Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Somewhere far in the distance, from deep in the blackness, he heard a soft voice.

Her voice. “No, you don’t get his share this time,” she said, sounding as if she were speaking from far, far away, her voice a whisper on the wind. “And, I’m afraid, Troy-honey, not ever.”

Chapter 23

“We talked it over,” Tanaka said from the other end of the wireless connection as Pescoli leaned a hip against the kitchen counter and waited for the coffeepot to finish brewing the first pot of the day. Santana had already left, running into town for some supplies, the baby was cooing in his play area on a blanket by the couch, Bianca had taken off for school, and Ivy hadn’t yet arisen. “And we decided it would be best if we interviewed Ivy Wilde at the station.”

“I thought you were coming here. To the house.”

“Change of plan.”

“Paterno’s in on this, too? He agrees?” she asked, refusing to keep the edge out of her voice. It was a little after eight in the morning after a loooong night of sleeplessness and she was two steps beyond bitchy. She glared at the slowly filling glass carafe.

“You’re a cop. You know the drill.”

Of course she did.

Earlier they’d agreed that Ivy could be interviewed at the house where she would feel more comfortable and relaxed, but of course, there was no two-way mirror here at the house, no cameras to record Ivy’s reactions, no other cops to watch the interview.

Tanaka was right: Pescoli did understand, knew the drill.

“She’d be more comfortable here,” she tried.

“Yeah. I know. But, along with her mother and father being shot and the attack on Wynn Ellis in Albuquerque—”

“She says he attacked her,” Pescoli reminded.

“That’s possible. Probable. We’re going over footage now, but we need to hear her side of the story and record it.” There was a beat, a hesitation, then she said, “We just want to clear this up ASAP.”

That, too, Pescoli understood. “Okay, we’ll meet you there, but it will have to be this afternoon.”

A pause. “Why is that?”

“My sister’s coming to provide emotional support. She’s going to decide if Ivy needs an attorney or not.”

Another pause. “Your sister?”

“Sarina Marsh. Remember. She’s Ivy’s aunt. Brindel’s sister. Ivy’s father can’t make it.”

“Can’t you handle this? You’re her aunt as well.”

Pescoli held on to her patience with an effort. Didn’t want to admit she was a bit overwhelmed herself and glad that Sarina wanted to be involved. “Ivy’s seventeen, a minor. She just lost her mother and stepfather. Found them murdered. She needs all the support she can get. Do I really need to go into this again? And then there’s the fact that I’m a cop, involved in the investigation.”

The coffeepot was still filling. Drip by incredibly slow drip.

“You’re not involved—hold on a second.” The conversation grew garbled as Tanaka turned to speak to someone who was with her, probably Paterno. Pescoli couldn’t make out the words. With her phone to her ear, she took the opportunity to pull out the coffeepot and fill her waiting cup, seeing a bit of black liquid drip onto the hot plate and sizzle before she stuffed the carafe back into its spot on the warmer. Tanaka’s voice became clear again as she came back to the phone. “Fine,” she said, though from her clipped tone, it clearly wasn’t. “What time does Sarina Marsh get in?”

“She should be landing in Missoula a little after eleven, if there are no delays.”

Again there was muted conversation, as if Tanaka was holding the phone against her body to keep it private.

Pescoli took a tentative drink from her cup, nearly burned her tongue, but gulped anyway. After the night she’d had? She needed this coffee with its jolt of caffeine in a big way.

Tanaka was on again. “All right. This afternoon. Just after lunch. One o’clock? Hopefully Paterno and I can take a later flight back to the city.”

“We’ll be there. If there’s any problem, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that.” Tanaka cut the connection and Pescoli wondered if she’d made a mistake in asking Sarina to come. She still didn’t trust Ivy. She took another swallow.