“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.”