“That’s fine. Can you tell us the last time you saw or spoke with Mr. Houston?”
“Yesterday, about five, I guess. I’d gone over to Mamie’s because she was watching Tige—our son. His babysitter needed the day off. He came in just as we were leaving. He had that run later, and he went home for a few hours first. And I guess you need to know, because that’s the way it is. Michael got home about six-thirty, and we had dinner with our boy. Michael gave him his bath and put him to bed just before eight, because I was tired. He ran the dispatch from home. He came to bed about eleven. I know because I was still awake. I was tired,” she added, rubbing her belly. “The baby wasn’t. I don’t know the exact times, but that’s close.”
Eve ran them through a few more routine questions, but she already had the picture, had a sense.
The Houstons had a large and pretty suburban house with big windows, a rolling lawn, and a front garden that made Eve think of Ireland. Mamie Houston, a wide-brimmed straw hat protecting her face from the sun, stood snipping long-stemmed blooms and putting them in a wide, flat basket.
She turned, started to smile, to wave. Then the smile froze, and her hand dropped slowly to her side.
She knows something’s wrong, Eve thought. She’s wondering why her friends, her partners would drive to her house with a couple of strangers.
She dropped the basket. Flowers spilled out on the green lawn as she began to run.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Mamie.” Michael’s voice cracked. “Jamal. It’s Jamal.”
“Has there been an accident? Who are you?” she demanded of Eve. “What’s happened?”
“Mrs. Houston, I’m Lieutenant Dallas with the NYPSD.” As Eve spoke, Kimmy Chin moved to Mamie’s side, put an arm around her. “I regret to inform you your husband was killed last night.”
“That’s not possible. That can’t be true. He’s out for his run, or at the gym. I . . .” She patted her gardening pants. “I don’t have my ’link. I always forget my ’link when I come out to work in the garden. Michael, use yours, will you? He’s just gone out for his run.”
“He came home?”
“Of course he came home.” She snapped it at Michael, then bit her lip. “I . . .”
“Mrs. Houston, why don’t we go inside?”
She rounded on Eve. “I don’t want to go inside. I want to talk to my husband.”
“When’s the last time you did?”
“I . . . When he left last night for work, but—”
“Weren’t you concerned when he d
idn’t come home?”
“But he must have. It was late. He was going to be late and said I shouldn’t wait up, so I went to bed. And he got up early, that’s all. He got up early to take his run and go by the gym. We have a gym in the house, but he likes to go there, to socialize. You know how he likes to take his run, then go to the gym to gossip, Kimmy.”
“I know, honey. I know. Let’s go inside. Come on now, we’re going inside.”
Inside, Kimmy sat beside her, holding her close in a sun-washed living area. Mamie stared at Eve, eyes glassy and unfocused.
“I don’t understand.”
“We’re going to do everything we can to find out what happened. You can help us. Do you know anyone who’d want to cause your husband harm?”
“No. He’s a good man. Tell her, Kimmy.”
“A very good man,” Kimmy soothed.
“Any trouble with employees?”
“No. We’ve kept it small. Exclusive. That . . . that was the whole point.”
“Has anything been troubling him?”