Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“She have a good relationship with her father . . . ?” He checked his notes. “Victor Wilde?”

“Again, I don’t know. But Brindel didn’t. That I do know. She could never say a kind word about her ex, at least she never did to me. Once, years ago, she asked me to check into his finances. Something about him not paying child support. She thought because I was a cop, I could pull some strings or something. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t even if I could.” She met Paterno’s eyes. “I declined. Didn’t want to get into that catfight.”

His bushy eyebrows quirked. “Don’t blame you.”

“Yeah, well. She didn’t much like it.”

“So, would you say you were estranged?” Paterno prodded.

“Estranged? No. That’s so . . . defined. As I said, there was no big fight or rift or anything. Nothing we ever fought about. We just didn’t hang out, never had much. We never had all that much in common. Other than the same parents.”

Her throat was suddenly dry and she wished now she’d asked for water or something. “It isn’t much different with my other sisters. The three of them—Collette, Sarina, and Brindel—they were closer. I was the youngest and kind of like the odd-man out.”

He nodded. “What about Brindel’s husband, Paul?”

“Didn’t really know him, but what I saw, I didn’t like. He was a doctor and not exactly the friendly local GP, if you know what I mean.” She conjured up a mental image of Paul Latham. Slim, a runner and tennis player with a thick head of hair, rimless glasses, and a long nose that he couldn’t help but look down on others with. “He was just . . . stuck on himself.”

Paterno didn’t push on that issue and Pescoli assumed she was only confirming what he already knew from her sisters’ statements. He did bring up Paul’s sons again, asked about any enemies and anything she might know that could help, which, at this point, she didn’t.

When the interview was about wrapped up, she said, “I’d like to help with the investigation,” and saw the shutters go down on his eyes.

His smile was far from warm. “You know, the department welcomes all the help it can get, so thanks. So far we’ve got it handled, but if we need you, I’ll let you know.”

Pescoli recognized the brush-off for what it was. Hadn’t she said almost the same exact words time and time again when some eager relative wanted to “help”?

“I’d like to see the bodies.”

He seemed about to argue, then nodded. “They’re at the morgue. It’s late, but there’s a skeleton crew on staff. I can drive you over after we talk to your sisters.”

At that moment the door was opened by a slim woman in her late twenties. Her black hair was layered around a face with high cheekbones, sharp chin, and thin lips, and her dark eyes hinted at an Asian ancestor somewhere in her gene pool. In boots, jeans, and a rust-colored sweater, she flashed a quick smile and introduced herself as Jasmine Tanaka, a junior detective. Paterno asked Pescoli if she would mind answering some questions for Tanaka’s benefit, maybe covering some of the same material, and Pescoli agreed even though she sensed Tanaka’s resistance to her before they even started. Though the junior detective’s demeanor was friendly enough, Pescoli sensed beneath her civil exterior was an extremely competitive and hard-edged cop whose thin smile didn’t quite hide her suspicion of Pescoli and probably just about everyone who crossed her path.

Tanaka started with the usual questions surrounding Brindel as well as Paul. How did the family get along? What was the status of the Lathams’ marriage? Were there money problems? Work issues? Where were their children? What about ex-spouses with grudges? Was there another man or woman in the mix—a love triangle? Did Pescoli have any idea who would want to do them harm, who were their enemies?

That sort of thing. Paterno joined in and there was a discussion about weaponry as apparently Paul had been a gun enthusiast and his cache of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and the like was missing, most likely stolen, though the cops weren’t saying that this was a case of a robbery gone wrong that ended in a double-homicide.

Which made sense if both Paul and Brindel were killed while sleeping in their beds, not in the act of confronting burglars.

Despite Tanaka’s and Paterno’s probing, Pescoli couldn’t help with any suspects or motives. As she’d already said, she didn’t know much about her sister or her relationships, less about Paul, and wasn’t in contact with Macon or Seth Latham, Paul’s sons, nor even Ivy Wilde, her niece.

Even though they’d covered the same territory several different ways, Tanaka didn’t seem to want to give up, which irritated Pescoli. She’d handled many an interview by other members of the force, when she herself was being interrogated about a case, or when she’d used her service weapon. She recalled dealing with officers who didn’t like her or would like to see her

screw up. But Tanaka was something else; she could feel it. The woman didn’t like or trust her, nor did she think Pescoli was a capable police officer.

“So you have no idea who would want to harm your sister?” Cool disbelief in Tanaka’s tone.

“We’ve been over this. No.” Pescoli couldn’t keep a bit of irritation from her voice.

Still, Tanaka pushed. “Are you ever in contact with Victor Wilde?”

“No,” Regan said shortly. Again, asked and answered.

Tanaka eyed her closely.

Pescoli lifted a palm. “The last I heard, he was remarried, had a couple of kids, but I’m not even sure about that. Maybe it was three . . . I didn’t keep up.”

Pescoli glanced at Paterno, hoping the older detective was satisfied, even if Tanaka wasn’t. She decided to take the offensive. “What kind of leads do you have on Ivy? I assume you are getting her cell phone records and checking if she had a credit card.” When they didn’t respond, stonewalling her, she threw out a few more questions. “What about the wills? Have you found them? Discovered who had the most to gain if they died? What about Paul’s business? Was it failing? What about life insurance policies? Or pawnshops where whoever robbed the Lathams might have tried to sell a gun?”

“We’re on it. All of it,” Tanaka cut in, obviously annoyed. “We know how to do our jobs, Detective Pescoli.”