The 3rd Woman. Jonathan Freedland
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Jeff eyed her carefully. Though three years younger than him, she had always acted the older. An African-American who had come up the hard way, she spoke with a shrug in her voice as if she had seen it all before. No armed robbery, no drugs bust and only the rarest homicide ever struck her as a surprise. A father who stayed with his kids, a man who didn’t whack his woman around the head when drunk or high, now that was a novelty.
‘What’s that supposed to mean, Barbara?
She let out a jet of smoke. ‘Pretty girl on her back. Nothing taken, nothing broken. That’s what I mean.’
‘For Christ’s sake, we’re not back on this, are we? She had heavy bruises on her neck and on her temples. The lock was damaged because someone had forced their way in.’
‘Because? Because? That new partner of yours rotting your brain, sweetheart? You need to go back to detective school, my friend, if you’re coming out with that shit. We can say the lock was damaged. We can say that suggests someone forced their way in. We don’t get to because just because we want to. No way.’
‘All right. So why don’t you tell me what explains those marks on the door frame?’
‘Could be anything, you know that as well as I do. Could be a domestic. Could be an ex-boyfriend, trying to bust his way back in. Could even …’ She didn’t complete the sentence.
‘Could even what, Barbara?’
‘She could even have done it herself. On her way in.’
‘What, Abigail?’
‘Say she was wasted from wherever she’d just been, all right? Maybe she couldn’t find her key, pushes at the door a little bit, gives it a shove.’
‘You think she was high before she even got home?’
‘Look, I don’t know, Jefferson. That’s my point. We don’t know what happened here. You especially. Which is exactly how it should be. This is not your case, remember.’
‘OK. Just tell me, do you accept this is a homicide?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘OK. So why are you still hinting this is some kind of sex thing? We know for a fact there was no penetration, no sign of sexual contact at all.’
‘OK. But that just makes the “forced entry” scenario a little harder to explain, don’t you think? How many cases d’you know where a stranger busts into the apartment of some gorgeous girl and doesn’t lay a finger on her? Not many, right? Look, all I’m saying is I’m not sure you know what some of these white girls get up to. I thought, since your divorce and all, you might be out there a bit more, if you know what I mean. But let me enlighten you. There’s a whole scene, darling. What’s that word for them everyone keeps using? Baimufei?’
‘Baifumei. But Abigail wasn’t like that. She wasn’t some pampered rich girl. She taught elementary school. They grew up in Beverlywood.’
‘Yeah and Zong Qinghou grew up on a salt farm.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, people change.’
Jeff kicked at a loose cigarette butt and then pulled himself up to full height, to signal a change in direction. ‘All right. We’re not going to agree. It doesn’t matter what I say anyway, because, as you say, this is not my investigation.’
‘See. It’s not true we don’t agree. We agree on that.’
‘OK, OK. Forget me. Take me out of it. A young woman is dead here. She left a family behind who have no idea how it happened. We owe it to them to find out who did this.’
‘That’s my job, sweetheart. You don’t need to tell me that. Besides, I’m getting all the pressure I need already.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Sutcliffe says this is a “priority”.’
‘And where’s he getting that from, do you think?’
‘I don’t need to think. I know. He told me.’ She used the index finger of her smoking hand to point upward.
‘The Chief of Police?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She took one last, extra-long drag on the cigarette.
‘What’d he say?’
‘Just that Jarrett wants results. Doesn’t want to let this case fester.’
Jeff looked through the chicken-wire fence that cordoned off this unofficial yard. The question formulated itself in his mind, though he did not say it aloud: Why would he care? ‘So what have you got to go on?’
‘Come now, Jefferson love. I told you: we can’t talk about this one.’
‘I know, I know. What I meant was – and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise – perhaps I can help. Maybe there’s some open cases I can look at, make a connection. Remember Menendez?’
‘Oh no you don’t, Jeff.’ Her expression suddenly hardened. ‘Don’t you dare start doing that.’
‘I just mean, there may be some useful—’
‘I’m serious, Jeff. Don’t go wading into what you don’t understand. This case is being handled in a particular way which, trust me, you really don’t want to mess up.’
He fixed his gaze on Barbara. ‘What kind of “particular way”?’
‘Don’t try that. I’ve already said way too much. Especially to you.’
‘Especially to me? Why would you not—’
‘I’ll give you a clue. Hard-on.’
‘Madison?’
‘Madison Webb of the LA Times. Yes.’
‘She’s the sister of the victim.’
‘Who also happens to be a reporter and the object of the most notorious infatuation in the history of the LAPD. Everyone knows you want to get up close and personal with that girl, Jeff. The dogs on the street know that. So do me a favour. Butt out.’ She forced her features to relax, to project nonchalance. ‘Besides, we don’t need your help, thank you very much. Steve and I can handle this one all by our pretty little selves. Don’t think he doesn’t want to kick your ass.’
‘Who, Steve?’
‘You’re not the only one with ambition around here, honey.’
‘Of course,’ said Jeff, nodding his comprehension. The new man always needs to prove himself, to get a win.
‘Gotta show that he’s just as good as you. I want that too, I don’t mind telling you. Don’t