Part 17 (2/2)
Six was a crowd in here, amid an old tweed sofa and a government-issue table and chairs. Immediately conscious of an error, Genevieve looked off to one of the corny woodland scenes on the wall rather than confront the attention suddenly on her.
”There was just bad blood,” she said and turned a manicured hand in the air, as if it were all too vague. Her hair was prematurely white, which was actually quite striking, since she had retained a flush, round-cheeked youthfulness right down to her overbite. Overall, Genevieve gave an impression of substance. It was a decade later and she was still looking out for her friend's children and mother. Muriel had spent years now envisioning herself on the sidelines of soccer and baseball fields in the company of women like this, mothers who nurtured by reflex and who were probably the best people on the planet.
”Maybe the girls could wait outside,” Muriel suggested, thinking they might have motivated Genevieve's reluctance.
”Like h.e.l.l,” answered Darla. ”We're not babies. She was our mother.”
In spite of herself, Muriel smiled, probably because she'd been every bit as abrasive and opinionated herself at sixteen. The thrill of going too far, of treading forbidden ground to find out who she was, had never fully left her. Andrea, Darla's younger sister, looked less certain about staying, but ultimately chose to keep her place, too. In the meantime, Larry continued to press Genevieve.
”So you don't know anything about Erno and Luisa being an item?”
Genevieve looked at her watch and lifted a beckoning arm to the girls, but was willing to offer a parting thought.
”I'd sooner believe he killed her than that,” she said.
Muriel held up a hand to detain Mrs. Salvino. ”Did Luisa ever say anything to you about Erno?”
”Who knows?” answered the old woman. ”Who paid attention?”
”Did she talk about men?”
”For G.o.d sake,” said Mrs. Salvino, ”I was her mother for G.o.d sake. You think I asked those things?”
”I think you'd ask,” said Darla.
Mrs. Salvino raised the back of her hand and made a spitting sound between her teeth and Darla answered with another gesture, an openhand challenge, which, in all likelihood, she'd adopted from her grandmother. But Darla was smiling. She had more appreciation for Nuccia Salvino than she was likely to admit.
As Genevieve continued to edge the group toward the door, Muriel told Mrs. Salvino the reporters might try to question her.
”I got nothing to say.”
”They'll want to know what you think,” said Muriel. ”Whether you believe Erdai killed her.”
”Maybe,” said Mrs. Salvino. ”Maybe this one and the other one done it together. I don't know. She's dead. That's what I know.”
”We have no comment,” said Genevieve.
Muriel bade goodbye to all of them. Genevieve left last and Larry laid his fingertips on her sleeve.
”We'd really like to talk to you some more.”
Genevieve was quick to shake her head. She had an excuse ready. Family vacation. Every year, as soon as their kids were out of school, they headed for Skageon for a month.
”When do you leave?” Muriel asked.
”Tomorrow,” said Genevieve, ”early.”
”Well, maybe we'll make the trip up there,” said Larry, and Genevieve's dark eyes shot his way.
Remembering the press downstairs, and recognizing the futility of Larry's hectoring, Muriel opened the door and let Genevieve go. She and Larry were alone now, an odd reprieve with the churning sounds continuing outside.
”We should go up there and depose her,” said Larry. ”She'd twist and turn, but I don't make her for the kind to lie under oath. I don't see us getting anything out of her without a subpoena, though.”
”I wouldn't mind having that stuff about Luisa always hating Erno on the record. We have to make him a liar however we can.”
”You did a pretty good job of that.”
She accepted the compliment with a smile, but she'd learned that winning lawsuits was more than courtroom pyrotechnics. Most cases were determined before they started by the character of the judge or the jury, and Kenton Harlow worried her.
”If he makes findings that Erno is credible,” she told Larry, ”I'm going to be stuck with this case for a long while. Talmadge thinks if it drags on, Reverend Blythe may talk somebody into running in the primary.”
”Somebody black,” said Larry.
”Naturally,” she answered, but shook her head at the prospect. She had no relish for that kind of fight, especially one where she'd be painted as the race-baiting prosecutor.
”So what's the alternative?” Larry asked.
”You know the alternative, Larry. Figure it out fast. Either incinerate Erno or say we f.u.c.ked up and stop the bleeding as soon as we can.”
”We didn't f.u.c.k up anything. The death-penalty crazies always strum the same tunes. This guy was wrong on this, Muriel, you know it. I didn't bounce him around to get a confession. Erno can go whistle with that Shangri-la s.h.i.+t.”
”I'm just saying.”
”Besides, all due respect to Talmadge, if we screwed the pooch, Blythe would add another hole to your anatomy. You might have to stop that check for campaign posters.”
”If that's how it goes,” she answered immediately. Her tone was too defiant, even superior, and she could see him shrink back. It struck an old note somehow, something that had been there years ago. She felt guilty about that. And she probably hadn't spoken the truth. The other day, she'd told Larry that she might have surrendered her shot at the P.A.'s Office in exchange for the joy of being a mother, and she meant every word. But to have neither of the things she'd yearned for? She knew herself well enough to realize she wouldn't have given up on the job easily.
”He's the right guy, Larry. But let's punch some holes in Erno's canoe. I'm going to get hold of Jackson Aires to try to get a word with Erno's nephew. And keep working on the gang angle. The G.O.'s may have promised Erno something we haven't figured out yet. And see if you can dig up the guy Erno shot at Ike's. Something tells me he won't stand up and salute for that self-defense c.r.a.p Erno was peddling.”
Larry liked all those ideas. The peace between them felt good.
”Press time,” said Muriel. ”Do I look tough but fair?”
He joined his thumbs and raised his forefingers as if they were a lens.
”Something like that.”
She smiled at him for a moment. ”I forgot how much fun it is to work with you, Larry.”
When Muriel opened the door, she found Darla, Luisa's older daughter, leaning against the threshold. The girl sprang up at the sight of Muriel.
”I forgot to ask,” she said. ”I was just wondering if there's any chance we can get it back?”
”It?”
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