“We’re friends. Like Zanna and Vonnie. It wasn’t . . . our relationship wasn’t like employer and employee. Her parents . . .”
Deann drew in a breath, long, deep. Eve gave her top points for control when she came back to the table. “Her mother lives downtown, with Elisa’s stepfather. Her father, ah, he’s in Philadelphia. I can . . . I can get in touch with them. I think, they need to hear this from me first. They need . . . I have to call Luther. I have to tell him.”
“Are you sure you want to handle this yourself?” Eve asked her.
“She would have done it for me.” When her voice broke, she pressed her lips together, bore down. “She would have taken care of my baby, and I’ll take care of hers. She would have . . . Oh, God, how could this happen?”
“Did she mention any problems to you? Speak of being concerned about someone who bothered her, or made threats?”
“No. No. She would have. People liked Elisa.”
“Was she involved with anyone—romantically, socially?”
“No. She really wasn’t dating at this point. She’d had a difficult divorce, and was interested in creating a stable home for her daughter, and just—as she put it—giving men a rest.”
“Was there someone she rebuffed or discouraged?”
“Not that I . . . was she raped?” Deann’s hands fisted on the table.
“The medical examiner has yet to determine—” Eve broke off when Deann’s hand shot out, gripped hers.
“You know, and I won’t have you holding back. She was my friend.”
“The indications are she was raped, yes.”
The hand tightened on Eve’s, trembled once, violently, then released. “You’ll find him. You’ll find him and you’ll make him pay.”
“That’s my intention. If you want to help me do that, I need you to think. If there’s anything, however insignificant it seems to you. If she said anything, however casually.”
“She would have fought,” Deann stated. “Her husband was abusive, and she got counseling, she got help, and she left him. She learned to stand up for herself. She would have fought.”
“She did. Where’s the ex-husband?”
“I’d like to say he’s sweating in hell, but he’s in the Caribbean with his current bimbo. He lives there, runs some sort of dive shop. He hasn’t seen his own child, not once, not ever. Elisa was eight months pregnant when she filed for divorce. I won’t let him have that child.”
A combative light glowed on her face now, and the heat of it toughened her voice. “I’ll fight him if he tries to take custody. I can do that for her.”
“When’s the last time she heard from him?”
“A few months ago, I think, when his child support payment was late again. Bitching and complaining about having to give her his money when she had this cozy setup here.” She drew that long breath again. “The money went directly into an account for Vonnie, for her education. Not that he’d think of that.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No, I was denied that dubious pleasure. To my knowledge he hasn’t been back to New York in four years. I’m not thinking very clearly yet,” she admitted. “But I will. I can promise you, I’ll think very clearly, very carefully, and do anything I can to help you. But I need to call my husband now. I need to talk to Luther—and to be alone, please. To be alone so I can find the right way to tell Vonnie when she wakes up. To tell Vonnie and my own little girl.”
“We’ll need to see her rooms, look through her things. Some time tomorrow. Is that a problem?”
“No. I’d let you do it now, but . . .” She looked back toward the door. “I want Vonnie to sleep, as long as she can.”
Eve rose. “If you’d get in touch with me in the morning then.”
“I will. I’m sorry, I’ve completely forgotten who you are.”
“Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas. Detective Peabody.”
“Right. Right. I admired your dress when you came to the door. It seems like years ago already.” She got up, rubbing at her face as she studied Eve. “You seem familiar to me. I can’t figure out if it’s because it seems you’ve been here for years, or if you are.”
“I think we met before, at some charity dinner or something.”