And turned to him.
And lifted her face to his.
That was the first time.
He had been with her a total of fourteen times since that October night, the fifteenth of October, the night he'd accepted the industry's coveted award, the night he'd been gifted, too, with this girl, this woman, this unbelievably passionate creature he'd coveted since September. Fourteen times. Including their hurried coupling on New Year's Eve.
His eyes brimmed with tears.
For Christmas he'd given her a small lapis pendant on a gold-
'You saw it,' he said. 'It was on the floor. Beside her. The chain must have broken when . . . when ... do you remember it? A small teardrop-shaped piece of lapis with a gold loop holding it to the chain? I bought it in an antiques shop on Lamont. She loved it. She wore it all the time. I gave it to her for our first Christmas together. I loved her so much.'
She had broken off with Handler by then.
Told him she no longer wished to see him. This was when he came down for the Thanksgiving holiday. Told him it was over and done with. Said she wanted nothing further to do with him. He accused her of having found a new boyfriend. Told her he'd kill them both.
Hodding was in bed with her when she reported this to him.
A room he'd rented in a hotel near the Stem.
Hookers running through the hallway outside.
They both laughed at Handler's boyish threat.
On New Year's Eve . . .
He covered his face with his hands.
Wept into his hands.
Meyer felt no sympathy. Neither did Carella.
On New Year's Eve ...
* * * *
14
The Assistant District Attorney was a woman named Nellie Brand, thirty-two years old and smart as hell. Sand-colored hair cut in a breezy flying wedge, blue eyes intently alert. Wearing a brown tweed suit, a tan turtleneck sweater, and brown pumps with sensible high heels, she sat on the edge of the long table in the Interrogation Room, legs crossed, a pastrami sandwich in her right hand. A little cardboard dish of soggy French fries was on the table beside her, together with a cardboard container of Coca-Cola.
'Willing to risk a quickie, huh?' she said, and bit into the sandwich.
She was married, Carella noticed. Gold wedding band on the ring finger of her left hand. He was drinking coffee and eating a tuna and tomato on toast.
'According to what he told us,' Meyer said, 'he simply had to see her.' He was still angry. Seething inside. Voice edged with sarcasm. Carella had never seen him this way. Nor was he eating anything. He was trying to lose seven pounds. This probably made him even angrier.
'Ah, l'amour,' Nellie said and rolled her blue eyes.
In some countries, women wore the wedding band on the right hand. Carella had read that someplace. Austria? Maybe Germany. Or maybe both. Nellie Brand was a married woman who, Carella suspected, might not appreciate a married man her age playing around with a sixteen-year-old kid. He further suspected she might have preferred dining with her husband to eating deli with two weary detectives who'd spent most of the afternoon and evening with a man who may have killed his own baby daughter and the sixteen-year-old who'd been sitting with her. But here she was at eight o'clock on a cold and icy Friday night, trying to determine whether they had anything that would stick here should they decide to charge him. They would have to charge him soon or let him go. Those were the rules, Harold. Miranda-Escobedo. You played it by the rules or you didn't play at all.
'Got there at?' Nellie said.
'Quarter past one at the outside,' Carella said.
'Doorman told you this?'
'Yes.'
'Reliable?'
'Seems so.'
'And left when?'
'Quarter to two.'
'Half-hour even,' Nellie said.
'Had to see her,' Meyer said. Steaming. About to erupt. Thinking about his own daughter, Carella figured.
'How long did he say this'd been going on?'
'Since October.'
'When?'
'The fifteenth,' Carella said.
'Birth date of great men,' Nellie said, but did not amplify. 'Told you all this, huh?'
'Yeah. Which troubles us, too. The fact that he . . .'
'Sure, why would he?'
'Unless he's figuring . . .'
'Yeah, there's that.'
'You know, the . . .'
'Sure, show 'em the death and they'll accept the fever,' Nellie said.
'Exactly. If he thinks he's looking at murder, he'll settle for adultery.'
'He gives us the old Boy-Meets-Girl . . .'
'Pulls a Jimmy Swaggart . . .'
'Tearfully begs forgiveness . . .'
'And walks off into the sunset.'
Nellie washed down a fry with a swallow of Coke. 'He knew what the autopsy report said, is that right?'
'About sperm in the . . . ?'
'Yeah.'
'Yes, he was informed earlier.'
'So he knew one of the possibilities was rape-murder.'
'Yes.'
'And now you've got him up here, and you're asking questions about New Year's Eve . . .'
'Oh, sure, he's no dummy. He had to figure we were thinking he was our man.'
'Which you're still thinking,' Nellie said.
'Otherwise we wouldn't have invited you here for dinner,' Carella said, and smiled.
'Yes, thank you, it's delicious,' Nellie said, and bit into the sandwich again. 'So let me hear your case,' she said. 'You can skip means and opportunity, I know he had both. Let me hear motive.'
'We'd have to wing it,' Carella said.
'I've got all night,' Nellie said.
Carella repeated essentially what Hodding had told them in this very room not an hour earlier.
If it had not been so cold on New Year's Eve, he would have planned to walk Annie home, the way he'd done that first time in October and several times since. Make love to her in the park. Annie standing under a tree with her skirt up around her hips and her panties down around her ankles, Hodding nailing her to the tree. His words. But it was so damn cold that night. He and his wife had virtually frozen to death just waiting for a taxi to take them over to the Kerr apartment, and Hodding knew that lovemaking in the park was out of the question, however strong his desire. He had it in his head that he and Annie had to usher in the new year by making love. An affirmation-
'Really gone over this kid, huh?' Nellie asked.
'Totally,' Meyer said.
-an affirmation of their bond. To seal their relationship. Fuck her senseless at the start of the new year. His words again. And the more he drank-
'Was he really drunk? Or do you think that was an act? To get out of the place.'