“Madinga. Madinga Jones.”
“There’s no mistake, Madinga, and I’m sorry because I can see you were friends. How long had you known her?”
“I just don’t think this is right. I just don’t think this is real.” He scrubbed at his face. “She came to work here last summer, early last summer. She’s going to college, she needed the job. We hang out sometimes.”
“You were close. Were you involved, personally involved?”
“We were buds, that’s all. I got a girl. We’d go clubbing sometimes maybe, or catch a new vid.”
“Did she have a boy?”
“Not especially. She kept it loose, because she needed to study. She dug on school.”
“Did she ever mention that somebody was hassling her? Maybe somebody who didn’t want to keep it loose?”
“I don’t . . . well, there was this guy we met at a club, and she went out with him once after, to like some restaurant he owns or something. But she said he was too grabby, and she shook him off. He didn’t like it much, and kept after her for a while. But that was like months ago. Before Christmas.”
“Got a name?”
“Diego.” He shrugged. “I don’t know the rest. Slick looking, fancy threads. Told her he was a cruiser, but he could dance, and she liked to dance.”
“The club?”
“Make The Scene. Up by Union Square on Fourteenth. He—did he mess with her before he put her in there?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“She was a virgin.” His lips trembled. “She said how she didn’t want to just do it to do it. I used to rag on her about it, just for fun, you know, because we were buds. If he messed with her.” The tears dried up, and his eyes went marble hard. “You gotta hurt him. You gotta hurt him the way he hurt her.”
Outside, Eve dragged a hand through her hair and wished for her sunshades. Wherever the hell they were.
“Broken leg,” Peabody informed her. “Jammed shoulder and some damage to the rotator cuff.”
“What?”
“Summerset. Roarke said they’re going to keep him overnight, and he’s making arrangements for in-home care as soon as he can be released. He racked the knee of the unbroken leg, so it’ll be a while before he’s on his feet.”
“Shit.”
“Oh, and Roarke says he appreciates your concern, and will communicate same to the patient.”
“Shit,” she repeated.
“And just to add to your joy, a communication came through, from Nadine’s representative. You have an hour to request and complete an interview, or a formal complaint will be filed by Channel 75 on behalf of Ms. Furst.”
“She’ll have to stew.” Eve plucked Peabody’s shades out of her uniform pocket, and put them on. “We need to notify Rachel Howard’s next of kin.”
The single thing Eve wanted when she reached Central was a shower. It was just one more thing that would have to wait. She headed straight to what the cops called The Lounge, a waiting area for interviewees, family members, potential witnesses who weren’t active suspects in an investigation.
There were chairs, tables, vending machines, a couple of screens to keep those who waited occupied. Nadine, her crew, and a sharp-looking suit Eve assumed was the rep were the only current residents.
Nadine surged to her feet immediately. “Oh, we’re going to go a round.”
The suit, tall, slim, male, with a waving mass of brown hair and cool blue eyes, tapped her arm. “Nadine. Let me handle this. Lieutenant Dallas, I’m Carter Swan, attorney for Channel 75, and here as representative for Ms. Furst and her associates. Let me start out by saying that your treatment of my client, a respected member of the media, is unacceptable. A complaint will be made to your superiors.”
“Yeah.” Eve turned away to one of the vending machines. The coffee here was crap, but she needed something. “Ms. Furst,” she began as she coded in her ID, then cursed under her breath when she was informed her credit was at zero. “Ms. Furst is a material witness in a criminal investigation. She was asked to come voluntarily for questioning, and was not cooperative.”
She dug in her pockets for coins or tokens, came up empty. “I was within my rights, and my authority, to have your client brought in, just as it was within her rights to bring your fancy ass in here to annoy me. I need the printouts, Nadine.”