Page 32 of The 24th Hour
“No,” I said.
“I’m sorry I shoved you,” he said to Alvarez. “Very sorry. I just didn’t want for Patty to …”
“To what?”
I was processing slowly, like a first-generation computer, running theories, computing possibilities, weighing scenarios in the absence of facts. According to the note card I’d found in Jamie’s desk, he and Patty were in love. The question that seemed to have an obvious answer: Was Bevaqua also involved with Delaney? Of course.
“I want toconsoleher,” Bevaqua shouted. “Tobefriendher, goddamnit.”
“Arthur,” I said. “Put your hands on your head.”
Alvarez had holstered her gun and frisked Bevaqua up and down, front and back.
“He’s unarmed,” she said.
I had to be sure. I stooped beside Arthur and checked his ankles, didn’t find a gun or any kind of weapon there, either. I said, “Arthur, go downstairs with Alvarez and wait for me at the kitchen table.”
“You’ve got this all wrong.”
“Do it or I’m taking you in.”
“Okay, I’m going downstairs now. I’m doing what you say.”
CHAPTER 40
ARTHUR BEVAQUA SHOT a look over his shoulder at Patty as he left the room with Alvarez. Her gun was in her hand again and she was walking right behind him.
I was confident Alvarez would be sitting across from Bevaqua at the granite kitchen table when I got down there. But at this minute, Patty was still under the covers clutching a blue garment to her face. It was a pajama top. Large man–sized. She was keening now—a terrible sound of bottomless grief that I didn’t think could be faked.
I holstered my gun, switched on the overhead light, and looked around the room again. I was seeing things I hadn’t noticed while crashing through the doorway with my gun drawn. Baby-blue thong panties on the floor near the Victorian bed; a horse whip over the back of the armchair. I toed a diaphanous curl of a nightgown with my shoe. I said, “Quite a party here, Patty. You and Arthur?”
Patty rolled toward me, propped her upper torso on her elbow, shook her head vigorously, and cried again. “Arthur?Noooo. It was Jamie!” she bleated. “We made love until sunup. He was right here yesterday morning, his final hours alive. Now I want to die, too.”
I’d just seen Patty an hour ago when she served lunch. I had noticed she was downcast but I hadn’t imagined this. I had to reorder my thoughts—yetthisPatty matched with “my darling Pattycakes.”
“Do you know who killed him?” I asked this woman who looked vulnerable enough to bleed through her skin.
She shook her head no.
“Patty, you must have some idea. Was Jamie afraid of anyone? Had he been threatened? Did he have anything to do with Holly’s murder?”
“No, no, no. But he didn’t love her anymore. They had no secrets, though. Jamie and I—you’re not going to believe me.”
“I’m on your side, Patty. Talk to me.”
“We were going to get married,” she sputtered. “Holly knew, and they were going to get a divorce.”
“Who else knew that?”
“It wasn’t time to tell. Then Holly got shot …”
Patty searched my face looking to see if I believed her. I hadn’t decided. I said, “Please get dressed. We need you to come to the station and give a formal statement.”
“Again? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Arthur’s coming, too.”
“Why? Arthur didn’t do anything.”