Amanda didn’t answer the question. ‘I was hoping you could help us with the timeline.’ She turned to Kilpatrick. ‘You said that you packed Jo into her car Monday morning?’
‘Figure of speech.’ Kilpatrick saw that he’d painted himself into a corner. ‘I packed the car for her Sunday night. I don’t know what time she left Monday morning.’ Kilpatrick’s eyes kept nervously going to Reuben. ‘So the last I saw her was Sunday night. We were at a party.’
Faith asked, ‘She drove herself to rehab in her own car?’
Kilpatrick had seen Faith looking in the garage at Jo Figaroa’s Range Rover. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘And you?’ Amanda asked Reuben.
‘Sunday night,’ Kilpatrick answered before his client could. ‘Reuben was at the party too. So was Jo. She left early. Had a headache, wanted to pack, I don’t know. Reuben took some pain pills when he got in. This is Sunday night, after the party. He woke up Monday morning and assumed Jo had left for rehab. In a town car, because her Rover was still here.’ He was just making this up as he went along. ‘You know with rehab, they don’t let the patients make any calls home for the first two weeks, so we had no way of knowing whether or not she arrived at the clinic.’
Amanda could’ve punched all kinds of holes in the story, but she only nodded.
Reuben asked, ‘Who killed her?’
‘We’re not sure that she was murdered.’
‘The picture,’ Reuben said. ‘Someone hit her face. Beat her.’ He looked away. His clenched fists were the size of footballs. It was the first time he had registered any emotion about his wife. ‘Who killed her?’
‘Ms. Wagner,’ Kilpatrick interjected. ‘I feel that you should know that Jo had an Oxy habit. Pretty serious. Fig had no idea until she got busted. That’s why she’s in rehab. Was going to rehab.’ He stopped to swallow, clearly flustered. ‘You should be looking for her dealer. Underworld people.’
Faith remembered what Will had said about Angie supplying drugs to young girls. Her way of helping them stay off the streets. Had she supplied drugs to Jo Figaroa, too?
‘You have an impressive gun collection.’ Amanda looked around the room, pretending that she hadn’t noticed the arsenal before. ‘Is it a hobby, or are you worried about your family?’
Reuben fixed his steely gray eyes on her. ‘I take excellent care of my family.’
Kilpatrick said, ‘Ms. Wagner, I’m sure you’re familiar with Georgia HB60 section one through ten. Law enforcement officers are not allowed to ask private law-abiding citizens about guns or permits, or any other weapons, concealed or visible. Especially inside a private home.’
Faith asked, ‘Did Jo say goodbye to Anthony?’
Reuben’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes.’
Faith waited, but he obviously wasn’t going to offer more. ‘Is Anthony here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we talk to him? Maybe his mother—’
A phone rang, a piercing bell that for some reason made Faith’s hand move toward her gun. Reuben’s hand moved too. Very slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone. Faith looked at Kilpatrick. He had moved to the edge of his seat, tensed, waiting. Reuben’s eyes were no longer so steely. His almost stone-like demeanor cracked just a little bit.
They all watched him put the phone to his ear.
‘No,’ he mumbled. He waited. ‘No,’ he mumbled again. He ended the call. He shook his head once at Kilpatrick. He kept the phone in his hand, which was all right by Faith, because she wanted his dominant hand to stay occupied. ‘Sorry,’ he apologized. ‘Private matter.’
‘Reuben?’ An older woman had pushed open one of the doors. She was African American, impeccably dressed, with a choker of pearls around her neck. ‘Would you like me to bring your guests some tea or coffee?’
‘No, ma’am. We’re fine.’ Reuben smoothed down his tie. ‘Thank you. Everything is fine.’
She hesitated, then backed out of the room.
The exchange had taken seconds, but Faith had caught a glimpse of the woman’s face. Her bottom lip was quivering.
Kilpatrick explained, ‘That’s Jo’s mother. She’s got a heart condition. We’ll wait to tell her the news when she can handle it.’
‘Forgive me,’ Amanda said. ‘But was Josephine adopted?’
Reuben had regained his composure. The flat affect was back. ‘Yes. She was an infant when it happened. She never knew her mother.’
‘How sad.’ Amanda coughed into her hand. She patted her chest and coughed again. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you. Could I have some water?’
‘I’ll get it.’ Faith walked toward the kitchen.
Reuben started to stand, but Kilpatrick said, ‘It’s cool.’
Faith saw why it was cool as soon as she entered the kitchen. Bullet head. Tight black clothes. Laslo Zivcovik was sitting at the kitchen island. He was eating ice cream from the carton. The woman who had to be Miss Lindsay stood on the other side. She was wringing a white towel in her hands, clearly unsettled by what was going on in the next room. The pearls hadn’t been Faith’s only tip-off. The older woman’s lip quivered the exact same way Will had described it.
Faith said, ‘What a beautiful kitchen,’ even though the kitchen more closely resembled a padded room at an asylum. The cabinets were white. The appliances were all hidden behind white panels. The marble countertop waterfalled onto the marble floor. Even the open staircase in the back of the room was a painfully bright white.
‘Thank you.’ Miss Lindsay folded the towel. ‘My son-in-law designed it.’
That explained a lot. Reuben might as well be a slab of marble himself. ‘It must be a chore keeping it clean, especially with a little boy. Your daughter must have a lot of help.’
‘No, she does it all on her own. Cleans the house. Does all the cooking. The laundry.’
‘That’s a lot of work.’ Faith repeated, ‘Especially with a little boy.’
Laslo’s spoon clattered onto the counter. He asked Faith, ‘You need something in here?’ His Boston accent made him sound like he had cotton shoved into his cheeks.
Filling a glass of water wouldn’t take long enough, so she said, ‘I volunteered to help with the tea.’
‘I’ll get the kettle.’ Miss Lindsay opened and closed cabinet doors, which told Faith she didn’t visit much.
‘Yo.’ Laslo tapped his spoon on the counter for attention. He pointed to a hot-water dispenser, which meant that Laslo had been here a lot.
‘All these new-fangled gadgets.’ Miss Lindsay started taking down mugs. White. Gigantic. Built for Reuben Figaroa, like everything else in the house.
Faith started filling the mugs with hot water. The kitchen counter was so tall that she felt the need to lean up on her toes. She asked Miss Lindsay, ‘Are you here to watch your grandson?’
She nodded, but didn’t speak.
‘Six years old, so he must be in first grade?’ Faith filled another mug. ‘That’s such a wonderful age. Everything is exciting. They’re so funny and happy all the time. You just want to hold on to them forever.’
Miss Lindsay missed the counter. The mug shattered like ice against the marble floor, white flecks shooting everywhere.
At first, no one moved. They stared at each other in some kind of Mexican stand-off until Laslo told the old woman, ‘Go upstairs, sweetheart. I’ll clean this up.’
Miss Lindsay looked at Faith. Her lip was quivering again.
Faith said, ‘I think you met my partner yesterday. Will Trent.’
Laslo stood up. His boots crunched the broken ceramic on the floor. ‘Go upstairs and take care of Anthony. All this noise down here. You don’t want him to wake up and get scared.’
‘Of course.’ Miss Lindsay bit her lip to stop the quiver. She told Faith, ‘Good evening.’
Her cane clunked against the floor as she walked toward the back staircase. She turned to look at Faith, then she started the arduous climb. What felt like an eternity passed before her feet disappeared.
Laslo’s boots pulverized the broken mug as he took his place back at the kitchen bar. He gripped the spoon. He scooped some ice cream into his mouth and smacked his lips. His eyes were on Faith’s breasts. He said, ‘Nice tits.’