"A moment of rage when he found the letters."
"How could he find them when they weren't there?"
She was wild-eyed and panting. Peabody felt a cool control settle over her.
"No, the letters weren't there, because you wrote them and you put them in her drawer after you killed her. You killed Marsha Stibbs because she was your obstacle to Boyd—a man you wanted and she didn't prize him enough to suit you. You wanted Marsha's husband and her life and her marriage, so you took them."
"No." Maureen pressed her hands to her cheeks, shook her head. "No. No."
"She didn't deserve him." Peabody had the hammer now and used it to coldly shatter Maureen with fast, hard strokes. "But you did. He needed you, someone like you to tend to him the way she wouldn't. She didn't love him, not the way you did."
"She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone."
"Did you confront her when Boyd was out of town? Did you tell her she wasn't good enough for him? He deserved better, didn't he? He deserved you."
"No. I don't want to be here anymore. I need to go home."
"Did she argue with you, or did she just laugh? Didn't take you seriously, and neither would Boyd until she was out of the picture. He wouldn't see you until she was out of the way. You had to kill her so you could really live. Isn't that right, Maureen?"
"It wasn't like that." Fat, fast tears poured down her cheeks. She held out both hands, clasped together as if in prayer. "You have to believe me."
"Tell me what it was like. Tell me what happened the night you went into Marsha's apartment."
"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it." Sobbing now, she collapsed in the chair, laid her head on the table and covered it with her arms. "It was an accident. I didn't mean it. I've done everything right since. I've done everything to make it up to him. I love him. I've always loved him."
In observation, McNab grinned like a madman. "She did it! She broke her down. Closed a cold case. I gotta... jeez, I gotta go get her flowers or something." He started to dash out, turned. "Dallas, she did good."
"Yeah." Eve continued to look through the glass, look into the pity she saw stir in Peabody's eyes. "She did good."
* * *
By the time she sent Maureen Stibbs down to Booking, Peabody was drained. She felt as if her insides had been put through some huge mechanical wringer that squeezed all the juices out.
When she headed back toward the bullpen, her parents rose from a bench and walked to her.
"What are you guys doing here? We're not supposed to meet up until we have that fancy dinner we had to postpone last night."
"We're so proud of you." Her mother cupped her face, laid a soft, warm kiss on her forehead. "Very proud of you."
"Okay ... why?"
"Eve called us in." She bent down, brushed her cheek over Peabody's. "She arranged for us to watch you work."
"My interview?" Peabody's mouth fell open. "You saw?"
"It was very difficult, what you did." Phoebe drew her close.
"It's the job."
"A very difficult job. And one you were meant to do." She eased her daughter back to study her face. "When we leave tomorrow, it'll be easier to say good-bye knowing that."
"Tomorrow, but—"
"It's time. We'll talk more tonight. You have work now."
Sam reached down, gave his daughter's hand a squeeze. "Officer Peabody." He grinned from ear to ear. "Go be a cop."
A little misty-eyed she watched them walk toward the down-glide. Then the sentiment dried up in amused shock as McNab bounded off the up-glide carrying an armload of white and yellow daisies.