“She behaves like she doesn’t,” Mendoza agreed. “But Nick could have told her about it after she hired you. You were at the Body Shop for the first time on Thursday, you said. He had dinner with her that night. He could have spilled everything—the debt, the money laundering, all of it—then.”
He could. “Why would that make her want to kill him, though? Mob affiliation is one thing, cheating is another.” And I was pretty sure I knew which one Jacquie would consider worthy of death.
Mendoza shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t. But it’s something to consider. Just like the fact that she didn’t ask us how he died.”
Right. “So what happens now?”
“Now we need to find out if Jacquie has access to a gun. Or knew where Nick kept his.”
“Nick had a gun?”
He gave me a look. “Guy with his background, mixed up in what he was mixed up in? I’d put money on there being at least one firearm in that apartment. Or in the truck. We’ll know more after the forensic team is done.”
“Wouldn’t the murderer have taken it with him, if he used it to shoot Nick?” Or she?
“We’ll see,” Mendoza said. “If he had one registered in his name and it’s gone, at least we’ll know what the murder weapon is likely to be.”
“And Jacquie?”
“Someone’ll keep an eye on her. See if her story holds up, if anyone can verify where she was last night. If she’s guilty, she’ll slip up eventually.”
He checked his watch and grimaced. “I have to go. I need to get home, change, and get to Sambuca in—” he calculated quickly “—fifty-three minutes. It’s a good thing Lola’s got Elias for the rest of the day.”
Lola had Elias most of the time, from what I understood. Mendoza’s son lived full time with Mendoza’s ex and the PI. Mendoza took him as often as Lola would let him—or as often as his duties allowed—but Elias’s home was with Lola and Mitch.
“Is that where you were when I called?” I asked. “Dropping him off?”
“Soccer tournament,” Mendoza answered. “I had to arrange for a babysitter so I could cover my shift last night, but it was worth it.”
“Couldn’t he have stayed with your ex-wife if you were going to be busy?” Or had she dumped him on Mendoza because she had plans of her own with the new husband?
His expression hardened slightly. “No, he couldn’t. Not only do I not want to tell my ex-wife that I’m too busy to take care of my son—she’s relatively cooperative when it comes to custody right now, but who knows how long that’ll last or what might change later?—but also, when I have the chance to spend time with him, I’m gonna do it. Even if I have to get a babysitter for the evening and all I get is breakfast and a soccer game before he goes back to Lola and Mitch.”
“Of course.”
He studied me for a moment. “For what it’s worth, he loves spending time with…” He hesitated for a second, “—with the sitter. I didn’t deprive him in any way.”
“I didn’t think you did,” I said. I had never doubted that Mendoza adored his son. It was all through his voice when he talked about him.
“Anyway, now I really have to go. You know where you’re headed?”
“Home,” I said, “I think. To spend some quality time with Edwina and pretend this morning didn’t happen.”
“Good luck with that.” He opened the Jeep’s door and got behind the wheel. “Give her a scratch for me.”
“Will do,” I said, and watched as he started the engine. When he had pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home—left out of the parking lot—I keyed open my own door and climbed inside.
Chapter Eleven
Let me say first of all that I fully intended to go home.
I pulled out onto Elliston Place and headed west, then north along Centennial Park until I could turn west again on Charlotte Avenue. Letting muscle memory guide me while my mind replayed the scene in Jacquie’s apartment. The tears, the sincere—or sincere-seeming, to be fair—anguish, the way she’d looked like the world had ended.
Was it real? Or was Mendoza right, and it was all an act?
It had seemed a lot more genuine than her behavior at David’s funeral, for sure. That had been a performance. This… I wasn’t so sure.
Then again, I wasn’t kidding myself that I knew how to read people better than someone who had been doing it for a living for the past… probably ten years or so? If Mendoza thought her behavior was suspicious, maybe it was.
