'Thank you,' she said, moving to the door. I'll show you both out.'
Kovich got up, and Brinkley grabbed his coat and left, with more questions than before.
'You're outta your mind, Mick,' Kovich said, shrugging off the winter chill in his polyester sportjacket. It was a cold clear day, the temperature barely above freezing, but Kovich never wore a coat. It wasn't a macho act; the man never got cold. Brinkley didn't understand it.
'I don't think so.' They strode from the tall apartment building toward the Chrysler. Wind gusted down Pine Street, and Brinkley buttoned his black leather topcoat.
'The hummus shit, that washed out. The kid was going over to dinner, Mommy put it out, then the kid canceled.'
'Got it.'
'She didn't do it, Mick. Plus we got the father locked up, and Davis on the case. What do you think's gonna happen? You got a stray one, and he's gonna let Newlin go? Are you nuts? The paper's already calling him 'No Deal' Davis. The prelim's around the corner.'
Brinkley squinted against the cold sun like it hurt. 'She doesn't have an alibi.'
'She doesn't need one. You saw the lab reports. The prints are his. The fibers, it's all there.'
The lab reports don't mean anything. Not if he staged the scene to protect the daughter.'
'Nobody could stage a scene that good!'
'Not even a lawyer?'
'Jesus H. Christ!' Kovich picked up the pace, his breath puffing like a locomotive, and Brinkley could see he was getting worked up. 'You're losin' me, Mick.'
Brinkley didn't say anything.
'I was workin' with you before but now that I met her, you're losin' me. She's a kid. She's like the girls in the magazines, in Kelley's magazines. She's Kelley, for Christ's sake.'
'No, she's not. You don't know her.'
'Listen to me, I'm a father, Mick. Teenage girls, they're not that different. Didn't you see her? She's all broke up, she got the puffy eyes, the whole thing. Kids her age, they don't take stress that well. Kelley gets a zit, she cries in her room. They're Drama Queens, all of 'em. That kid was upset for real.'
'If she did it, she would be. Like you say, she's a teenage girl, not a scumbag.'
Kovich snorted. 'Anybody who kills their mother is a scumbag. It's automatic.'
Brinkley thought that one over as they reached the car. By then, Kovich was breathing easier but not much.
'So what'd you do in the bathroom?' he asked, opening the driver's side door.
'Number one,' Brinkley told him. He was thinking about that earring back.
19
Mary and Judy stayed with Paige, lingering in her apartment kitchen after the detectives had left. Mary's doubts about Paige were only encouraged by Detective Brinkley, who was apparently beginning to question Jack's confession and suspect Paige. Mary wondered what he knew and if he had any evidence that Jack was innocent. But Paige could know that, too. That wasn't much fun, was it?' Mary asked her.
'No.' The teenager opened her refrigerator door, retrieved a slim jug of orange juice, and set it down on the black granite counter. 'They got mean at the end.'
'They make extra for mean.'
Paige didn't smile. 'What do they want from me, though? They were acting like I was the guilty one. Do you think they suspect me or something?'
Mary searched her face, and Paige was plainly upset. 'They have to investigate the crime, and we have to permit that, within limits.'
'But they have my dad in jail.' She took a glass from the glistening cabinet and poured herself a fresh-squeezed orange juice, without offering it to anyone else. 'They won't even let him out on bail. Why are they coming to me?'
'They have to check everything out. I thought it would be more pleasant for you to be questioned here, rather than downtown.'
'It totally was. I never want to see that place again.' Paige wrinkled her small nose. 'I swear I saw a rat outside there last night.'
Judy smiled. 'You did. It's their pet rat. Size of a dog.'
Mary looked over, horrified. 'Are you serious?'
'Yep. The cop at the desk told me. His name's Coop.'
'The rat or the cop?'
'The cop, doof.'
'Great,' Paige said, with a shudder. 'Well, I'm just glad it's over.' She sipped her juice, leaving a parabola of pulpy film on the glass. 'It's kind of a lot to deal with. I mean, tomorrow is my mother's funeral. I don't suppose they'll let my dad go to that, will they?'
'I doubt it,' Mary said, and thought it a strange question. She found her suspicions about Paige confirmed the more time she spent with her. She just didn't have any solid proof. Yet.
'I feel so bad for him. Worried.'
'Don't worry.' Judy touched Paige's arm. 'We'll take care of your father, and you take care of yourself. We'll go the funeral, of course.'
'Thanks. That's nice.'
'We're happy to.' Judy exchanged looks with Mary, who remained dubious. She kept thinking of what Fontana had told her at the store, about Paige's mother calling her a prostitute. She wondered how that would make Paige feel about her mother the next day. Angry enough to kill her? No. But what if there were a lifetime of it? Mary decided to explore it. If she were going to prove Jack's innocence, she couldn't do it through him because he wouldn't let her. Maybe she could do it through Paige.
'I don't know much about being a model,' Mary said. 'It sounds fun. Glamorous. Do you like it, going to photo shoots and all?'
'Sure, yeah. It's cool. But it's not like you go to a photo shoot. It's like you work at one. I mean, it's work.'
'Well, how? Like take the Bonner shoot, for example. How is that work? Isn't it just fake-smiling in nice clothes? Like being a lawyer.'
Paige laughed. 'No way. You have to stand for hours and they don't treat you that well.'
'How so? I would think models get the star treatment, especially if they have a manager there.' Mary was choosing her words with care, and Judy shot her a warning glance.
'No way.' Paige nodded, not completely happily. 'Sometimes my mother would see things I should have done better, like if my hands looked stupid. I don't always know what to do with my hands.' She fell suddenly quiet and just as Mary was about to follow up, Judy interrupted.
'But Paige, I always thought the photographer could make you look better,' she said, and Mary knew it wasn't coincidental. Judy was the only person less interested in the modeling profession than Mary.
'No. They tell you how to stand, and that's it,' Paige answered, unaware of the tug-of-war over her. 'The girl has to do it.'
Mary yanked back. 'Who are some of the photographers you use, like for the Bonner shoot? I'm thinking about getting my photo taken for work. You know, tough woman lawyer in front of a row of law books.'
Judy snorted, and Paige set down her juice. 'Caleb Scott shot Bonner, but I wouldn't use him. He's a jerk. Most of the time, like for all the catalog work, we use Vivi Price. She has her own studio in New York. Ever hear of her? She used to be an assistant for Demarchelier.'
Mary made a mental note. Trevor must like having a girlfriend who's a professional model,' she said, pushing it.
'Trevor? Yeah. He's cool with it.' Paige checked her watch, a silver Rolex that hung loose as a bracelet on her knobby wrist. 'Well, I gotta go. I'm gonna meet him for a late lunch. He doesn't have any classes until three, and
