Susan looked at me. 'That about right?'
'On the money,' I said.
'Talking to me?'
'Yes,' I said.
'That's all you want?'
'I need to know some things,' I said.
She drank some Scotch. Susan had sounded reasonable. Now I sounded reasonable. Hawk had brought her whisky. The whisky made her feel better.
'Like what?' she said.
'What happened to Abner Fancy?'
I could see her throat tighten. She stared at me without speaking.
'Shaka,' I said.
Her voice had a squeezed sound when she spoke.
'My fa. who?'
'Your father?' I said.
She shook her head.
'Your father killed him, or had it done,' I said.
'No.'
'Bonnie,' Susan said. 'Did your father kill Abner because of you?'
Bonnie shook her head and drank some Scotch.
'Because you had a liaison with a black man?'
Bonnie kept shaking her head, her head down, looking at the floor.
'Because you produced a mulatto child?'
Bonnie's head came up and her eyes widened.
'Whom you gave away?' Susan said. 'To Emily Gordon?'
'You and your mother have been paying Barry Gordon cover-up money for years,' I said.
'It was support,' she said. 'For Daryl.'
I nodded. Susan sat in an armchair across from Bonnie. I sat in front of her. Hawk leaned against the wall behind Susan, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes steady on Bonnie, his face without expression. Bonnie was still an okay-looking woman. She had spent too much time in the sun, and it had coarsened her skin. And she had spent too much time being Sonny's daughter and Ziggy's wife, and it had coarsened her soul. But I could see why Leon had considered her a hot little bitch.
'Who killed her?' I said.
'Who.?'
'Who killed Emily?'
'I don't know.'
'You do,' I said. 'You were in the bank when it happened.'
'I. ' she drank some more Scotch. 'I'm not going to talk about this.'
'How about the white guy?'
'White guy?'
'In the bank?'
'Rob,' she said. 'He did it.'
'Uh-huh? Where's Rob now?'
'I don't know.'
'Shaka killed him,' I said. 'So that Rob wouldn't talk.'
She drank some Scotch and nodded enthusiastically. 'Yes,' she said. 'That's what happened.'
'Shaka shot Rob,' I said, 'to keep Rob from confessing to the murder?'
She nodded again. She wasn't very bright, and the booze wasn't making her brighter. I shook my head.
'You killed her,' I said.
'No,' she said.
'Shaka was her lover. Rob was there on behalf of peace and love and an end to imperialist aggression. You used to be Shaka's honey and he knocked you up, then he dumped you for Emily. You shot her to get Shaka back.'
