Page 43 of The 24th Hour
CHAPTER 55
AFTER LEAVING THE Fricke house, I’d flagged down a cruiser, thrown myself against the back seat, and tuned in to my unanswered question.Who killed the Frickes?
I pictured their dead bodies on the street. Compared them. Both lying on their bellies, shot from behind. Holly’s face was turned to the left. Jamie was cradling his face with his right arm.
Differences without distinction.
I pictured our array of possible subjects: Arthur, Rafe, Patty, and Jamie’s other lovers from here to New York. Of course there was also the mystery man in black, who the neighbor had seen shoot Jamie and drive off in his Jaguar. A lot of work had been done, but we were still at square one. Maybe someone would walk into the station with a hot clue or a confession? It happened. But very rarely.
I got out of the cruiser at the Hall of Justice at 850 Bryant, took the main entrance, and, after putting my gun aside, went through the magnetometer. I bypassed the mob at theelevator bank and took the fire stairs to Homicide on four. I stopped at the front desk to check in with our gatekeeper, Bobby Nussbaum.
He said, “While you were out, some goon confessed to killing Jamie Fricke.”
“You’ve got butter on your chin. Also, you are the world’s worst liar.”
He laughed, swiped at his chin, and told me that three dozen tips had been phoned in. “Here ya go.”
He handed me a half inch of messages.
“Thanks. Where’s Conklin?”
“He and Alvarez are in Interview One with”—he checked his log—“Patricia Delaney.”
I texted Conklin and Alvarez that I would be in the observation room the size of a walk-in closet that shares a two-way mirror with Interview One. The mic and cameras were on. My attention was drawn through the glass to Conklin and Alvarez, who sat in plain gray chairs at a plain gray table. Across from them, facing the mirror, was Patty Delaney. She appeared to be melting over the tabletop. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved as she sobbed over folded arms. This woman of thirty-five was the picture of depression, petulance, and grief.
Team Fricke had gathered a lot of background on Patty from interviews with her and others in the Fricke household after Holly’s murder. She’d tested negative for gunshot residue then and no doubt was negative today. When we ran her prints and photo through FBI criminal databases, they’d netted nothing, not even abeep. No one we’d questioned about her thought she had motive for or had taken part in executing Holly Bergen Fricke. I felt sure that went double for Jamie.
I pictured Patty in her floral quilt a few hours ago, distraught, angry, and shedding real tears. Jamie was dead. Her entire dream was dead.
My phone buzzed. Alvarez was texting me notes from the interview room, details from her interrogation of Patty to date. The subject was Patty’s finances. She was well paid, and most of her paycheck went into her savings account. Her credit cards showed purchases of the Victoria’s Secret variety. Cappy had previously checked her bank statements, and her income, expenditures, and savings all added up.
I looked up from my phone. Alvarez had gotten out of her chair. The mood had changed significantly inside the interview room.
CHAPTER 56
ALVAREZ WAS STANDING over Patty. Having dropped the good cop role, she was grilling the subject.
She said, “Are you listening, Patty? Holly and Jamie. Did they have a common enemy?”
Patty lifted her head to say, “You’ve already asked me that. I don’t know. Jamie wouldn’t have toldme.”
“Patty, I’ve asked you this before, too. It’s important. Think. Have you heard any gossip since Holly’s death? Someone sounding a little too pleased that Holly—”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Patty spat. “Am I under arrest?”
Conklin said, “No, of course not.”
“May I go?”
“Yes, but hang in for another minute or two and I’ll get you a ride home.”
Alvarez said, “Excuse me,” and left the room. She entered the observation room and said, “See anything interesting, Linds? Because, in my humble opinion, if she’s behind either murder, she’s wasting her life in the kitchen. She can act.”
“She could do both, but I don’t see her as cold and cunning. In fact the opposite. But that doesn’t make you wrong.”
I looked again at the wreck of Patty Delaney, who was pulling on her cardigan. Conklin was asking her to sign her statement, wrapping up the interview.
I said to Alvarez, “How do you see Delaney as a killer?”