Imitation in Death (In Death 17)

Jeffrey Gregg wasn’t weeping now, but the tears already shed had wrecked his face. It was red and swollen, much like his mother’s.

He sat at a small laminated table, his hands cupped around a glass of water. His brown hair stood up in tufts from where she imagined he’d pulled at it, raked his fingers through it, in his grief.

She judged him to be somewhere in his early thirties, and dressed in brown shorts and a white T-shirt for a casual summer Sunday.

She sat across from him, waited until those damaged eyes lifted to hers.

“Mr. Gregg, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. I need to talk to you.”

“They said I couldn’t go in and see her. I should go in. When I—when I found her, I didn’t go in. I just ran out again, and called the police. I should’ve gone in—something. Covered her up?”

“No. You did exactly the right thing. You helped her more by doing just exactly what you did. I’m sorry, Mr. Gregg. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Useless words, she knew. Goddamn useless words. She hated saying them. Hated not being able to count the number of times they’d forced themselves out of her mouth.

“She never hurt anybody.” He managed to lift the glass to his lips. “I think you should know that. She never hurt anybody in her life. I don’t understand how somebody could do this to her.”

“What time did you come here today?” She knew already, but would take him through the details, the repetition.

“I, ah, came over about three, I think. Maybe closer to four. No, nearer to three. I’m so mixed up. We were supposed to have this afternoon cookout at my sister’s in Ridgewood. My mother was supposed to come by our place. We’re over on 39th. We were all going to take the train over to New Jersey. She was supposed to be at our place by one.”

He gulped some water. “She runs late a lot. We tease her about it, but when it got to be like two, I started calling to move her along. She didn’t answer, so I figured she was on her way. But she didn’t show. I called her pocket number, but that didn’t answer either. My wife and kid were getting restless and annoyed. Me, too. I was getting pissed off.”

Remembering that, he began to cry again. “I was really steamed that I had to come over here and get her. I wasn’t worried so much, not really. I never thought anything had happened to her, and all the time she was . . .”

“When you got here,” Eve prompted, “you let yourself in. You have a key?”

“Yeah, I got access to the outside door and her apartment. I was thinking, something wrong with her ’links, that’s all. She forgets to bump them sometimes and they go out. Something’s wrong with her ’links and she’s lost track of time. That’s what I was thinking when I let myself in. I called out to her, like: ‘Mom! Damn it, Mom, we were supposed to leave for Mizzy’s two hours ago.’ And when she didn’t answer, I thought, Oh crap, she’s on her way to my place and I’m over here, and this is so irritating. But I walked to the bedroom door anyway. I don’t even know why. And she was . . . God. God. Mom.”

/> He broke down again, and Eve shook her head at the MT before he could move in with a tranq. “Mr. Gregg. Jeff, you have to hold it together. You have to help me. Did you see anyone near the apartment, anyone outside?”

“I don’t know.” He mopped at his streaming face. “I was irritated and in a hurry. I didn’t see anything special.”

“Did your mother mention being uneasy about anything, noticing something, someone who worried her?”

“No. She’s lived here for a dozen years. It’s a nice building. Secure.” He took deep breaths to steady his voice. “She knows her neighbors. Leah and me, we’re only ten blocks away. We see each other every week. She’d’ve told me if something was wrong.”

“How about your father?”

“They split, God, twenty-five years ago. He lives out in Boulder. They don’t see each other much, but they get along okay. Jesus, Jesus, my father wouldn’t have done this.” The hitch came back in his voice, and he began to rock himself. “You’d have to be crazy to do this to somebody.”

“It’s just routine. Was she involved with anyone?”

“Nobody special now. She had Sam. They were together for about ten years. He was killed in a tram wreck about six years ago. He was the one for her, I guess. There hasn’t been anybody else special since.”

“Did she wear a ring?”

“A ring?” He looked at Eve blankly, as if the question had been posed in some strange foreign language. “Yeah. Sam gave her a ring when they moved in together. She always wore it.”

“Can you describe it for me?”

“Um . . . it was gold, I think. Maybe with stones on it? God. I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay.” He’d had enough, she judged. And this line was a dead end. “One of the officers is going to take you home now.”

“But . . . isn’t there something? Shouldn’t I do something?” He stared beseechingly at Eve. “Can you tell me what I’m supposed to do?”

“Just go home to your family, Jeff. That’s the best thing you can do for now. I’m going to take care of your mother.”