“We’ll pass, but thanks.”
“If you change your mind, just dig in. You can go right in—Asha’s office is always open.”
“Cake,” Peabody mumbled as she followed Eve. “Why did it have to be cake?”
“Toughen up, Peabody.”
Eve studied Asha through the glass. The woman wore a poppy-red sweater that suited her caramel-toned skin. She had snug black trousers tucked into stubby-heeled knee-high boots, and wore her hair scooped back from her sharp-boned, big-eyed face in a mass of red-tipped black curls.
She turned from the mini-friggie where she’d taken a bottle of water, put on a professional smile when Eve stepped to the doorway.
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
“NYPSD.” Eve lifted her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’d like a few minutes of your time.”
“Of course. It’s about Edward.” The smile faded away. “I just heard. The media flash came over my comp. Please, sit. Do you want some coffee? It’s really terrible coffee, but . . .”
She stopped, shook her head, dropped down into one of the visitor’s chairs rather than behind her desk. “He was murdered. That’s what the media flash said. I needed a minute.”
She looked down at the unopened bottle of water in her hand. “Just a minute before I looked at the details. Are you going to give them to me?”
“The investigation’s ongoing. You had a relationship with Edward Mira.”
“Yes. Briefly, stupidly. Last spring. I’m married—but you must already know that. My husband and I were having some issues, and I had an affair.” She paused again, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I knew the senator through my work, and . . . I have no excuse for it.”
“Who ended it?”
“I did, when I came to my senses. Trying to live two lives? It’s awful, and when that initial buzz wears off—and it does—the guilt and stress are huge. I couldn’t live with it.”
“You ended it? What was the senator’s reaction?”
“He was . . . What’s a couple steps down from annoyed? Irked? He’s a powerful, commanding man—that was part of the attraction—and I’d say accustomed to ending his affairs on his time clock. But it wasn’t ugly.”
She took a breath. “I want to say I liked him, personally. I hated his politics. That was another part of the appeal—those passionate debates. I can’t believe he’s gone, and this way. Murdered. The flash said he’d been hanged. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God.” Asha squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t understand how anyone could . . . I don’t understand.”
“Was he irked enough when you ended things to pressure you, threaten you?”
“Oh, no.” When she opened her eyes again, they gleamed behind a sheen of tears. “Lieutenant, it didn’t mean that much to either of us, that’s the really sad part. I was lashing out at my husband, and Edward was simply taking an opportunity. I hurt Jack and nearly destroyed my marriage because I was feeling angry and unappreciated.”
“You told your husband about the affair.”
“I couldn’t live with the lie. How could we ever get things back if I tried to? I’m very lucky Jack agreed to couple’s counseling instead of walking out the door. I forgot—and since it’s my second time around, I shouldn’t have—but I forgot marriage is work, with peaks and valleys. I won’t forget it again.”
“Can you tell me where you were yesterday afternoon, from about four to six?”
“I can tell you I was right here until about six.”
“Can you verify that?”
“There were at least six of us here, and I wasn’t the last to leave. You can ask anyone. Is that when he was killed?”
“I also need to know where you were last night/early this morning. Say from midnight to four.”
“Wait.” She sipped water, blinked at the tears. “Ah . . . I met Jack and some friends for dinner, about seven, then we went to a vid, polished it off with drinks after. I think Jack and I got home about twelve-thirty. I know I was tired—Jack’s the social one, and late nights take a toll on me. I went to bed.”
“Was it a planned evening?”
“The dinner was; the rest evolved. Like I said, Jack’s social. I’d figured dinner, then home in my pj’s. Marriage is work,” she repeated with a shaky smile. “I guess everyone says this, but I didn’t kill him. Why would I? He was a mistake, but it was my mistake.”
Peabody noted down names and contacts to verify the alibis. They left Asha sitting in her visitor’s chair.
“My impression is she alibied herself and her husband,” Peabody said before Eve could ask.
“Yeah, she did. We’re going to verify, and we’re going to check out the husband, but everything she said rang the truth bell for me. Unless we feel differently after looking at the husband, my sense is if he wanted payback, he’d have killed or attempted to kill the senator way before this.”
They got back in the car. “We’ll take the next.”
“Lauren Canford.”
“Her. Run the husband on the way.”
While Eve bitched about parking in the madness of downtown, and finally resigned herself to the kick-your-ass price of a slot in an underground lot, Peabody reported.
“Family law attorney, does the pro bono thing every Friday in a legal aid clinic. First marriage for him, and no criminal.”
“I’m keeping them on the list.” Eve hiked to the grimy elevator. “But they currently hold last place. What floor is Canford on?”
“Eighteen.”
Eve debated, very briefly, then used her master to bypass the lobby.
“Woo!”
“Tired of dicking around.”
They got off on eighteen to much shinier, and worked their way down to Lauren Canford’s offices.
No casual dress here, Eve noted, and no cheerful noise in the small, glossy outer office.
Eve stepped up to reception and the man in his twenties with a bold blue tie precisely knotted at the base of his really long neck.
“Lauren Canford.”
He didn’t bother to glance up, but continued to work on his screen. “Your name?”
Eve put her badge on the counter. He glanced at it, briefly.
“I’ll also need your name.”
“It’s on the badge, right there with NYPSD. My partner and I need to speak with Lauren Canford.”
“Mrs. Canford’s in meetings all day.”
“Kid?”
He did look up at her now, all bored resentment. “One of those meetings is going to be with me, unless you want to be the one to inform Mrs. Canford that we’ll have that meeting at Central at the end of her workday. I can arrange to have it in one of our Interview rooms.”
“I don’t believe you have the authority to—”
“Law school, right? You want to test my authority, Junior?” She leaned in close. “Try it.”
Resentment went to sulk as he tapped his earpiece, swiveled around to give her his back. He muttered, but she caught police, threatened, bitch.
She found those three words very satisfying.
“Through those doors, straight back to the end of the hall. Mrs. Canford can give you ten minutes.”
“Good choice, all around.”
“And my name’s not Kid or Junior,” he called after her. “It’s Mylo.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
Most of the office doors that lined the area stood closed. She did see a man, suit jacket off, tie loosened, sweating over his ’link.
“You want to be reasonable about this, Barry.”
From the look in his eye, Eve judged the guy didn’t figure Barry for reasonable.
Lauren Canford’s office stood open. Pausing at the doorway, Eve saw the woman, black suit sharp as a blade, raven hair in an equally sharp wedge around a sternly attractive face.
A man—pinstripes, paisley tie—stood beside her desk.
“Your identification, please,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Curtis Flack, the head of this organization. I’m also a lawyer, and will represent Mrs. Canford’s interests here. Your identification.”
Eve took out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Detective Peabody.”
“And the nature of this visit?”
“You both know the nature of this visit, so let’s cut the bull. Since you’re using your right to an attorney, I have to figure you need one. We’ll do this on the record, and I’ll read you your rights.”