Her lips trembled. Tears pooled in her eyes but didn’t spill over. It broke his heart. “I loved him, too,” he said softly. “We all did.”

“But he wasn’t your whole life.”

“He wasn’t yours, either.” At her expression, he said it again. “He wasn’t, Aunt Patti.”

Her desk phone jangled, interrupting the moment. She answered, voice thick. “Captain O’Shay.” She listened a moment, eyebrows furrowing. “When?”

After another moment of silence, she nodded. “Have them set her up in an interview room. I’m on my way there.”

She hung up, looked at him. “You were right. Yvette Borger’s very much alive. She’s been picked up. They’re bringing her in.”

“Request permission to question her.”

“Granted. But I get first crack at her.”

59

Thursday, May 17, 2007

9:50 a.m.

Patti entered the interview room. She had let Yvette wait and worry, using the minutes to compose herself. To prepare her words. School her demeanor.

Now, she realized, she shouldn’t have bothered. She was about to toss her calculated approach right out the window.

“Hello, Yvette.”

The young woman turned to face her. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?” Patti crossed to the table and took the seat directly across from Yvette.

“Sneaking out that way.”

“I worried you were dead. That the Artist had gotten you.”

She shifted slightly in her seat. “He didn’t.”

“Quite obviously.” Patti cocked her head, studying the young woman. “What was so important that you were willing to risk your life for it?”

“I was meeting someone.”

Just as Stacy and Spencer had concluded. “I thought you were a smart girl. I see I was wrong.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Really? There’s a madman after you and you’re sneaking out to meet some guy-”

“Not ‘some’ guy. Someone special.”

“Let me guess,” Patti said. “Riley Benson.”

Her mouth dropped with surprise and Patti smiled, though without pleasure. “That’s who you gave me the slip for last time. June told me.”

Yvette met her gaze, as if in challenge. “Did she tell you she doesn’t think I’m good enough for him? She told me.”

“This isn’t about June. Or Riley. You’re not a teenager. And this isn’t playtime.”

“I know it’s serious. It’s just-”

“Your friend is dead. You could be next.”

“Stop trying to scare me.”

“You need to be scared. Maybe you’ll use some of those smarts you insist God gave you.”

Yvette fisted her fingers. “Why do you have to ruin everything!”

“I’m not your parent. Grow up.”

“No, you’re my employer, aren’t you? But just because you paid me to hang around doesn’t mean you own me.”

Patti leaned forward, surprised at the force of her own anger. It took all her control to keep her tone even, her voice low and clear. “Why aren’t you scared, Yvette?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re not acting like you believe your own story.”

“That’s just dumb.”

“Alma Maytree was hit in the head with a frying pan.”

“So?”

“You hit your father in the head with a coffeepot. Didn’t you…Carrie Sue?”

Yvette went white. “You know about that?”

“We know.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“But you wanted to.”

That came from Spencer, who had entered the room, Tony with him. Yvette looked at them, expression registering surprise, then fear.

“That’s not true.”

“Your father thought it was.”

“My old man’s a son of a bitch who-”

“Deserved to die?” Spencer asked.

“Who can go straight to hell,” she finished.

“Maybe he has. He’s dead, did you know?”

She hadn’t known, Patti saw by Yvette’s expression. She also saw that the girl wasn’t upset by the news.

“What does he have to do with anything?”

“That Sunday you say you couldn’t reach Tonya, a neighbor saw her drive off with a woman with long, dark hair.”

“What?”

Spencer repeated himself, then asked, “Where were you that Sunday?”

“I called her several times. Patti heard the calls.” She looked at Patti. “Right?”

“I did. But you made those calls from a mobile phone.”

“So? What difference does that…”

She let the words trail off. Getting it, Patti saw by her expression. Cell calls could be made from anywhere. Even from beside the very person you were dialing. Even when that person was dead.

Of course, cell phone records couldn’t pinpoint exact location but they could verify vicinity by establishing which towers the calls travelled through.

“I repeat,” Spencer said, “that Sunday, where were you?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “In the morning I hung out around the apartment. Then I went to the Quarter. Spent the afternoon shopping.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“No.”

“Run into a friend? Stop into a shop where they know you?”

“No.”

“How about at your apartment? Did you speak with any of your neighbors?”

She shook her head, expression stricken.

“Is there anyone who can verify your story?”

“I don’t think…I was alone. All day.”

“What about the night Miss Alma was killed and Samson poisoned? Monday, May 7.”

“I have most Mondays off. I was home. I went to bed early. Slept all night.”

“That’s it?”

She looked pleadingly at Patti. “The Artist broke in that night. He could have killed me, but-”

“He didn’t, did he, Yvette?”

“He left me a note and locket pendant. With Tonya’s picture in it.”

“Why do you think he didn’t kill you?” Patti asked, surprised by her own ferocity, by the way the words seemed to explode out of her.

Yvette clasped her hands together. “I don’t know. How could I? Maybe because he…he loves me?”

“We want to believe you, kid,” Tony said, tone fatherly. “I want to. Problem is-”

“You’re so full of shit,” Spencer said. “You’re a liar and an opportunist.”

“I’m not! I-I want a lawyer.”

“Sure. Call one when you get home.”

“Home? I don’t understand.”

“We’re not keeping you, Carrie Sue. You’re not under arrest.”

“But what about-”

“NOPD protection?” Patti asked. “You’ve got it. If you still want it?”

“Of course I still want it!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Are you nuts? The Artist exists! He’s after me!”

“Okay then, an officer will accompany you home. He or another officer will be assigned to protect you.”

Yvette looked confused. “So I can go?”

“Absolutely.” Patti turned to Tony. “Detective Sciame, will you accompany Ms. Borger downstairs?”

“Sure, Captain.” He understood what he was to do: accompany her downstairs, hand her off to a patrol unit who would bring her home, then stay to “protect” her.

Tony stood and smiled at the young woman. “Ready?”

When the door snapped shut behind them, Patti turned to Spencer. “I want a search warrant for her apartment. You know what we’re looking for-anything to link her to the murders of Messinger and Maytree.”

“Got it, Captain.” He stood. “You coming?”

“In a minute. You go on.”

He frowned slightly, as if he found her behavior bizarre, but did as she requested.

For a long time Patti sat in the empty interview room. She rubbed the back of her neck, working at the knots of tension. She was having difficulty wrapping her mind around this. She trusted Spencer. And Tony. Everything they said made sense. The evidence against Yvette’s version of the truth was piling up.

So why couldn’t she fully buy into it? Why couldn’t she accept Franklin as Sammy’s killer? Why did she want to grasp at far-fetched straws instead?

“If you accept that Franklin killed him, you’ve got to move on. Let go of Sammy.”

“This whole thing with Yvette was a way of keeping him in your life.”

The words hurt terribly.

They hurt because they were true.

Tears burned her eyes; a lump formed in her throat. She didn’t want to let Sammy go. She wasn’t ready for a life without him.