quiet and warm.”
He took Margaret Califano’s arm and led her to the elevator.
“I’ll be up in a moment, Mother.” Callie turned to Sherlock. “I’ve never seen her like this before in my life.”
Sherlock said, looking at Margaret Califano as the elevator doors slid shut, “It’s tough for a child to see a parent fall apart like that, I know. And how are you holding up, Ms. Markham?”
“Call me Callie. I’m not in shock yet, but my mom’s awfully close. Thank you, Agent Sherlock, for getting the house for my mother. But really, I don’t need to go to this house in Colfax. My mother has four very close women friends who will stick close to her if you let them, provide her all the support she’ll need. They’ll be a real comfort to her.
“I think it would be better that I stay here, keep busy, work with you to find out who killed my stepfather. Of course I’ll stay at a hotel, maybe under a different name, so the media won’t bother me.”
“No way, Ms. Markham,” Detective Raven said. He’d been speaking to Savich, and he spoke without even looking at her.
“My mother needs protection and comfort and support, I don’t. Actually, I think I’d like to have the media find me.”
Ben said, “Nobody but an idiot wants to deal with the media.”
Callie drew a deep breath, fanned her hands in front of her. “I thought you would have known. The thing is, I’m one of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Detective Raven, that you know I was Justice Califano’s stepdaughter, but you haven’t bothered to check out what I do for a living. I’m an investigative reporter for
“Well, sh—” He wanted to curse big time, but didn’t.
“So some would say,” she agreed, “what almost came out of your mouth. Nice save.”
“So you caught a reporter jerk in bed with another reporter jerk and you’re the third reporter in this triad?”
“Hey, another good save. You didn’t call me a jerk.”
“The boot doesn’t fit just yet. Damn, what are we going to do with you? Why don’t we go sit down in one our primo interview rooms?”
Callie looked him up and down. “As long as it’s warm. My feet are wet. Yes, all right, let’s go talk. But I want some tea before you sweat me.”
Savich laughed. Officer Nancy Kreider said, “Personally, I’d kill for some coffee.”
“That would be okay, too,” Callie said, then felt a rush of misery. She cleared her throat, aware that they were all looking at her. “The thing is my stepfather believed coffee is the first cousin to evil tobacco and wouldn’t let it through the front door. I once brought a thermos of coffee to their house, had to swig it on the sly.”
Officer Kreider patted her arm. “I’ll send someone to get us coffee and bring it to the interview room.”
Sherlock pulled two teabags out of her purse. “Dillon wouldn’t exactly call coffee a first cousin to evil tobacco, but close enough. Could we have some hot water?”
Callie walked down a corridor of dirty linoleum, the color of lettuce, streaks of muddy water making puddles here and there where the linoleum had caved in, thinking that a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America had been strangled, and they were talking about coffee. There weren’t a whole lot of people around, cops or otherwise. She thought this was odd until she realized it was Saturday morning.
The small interview room was warm, if nothing else. There were half a dozen chairs and a single scarred table. The walls were painted the same lettuce color as the linoleum in the corridor. Callie thought if she were a criminal, she’d confess, just to get out of this room.
She shrugged out of her coat, sat down, and slipped her boots off so her socks could dry out.
No one said anything until the coffee and hot water for the tea arrived.
Callie looked from Detective Raven, who’d taken off his leather jacket, to the special agents. Officer Kreider sat against the wall, saying nothing. “I was on the debate team in high school. I had quite an edge because my stepfather taught me. My mother wasn’t married to him then, but they’d been seeing each other for at least six months as I remember. He was brilliant, I recognized that even as a self-absorbed teenager. I told him once when he demolished me in an argument that he could probably convince a fencepost to tango.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, Callie burst into tears. Sherlock handed her a Kleenex. She hiccuped, then managed to get herself under control.
Ben Raven rolled up his shirtsleeves as he said, “How long was it before your mother married Judge Califano?”
She took a slow sip of the strong black coffee until she was sure she wouldn’t lose it again. “She didn’t marry him until I went to Bryn Mawr. She took a long time deciding, I guess, for the simple reason that she was and is very rich. Even a Justice of the Supreme Court could have been interested in her money.”
“And the other reason?”
“You’re fast, Agent Sherlock. My aunt Marie, her sister, married a second time only to have her new husband sexually abuse her twelve-year-old daughter, my cousin, Moira. I’ve never asked her, but I think that was the other big reason why she waited.”
“So,” Ben said, “she waited until you were out of the house.”
“She was careful,” Callie said. “My mom’s always been very careful with me. So, no matter how much she believed in her second husband, I guess she wouldn’t take a chance.”
“Is she that careful about everything?”
“She’s brilliant herself, Agent Savich. She came from a rich family, it’s true, but she didn’t sit back and let servants pop peeled grapes into her mouth. She started her own business, and now she owns four high-end boutiques in the metropolitan area, all of them doing quite well indeed. I think she’s a little too driven, but that’s just the way she is. To answer your question, she’s careful about money. She has hers and, I suppose, my stepfather kept his own accounts. She earns the money, and she’s always protected it. That, and her reputation, it’s very important to her, and it’s not got anything to do with her family name. It’s because of her own pride in what she’s accomplished, in what she is. I liked to see the two of them debate something, anything.” A sob caught in her throat again, and she stared down at her feet. “Yeah, she’s careful about everything.”
Savich took a sip of tea before saying, “What did your stepfather think about her financial attitudes? The separate accounts and all that? Since he was an older man, wouldn’t he have expected joint accounts, expect perhaps to manage his wife’s money?”
Callie shrugged. “I wasn’t at home enough to form an opinion. When I visited, neither of them ever raised any contentious subjects. I remember only one real argument I walked in on and that was five years ago.”
“Do you remember what the argument was about?” Sherlock said.
“She was angry about something he’d done, something she’d found out about. I don’t know what it was, but my mom was nearly in orbit. Then they both saw me and clamped a lid on it. Again, this was five years ago, hardly relevant to anything.”
Detective Raven said, “Are you aware if your stepfather was ever involved with anyone other than your mother? Did he ever make a pass at you?”
She shook her head at him. “That’s such a strange question to ask about my stepfather. He simply wasn’t like that.”
Savich said, “So, from what you heard five years ago, do you think your mom was winning the argument?”
“This is quite a round robin you’ve got going here, and all of you fall into it so smoothly. My mother could argue with the devil, Agent Savich. If she and my stepfather ever got into it other than that one time, my nickel would be on her, mainly for persistence. She’s strong, my mother. This horrible murder has flattened her, but she’ll rebound, you’ll see.”
Sherlock asked, “Do you think she loved her husband?”
“Yes, I believe it. As I said, around me, they rarely argued, never questioned what the other chose to do. When they were alone? Sure, why not? I assume all married folk argue from time to time. Why all these questions? Do you think my mother killed him?”
