and DiNunzio scoffed again.
'Detective, she's talking to you voluntarily. You wanna continue this line of questioning, you'll have to get a subpoena and we'll meet you at the Roundhouse.'
Brinkley exchanged looks with Kovich. Neither wanted the girl taken down. Officially, she was still victim's family. It would look like they were beating on her, with the suspect already placed under. 'I don't think that'll be necessary. Paige, when was the last time you saw your mother alive?'
DiNunzio eased back into the cushy sofa, and Paige answered, 'Sunday. The day before she… you know. We were at a photo shoot.'
'You're a model, I understand.'
'Yes.'
'Why was your mother at your photo shoot?'
'She was my manager.'
'Did you ever have another manager?'
'No.'
'Did you want another manager?'
'No. She was still my manager, when she -'
'Passed,' Brinkley supplied, and Paige nodded jerkily. Brinkley shifted forward on the chair. 'What does a model's manager do, exactly?'
'She managed my career, got me the shoots, dealt with the bookers.'
Brinkley made a note. 'Bookers are what?'
'People who give you modeling jobs,' Kovich chirped up, and Brinkley looked over, surprised.
'Okay,' he said, and turned slowly back to the daughter. 'You know what I don't get?'
'What?' Paige pursed her lips, which trembled slightly. It made Brinkley wonder. He made a mental note of it, then said:
'I don't get how you stay so thin.'
'You don't eat!' Paige answered, breaking into a smile that Brinkley thought looked relieved.
'How do you not eat?' he asked. 'Me, I love food. Ribs, burgers, shakes. You give all that up?'
'Milk shakes? Uh, hello.' She laughed.
Kovich nudged Brinkley's arm heavily. 'A lot of models smoke,' he said, with a savvy smile. 'That's how they stay thin.'
Brinkley wanted to hit him, but didn't. 'What do you know about getting thin, partner? Look at you!'
The lawyers laughed, and so did the daughter. Brinkley could feel the tension ebb away and the atmosphere warm.
'I know all about this,' Kovich said. 1 got my finger on the pulse, Mick.' He put a thick finger over his wrist in case anybody missed his point, then turned to Paige. 'I have daughter, she's your age. She tells me about the models. Who smokes, who doesn't. A lot of 'em smoke but they hide it. Kate Moss smokes. Naomi Campbell, she smokes. Am I right or am I right, Paige?'
'It's true. Their diet is, like, water and Camels.' Paige nodded vigorously. 'But that's not my diet secret.'
Kovich inched forward on his chair. 'What's your diet secret?'
'Portion size,' Paige said, her tone confidential. 'Most people, their portions are way too big. It's all portion size. I figured that out by myself.'
'Portion size,' Kovich repeated, like it was a goddamn state secret, and Brinkley tried to get back on track. He was getting there, just slowly.
'You can't make a small cheeseburger.'
'You can't eat cheeseburgers if you want to lose,' Paige said. 'No red meat. No butter. No oil.'
'No meat?' Brinkley asked casually. 'You a vegetarian?'
'Sure am.' Paige nodded in satisfaction. 'A lot of the supermodels are, too.'
Brinkley shook his head, his thoughts elsewhere. That would explain the hummus on the appetizer platter. The daughter had been there for dinner. 'I'd have to think about it. It's a lot to give up. I love meat.'
'You get used to it, you'll see.'
‘I can't get used to that,' Kovich said flatly, but Brinkley excused himself and stood up slowly, shaking his pant leg over his ankle holster.
'Ladies, I hate to interrupt, but may I use the facilities? I'll just be a minute.'
'Sure,' Paige answered. DiNunzio looked unhappy but didn't countermand her, and Brinkley headed off. 'First door on the right,' Paige called after him, and Brinkley slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
Inside the bathroom, he could hear them talking diet. DiNunzio wouldn't put up with it for long; Brinkley didn't have much time. He lifted the toilet seat loudly and coughed at the same moment as he opened the medicine cabinet. His eyes scanned the shallow shelves, which were almost empty. Glade air freshener, extra guest soaps. There. A comb.
Brinkley picked up the comb by the corner. Silky red filaments of hair were entwined in its teeth. He grabbed some toilet paper, slid the hair from the comb, and put the comb back on the shelf. Then he slipped the paper with the hair carefully into his inside jacket pocket. It wouldn't be admissible in court – the seizure wasn't kosher and the chain of custody nonexistent – but it wasn't for court anyway. He closed the cabinet, flushed the toilet, and opened the door and let himself out of the bathroom. He rejoined the group, which looked as chummy as a hen party. Kovich was good with women. Sheree always said he was like a big teddy bear. 'You lose weight yet, partner?'
'I'm on my way,' Kovich said, pushing up his glasses. 'No more oil for me. Kelley tells me the same thing. It's liquid fat. Right, Coach?'
Paige nodded happily, and Brinkley sat down. 'We'll finish up this conversation,' he told her. 'I don't want to keep you too long.' He picked up his notepad from the chair. 'I know this is a hard time for you.'
Thanks. I don't feel very well, it's true. I had a pretty bad migraine last night. I had one the night before that, too.'
Brinkley thought a minute. 'You got it after you heard about what happened -'
'No, I got it before, in the afternoon. I was supposed to have dinner with my parents last night, but I canceled because of the migraine.'
DiNunzio waved her hand like a ref calling foul. 'I think that's enough now. Detective, you said you were finished here.'
But Brinkley couldn't let it go. His hummus theory was in doubt, 'I want to clarify that. Did you go to your parents' house last night?'
'No. I was here. I was supposed to go to dinner, but I canceled. I stayed at home in bed.'
Brinkley studied Paige's face. Her thin skin colored with agitation, but she would have been upset, in context. It flushed his hummus theory down the drain. 'Is there a way we can confirm that?'
'What?'
'Your whereabouts that night?'
DiNunzio stood up abruptly. 'I don't see the relevance of the inquiry. I'm instructing Paige not to answer.'
'It's one last clarification.'
'No it isn't. You've charged her father with the crime. If Paige needs a lawyer, we'll get her one, too. And I don't remember you reading her her rights.'
'We don't have to Mirandize her unless it's a custodial interrogation, and she's not in custody.'
'It's starting to smell like she is,' DiNunzio said, and Paige picked up her water from the coffee table with a shaky hand.
Brinkley stood up, flipped his notebook closed, and returned it to his breast pocket. 'I don't think we need to continue this any longer.' He looked down at Paige, who, though tall, suddenly seemed to shrink into the couch. 'I'm sorry to have bothered you today, Paige. We'll try to handle this without disturbing you again. Feel free to call us if you have any questions.'
'She will,' DiNunzio said, but Brinkley bit his tongue.
'Please take my card.' Re slipped a slim hand into his back pocket for his wallet and flipped it open. The heavy gold badge of the Detective Division flashed in the sunny apartment as he extracted a business card, and he noted Paige's slight frown at the sight. A natural reaction? Lots of people reacted to the badge. He knew a cop who said it got him laid, every time. He pulled out a business card and extended it to Paige, but DiNunzio took it instead.
