She took the photo into evidence. If they didn’t get a last name, she’d run the picture for an ID match.
A gregarious, sociable woman who liked the theater, Eve mused. Kept up a friendly relationship with her mother and sister, had several pals, and from the conversations on the ’link had a monogamous romantic relationship with a man named Lucas.
And was dead because she cut through the park to save herself three blocks.
No, Eve corrected. She was dead because someone selected her, stalked her, and killed her. If she hadn’t cut through the park last night, there’d have been another time or another way.
She’d been a target. Mission accomplished.
“Lucas Grande.” Peabody came back in. “Songwriter and session musician. They’ve been seeing each other for a while. Neighbor said six months, or a little more. She saw the vic on her way out last night, about seven. Just waved at each other, but the neighbor thinks she was wearing jeans and a blue sweater, short black jacket.”
“Get an address for Grande. We’ll take him after we see her mother.”
Eve wasn’t sure which was worse, telling a mother her daughter was dead and watching her shatter, or telling a man his woman was dead and watching him dissolve.
They’d woken him. He’d come to the door sleepy-eyed, rumpled, and mildly annoyed.
“Look, I turned the music down. I don’t play it loud after ten o’clock. Nobody complains on this floor. I don’t know what bug’s up the ass of that guy upstairs. He’s so freaking hyped, he can spring for soundproofing.”
“This isn’t about a disturbance or complaint, Mr. Grande. We’re going to need to come in.”
“Well, shit.” He backed up, gestured impatiently. “If Bird got busted for Zoner again, it’s got nothing to do with me. We do sessions together. We’re not joined at the damn hip.”
“We’re here about Annalisa Sommers.”
“Annalisa?” His mouth quirked. “Did she and her girlfriends get polluted and do something stupid last night? I gotta bail her out or something?”
“Mr. Grande, I’m sorry to tell you, Ms. Sommers was killed last night.”
The tickled smile dropped off his face. “That’s not funny. What the hell’s wrong with you to say something like that?”
“Mr. Grande, her body was found this morning, in Greenpeace Park.”
“Come on. Come on.” He retreated as he said it, his hands coming up as if begging her to stop.
“Let’s sit down.”
“Annalisa?” Tears flooded his eyes. “Are you sure it’s Annalisa? It could be somebody else.”
Anybody else, he’d be thinking, Eve knew. Anybody but mine.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Grande. There’s no mistake. We need to ask you some questions now.”
“I just saw her yesterday. Grabbed lunch with her yesterday. We’ve got a date Saturday. How can she be dead?”
“We’re going to sit down now.” Peabody took his arm, led him to a chair.
The room was crowded with instruments. Some sort of keyboard, a music comp, a couple of guitars, sound boxes. Eve snaked between them to sit across from him. “You and Annalisa were seeing each other.”
“We’re going to get married. As soon as I ask her. I was going to ask her at Christmas. Wait until Christmas, make it special. What happened to her?”
“Mr. Grande, tell us where you were last night.”
He had his hands to his face, and the tears were trickling through his fingers. “You think I could hurt her? I couldn’t ever hurt her. I love her.”
“No, I don’t think that, but I need to ask.”
“I had a session, ran until midnight, maybe later. After we hung around the studio, had some brews, some pizza, jammed. Got home, I don’t know, around three. Jesus, did somebody hurt her?”