Emma put her hand to her mouth. "Sounds weak and selfish, doesn't it? But she just . . . took it out on him. You know? She'd pick a fight, then if she didn't get him going, she'd unplug his computer while he was working so it crashed. Then he'd get a migraine. And she'd scream at him, and he'd start bashing the wall to make the pain stop. Honestly. I think he was a saint. I would have killed her. Oops. Good job, Emma. I didn't mean to say that."
"Emma, do you know Wally Jefferson?"
Emma shook her head. "No. Who is he?"
"He's Petersen's driver."
"I told you last time you asked me that I didn't know Tor very well. Years ago, before I knew Jason, when Tor was between wives, Rick wanted to fix us up, but Merrill didn't think Tor would ever stay with anybody. She knew he wasn't for me. I heard about Rick's car and the cocaine on the news yesterday, what-?"
"Did you know that Merrill used cocaine?"
Emma nodded. "That's another thing they fought about."
"You held back a lot, didn't you? Thanks, Emma. You were a great help."
"I can't feel too guilty, April. You're very smart. I knew you'd find out. I didn't want it to come from me. Snorting is what Tor and Merrill did together. Rick didn't like drugs and neither did Tor's wife. For Tor and Merrill it was like going out drinking. I knew they were high when they came backstage."
"Emma, what happened when you left them at the restaurant? And don't hold back anything now."
Emma was quiet for a moment. She closed her eyes and seemed to go into another place. "I was in a hurry. There was a limo parked outside. The driver was a white man. Yes, he was—white, I'm sure of it. Was Tor's driver white or black?"
"Black. What kind of car?"
"I don't know. He offered me a ride, that's how I know he was white. They do that sometimes when they have more than an hour to kill, you know, to make money off the books. I turned to look at him. I thought about it, but I don't like negotiating with them over price. It's makes mc nervous. A taxi was coming down the street right then. There was snow on the street, but it wasn't snowing. A woman got out of the taxi. I got in. That's it."
"Do you know what Tor's wife looks like?"
"I've seen her picture in the papers."
"Could the woman getting out of the taxi have been her?"
"Oh, God, I hadn't thought of that. God, I don't know. Oh, God, April, I was in a hurry. I remember she had black tights on, and she was wearing a black mink coat. I remember it because it was just like Merrill's. God, Merrill had a gorgeous coat."
"What did the woman's coat look like?"
"I don't know—big, swing skirt. That's all I can rcmember."
"Could it have been Merrill's coat?"
Emma closed her eyes. "Merrill was wearing lier suede coat that night, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
She shook her head. "It wasn't Merrill's coat."
"What about her shoes?"
"I didn't see her shoes. I was looking at the coat."
"Could it have been Merrill's coat and a man's feet?"
"Don't ask me these things, April. I don't know." Emma was getting frantic.
"Would you recognize the woman if you saw her in the same coat again?"
"I don't know—maybe."
"Okay, what else did you see?"
"I saw another couple come out of the restaurant. It couldn't have been Rick getting out of the taxi. I'm sure I would have known if I'd seen Rick. I know his walk. I know how his body moves. I know his gestures. I know he wasn't there."
"You think you didn't see him. The eye sees what the mind is used to seeing. Could Rick fit into Merrill's coat?" April glanced down at her plate and realized she'd eaten more than half the tuna salad Emma had set out.
"Oh, God, don't put me in this position. I don't know who was in the mink coat. It could have been anyone. What about the murder in Rick's car? Could he have anything to do with that?"
"Another mystery, Emma. Look, I have to go. Does Jason know all of this?"
Emma shook her head. "Merrill was afraid of Jason. She thought if he knew how unhappy she was, he'd try to get her into therapy. And she was right, he would have."
Jason's face was stony cold as April came into his office and took a chair. "Any news?" he demanded.
Hello and how are you, too. April looked around at the clocks that didn't chime. All that ticking every day would drive her nuts. It was exactly noon. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since she'd seen him last. Since then, however, she'd offended him and everybody else she knew. How many times did she have to say she was sorry for doing what she was paid to do. She cleared her throat, choking on repentance.
"Look, I'm sorry about what happened last night. I didn't know Iriarte would act that way," she began.
Jason didn't reply. His body was perfectly still.
"If you wanted an apology, that was it." April crossed her legs and swiveled back and forth in Jason's analyzing chair. She wondered what it was like to be a patient, having to tell some doctor every single thought that popped into her head. She used to think that by virtue of his profession Jason could read her mind, but now she knew he couldn't. He didn't know she'd just had lunch with his wife.
Jason didn't move. He was playing his waiting game. April knew how it worked because she often played it herself. Jason could make silence as deep and forbidding as the darkest tunnel full of scaly monsters. But April came from a culture that believed the tongue was the enemy of the neck. Better to keep mouth shut than say wrong thing and be hung from nearest tree.
"So, what's on your mind?" She broke first.
"A lot of things, April."
"Want to tell me?"
"Who can trust a cop?"
April blinked. "Who can trust a shrink?"
They sat in uncompanionable silence. Jason played with a piece of paper on his desk. The back of his hand brushed the desktop. "Why don't you fill me in."
April watched a clock pendulum move back and forth. "It looks like Petersen died first," she said.
"How do you know?"
"The bloodstains on his coat. Merrill Liberty bled to death on his back. That means he had to go down first."
Jason frowned. "What's the significance?"
"Petersen may have died of a heart attack, but not from seeing Merrill assaulted. Merrill was struck in the throat, probably from the front because there were no bruises on her body to show she'd been restrained or grabbed from behind. Another thing is she bled a lot, but the wound was very small, very neatly done. It probably took several minutes for her to die."
Jason coughed. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Your friend may be a very cruel killer. Why did you ask me over, Jason? I'm really pressed for time." April watched him play with a piece of paper, watched the pendulum of the clock on his desk. The minutes ticked by. He didn't answer so she went on. "The toxicology reports came in on Tor Petersen. Turns out he was a big cocaine user, so was Merrill—there was cocaine in the trunk of Rick's car."
"Do you know what kind of weapon killed Merrill?" Jason interrupted.
"Some kind of pointed object. I get all the catalogs of knives you can send away for in the mail, and some you can't. There's a whole arsenal of deadly blades out there. But I haven't seen anything that fits the description of this murder weapon."
"How about an ice pick?"
April shook her head. "The ME measured. We measured. Too big, believe it or not."
"Hmm. So you think Petersen died first. Was the cause of death related to complications of a drug overdose?"
"The report says no."
"They're still certain it was the heart?"
"Yes, they say it's the heart."
"But you're not sure."
April hesitated. "I'm not convinced it was a natural. But I don't know how it could have been murder yet."
"Okay. Was Merrill with him when he died?"