I sat for a minute, sipping my water.
Rhea took a corner booth and ordered lentil soup and a sparkling water.
As the waitress turned to fill Rhea’s order, I knew I had to move quickly. If I could get to Rhea before she started reading the paper, our encounter would seem like a complete surprise. I stood and held my credentials in my right hand as I took the five steps to the corner booth.
Rhea looked up at me and said without emotion, “Lucy took my order already.”
“Ms. Wellmy-Steinberg, I’m not a waiter.”
“Then I’ll ask you to step away from me. I don’t talk to reporters.”
This was the second time someone had mistaken me for a reporter. I wondered if I needed to upgrade my wardrobe. I said, “I’m not a reporter. I’m a New York homicide detective looking into the murder of Emily Parker.”
She didn’t flinch or give anything away. She was confused but not skittish.
Rhea surprised me by saying, “What have you found out? I’ve been sick thinking about what happened to her.”
I took the opportunity to sit across from her in the booth. I might have been in a little shock. This was too easy. I was already in an interview and almost at a loss for words. Almost.
I looked at her with my best sincere face and said, “I wish I had information to give you. I’m still gathering facts. When was the last time you saw Emily?”
She paused and looked at me. I noticed for the first time that her eyes were a little bloodshot. Finally, Rhea said, “You think I don’t realize who you are. I do talk to my husband once in a while. I even talk with my sister-in-law, Beth. You’ve met Beth. You’re lucky she thought you were a joke. Otherwise you might not be sitting upright.”
I tried to push forward with the interview. “So when was the last time you saw Emily?”
Rhea just stared at me. Then she said, “Am I a suspect, Detective?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Is my husband?”
“I don’t think either of us has the time to sit here all day while I exclude suspects one at a time. If you’re telling the truth and you really want to know who killed Emily, I don’t see why you won’t speak with me.” Sometimes logic wins out in a situation like this.
Rhea said, “Because I already spoke to the FBI and the DC homicide detectives.”
“And what did you tell them?”
She smiled. She had the kind of perfect, straight white teeth that a combination of nature and good orthodontia can produce. “You’re a funny guy, Detective. You see, I’m not only married to a Supreme Court justice. I also graduated from Columbia Law.”
“Impressive.”
“And I don’t waste time on people like you.”
“Like me? What am I?”
“An irritant. Not much more. Now you can go about your business and tell whoever sent you here to back off.”
“I hope—”
“I said, move on, Detective.”
Her tone and inflection were as good as any beat cop’s in the Bronx. I still had no idea who had killed Emily, and I was definitely not impressed with her friends.
Chapter 46
About forty minutes later, I found myself on a park bench, looking at my friend Roberta Herring. I liked the sun on my face.
We both ate gyros bought from a street vendor. Roberta said, “This guy has the best gyro I’ve eaten in DC. Still not as good as the guy near Claremont Park in the Bronx.”
I agreed the food was good, though it had taken a stack of napkins to stem the flow of tzatziki sauce.
Roberta looked at me and said, “So your whole interview with the justice’s wife was a bust?”
“Not a complete bust. I didn’t have to eat that shitty food. But she shut me down pretty quick.”
Somehow Roberta had kept her blue business suit spot-free while munching on her gyro. All I could do was look at her and think how far she’d come from working a foot patrol in the Bronx.
Our bench was next to a running trail. I felt a pang of guilt every time a runner darted past us. Each giant bite of the gyro seemed to calm me down.
I said, “Harry Grissom told me to come home.”
“Will you listen?”
I cocked my head at her and said, “What do you think?”
Roberta started to speak in a stream of consciousness. She said, “I wonder if there are politics involved. Are agencies guarding their turf? Even though the kid from the FBI is working with you, is he telling the truth? Is that why the DC cops talked to you? I wonder if you’re close to something.”