stunner to his throat, deploy. Done. He convulses for a few seconds, then slumps.
“Now, first mistake. You press his thumb and index finger on the stunner, firm, clear, perfect prints. But they wouldn’t be if Greenleaf had deployed it. Why weren’t his prints on any other part of the weapon? Am I going to buy he wiped it clean before he picked it up to kill himself? No, I’m not. Am I going to buy his fingers wouldn’t shake a little when he held it to his own throat? And especially after, when his nervous system went wild? Negative on that, too. His hand didn’t sweat or shake, even a little?”
“And there’s something else.”
She glanced back at Roarke. “Is there?”
“The note, it’s too impersonal, too brief and cold, really, when you understand what they were together, meant to each other, how long they’d been together. It speaks of guilt and regret, asks for forgiveness, but says nothing of love, nothing of the children they made or the children who come from that.”
“Exactly.” Eve fisted her hands on her hips as she paced. “You know, if you don’t like being told you think like a cop, you shouldn’t analyze evidence like one.”
“So noted.”
“Whoever left that message had a priority. The guilt—the job Greenleaf did. A cop who took down cops. That’s the motive, or the one I see with what I have so far.”
“There’s little more for you to see tonight—though your body clock’s likely telling you it’s morning.”
“May be why I’ve got a second wind.” And was revved up with it, she realized. “But no, nothing much more to do here tonight but seal it up.”
She retrieved her field kit.
“If you drive home, I can write up a brief report for Whitney to see when it actually is morning. I’ll send a text to Peabody, have her meet me here. We’ll go over the scene again, then I want another round with the neighbor, one with her cohab, after I run them both.”
She picked up her field kit. “I want to take a look at the security feed—apartment door, main door.”
“You’ll use your second wind for all that, then get some sleep.”
“That’s the plan,” she said as they stepped out of the apartment. “I didn’t really know him. Didn’t much like him, but didn’t really know him.”
“You’ll know him now.” In a gesture of understanding and support, he pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Few will know him better than you when you’re done. Whatever you learn, you’ll stand for him. Webster reached out to you because he knows that.”
“The captain did his job as he saw it. I’ll do mine.”
She sealed the door.