There was nothing hot. A couple of hand slaps here and there—the ever-popular illegals possession for personal use, a four-year-old shoplifting charge. No violent crimes, no cage time for any.
Before she began on the data on her wall screen, she closed her eyes and let her mind wind back through what she knew, what she wanted to know.
Poison in the hot chocolate. Thermos unattended and accessible at several points during the morning. Habitual.
“Wait.”
She sat up, eyes narrowed, then tried another angle. She contacted Lissette Foster. “Lieutenant Dallas,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I have a couple of questions. You made the hot chocolate yourself, every morning.”
“Yes, I told you. I made it for him.”
“You ever drink it?”
“No. Too many calories,” she said wearily. “I used some real chocolate along with the soy milk and the powdered mix. He didn’t know.”
“Sorry?”
“Chocolate’s so expensive. He didn’t know I bought it, added it in like my mother always did. He liked it so much, said no one made it like I did. It was the half ounce of real chocolate I mixed in every morning.”
“Anyone else know about that addition?”
“My mother. She taught me how to make it. I mentioned it at work, I’m sure. Sort of bragging about it. I think I might have told Mirri. It was just a little secret from Craig. He wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the money on him.”
“I noticed the mix in your kitchen, and the stash of liquid chocolate inside a box of Vital Fem.”
Now Lissette smiled, just a little. “He’d never poke around in my vitamins, so I kept the chocolate there.”
“We sent the mix and the liquid to the lab. Anyone else know where you kept them?”
“The mix, maybe. Not the chocolate. You think…”
“The lab will determine if any of the ingredients were tampered with. Was anyone in your apartment the weekend before your husband’s death?”
“No.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I don’t think so. I was out for a while on Saturday, shopping. But Craig was home. He didn’t mention it.”
“Does anyone have a key, a spare? Your code.”
“Mirri does, for emergencies. But—”
“Okay. Your building doesn’t have security cameras or a doorman.”
“We couldn’t afford one that ran to those. It’s a nice neighborhood. We never had any trouble.”
“All right, Mrs. Foster. I appreciate the time.”
So here’s a what-if, Eve mused. What if person or persons unknown accessed the Foster apartment, knowing the habits. Poisoned the powder. Maybe Craig had a visitor he hadn’t told his wife about.
Or…Maybe it didn’t have to be the day before, she thought. Maybe he’d lucked out a few times, hadn’t gotten any of—or not enough of the poison.
She pulled up her lab report, read off the contents of the go-cup. There was no real chocolate listed.
So the killer hadn’t known about Lissette’s secret recipe.
Considering, she rose and walked to her murder board. She studied her victim, the shots of the scene. Tapped her fingers on her thigh as she studied the thermos.
Nothing special about it, she decided. Just your average go-cup, jumbo size. About fifty bucks. Solid black, with the vic’s first name scripted in silver across the body. Looked new.
Used it every day, every working day for over a year. Why did it look brand-new?