Pernicious (23 page)

         
“Yes.”

         
“Mr. Banks, was he the reason you gave your mother custody of Keshana?”

         
“No.”

         
“They, Mr. Banks and Keshana, got along fairly well?”

         
“I guess you could say that.”

         
“Mrs. Davis, where were you the evening of January thirteenth, two thousand and five, the day that Lester Perkins died?”

         
“I was at home.”

         
“Anyone with you?”

         
“No.”

         
“Doing what?”

         
“I don’t remember. I was at home, that much I do remember. Doing what? I can’t say.”

         
“Your third husband, Willie Davis, was he a good swimmer?”

         
Perry sighed. “You keep jumping around with all these questions, it’s sorta confusing.”

         
“To your knowledge,” Tasha said, “could Willie Davis, your third husband, swim?”

         
“He--I don’t know.” A long pause. “It never came up.”

         
“Did Willie like to fish?”

         
“Yes, he loved fishing.”

         
“You ever go with him?”

         
“Once or twice. He preferred going alone. He said fishing relaxed his mind.”

         
“Someone who loved fishing why did he buy such a small boat?”

         
“I bought the boat for him. A birthday present.”

         
“You bought him a boat, yet the subject of whether he could swim or not never came up, is that what you’re telling me?”

         
Perry combed back her hair with both hands. “I just took it for granted he could swim. I’m not one to pry into a man’s business.”

         
“This boat, where did you buy it?”

         
“I don’t remember. Honestly, I don’t. I do a lot of shopping and most times I pay cash. You can’t expect me to remember everything I bought and where I bought it.”

         
“How often did Willie fish at night?”

         
“Lots of times.”

         
“Lots of times?”

         
“Yes,” staring at Tasha’s forehead. “Not trying to change the subject, do you eat a lot of chocolate?”

         
Tasha slammed the folder on the floor. In the small room the sound echoed a gunshot. “Let me explain something to you, Mrs. Davis. This inquiry has nothing whatsoever to do with me or the way I look, do you understand?”

         
Perry said nothing, a thin smile on her lips.

         
“Do you understand?”

         
Perry grinned, revealing perfect teeth. “Yes, I understand, Detective.”

         
A long moment Tasha stared at her. Then: “How often did Willie fish at night?”

         
“I’ve already answered that.”

         
“Answer it again!” Tasha snapped.

         
Perry sighed. “Lots of times.”

         
“Did you ever accompany him on one of his nighttime fishing expeditions?”

         
“No. Never.”

         
“Mrs. Davis, can you account your whereabouts on the night of February sixteenth and the early morning of February seventeenth, of this year?”

         
“Yes. I was at home.”

         
“Alone?”

         
“Yes.”

         
“Doing what?”

         
“Again, I can’t remember.”

         
“When was the last time you saw Willie Davis alive?”

         
“February sixteenth, the night he went fishing.”

         
“When were you informed of his death?”

         
“The next day. February seventeenth.”

         
“About what time?”

         
“I think it was that evening. I’m guessing…I think about two in the evening.”

         
“You weren’t alarmed when your husband failed to return home during the night?”

         
“No, not at all. Willie and his mother were close, extremely close. It was nothing for him to stay with her without even telling me.”

         
Tasha stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need something to drink. You want something, coke, coffee?”

         
“Water. Caffeine is bad for your skin.”

                                     
* * * * *

         
Bob stood outside the door. “How’s it going?”

         
“She’s playing games,” Tasha said. “Big time. When I go back in I’m turning up the heat. Give me a few minutes and then come in.”
         
“Okay. I’m ready.”

         
Tasha returned with two Styrofoam cups of water, one for Perry and one for herself. She’d wanted a coke, but had heard enough wisecracks about bad skin to last a lifetime.
         
Tasha waited till Perry had the cup to her lips before saying, “Mrs. Davis, we have a problem here.”

         
Perry took a small sip and put the cup down. “What kind of problem?”

         
“We have an eyewitness who can put you at Fourche Creek the night Willie Davis drowned.”

         
Perry leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Is that a fact?”

         
“You were there the night Willie drowned, weren’t you?”

         
“Where’s this witness? Here?”

         
Her attitude changed, Tasha thought.
Why the sudden cockiness?
“He’s not here. He said he would testify to--”

         
“Look here, De-tec-tive, don’t bullshit me!”

         
“Excuse me?”

         
“I read the file when you were out. Ain’t nothing in there but a bunch of blank paper. Do I look like a two-dollar hoe with a twenty-dollar habit?”

         
Craps! I forgot the file
! “Did you murder your husbands, Mrs. Davis?”

         
Perry cleared her throat and bit her bottom lip. “What do you think?”

         
“You want to know what I think? I think you fed Tyrone Banks enough Sildenafil to kill a horse. I think you pushed Lester Perkins to his death. I think you flipped a boat over on Willie Davis.”

         
“Prove it!”

         
“Oh, I will prove it--I guarantee you that!”

         
“You’re full of shit!”

         
“Am I? Well, explain to me,” raising her voice, “how is it that according to everyone else, Willie couldn’t swim a lick, terribly afraid of bath water. With you he couldn’t wait to get in a boat…at night!…by himself!”

         
Perry glared at her, saying nothing.

         
“You can dispense with the dirty looks, girlfriend! I know, the insurance companies know and you know that each time one of your husbands died, hours later you were at the bank cashing a fat life insurance check.”

         
“I’m not your fucking girlfriend!”

         
Bob entered the room.

         
Tasha ignored him. “Mrs. Davis, do you honestly think that we believe three men, each with a substantial insurance policy, could befall an accidental death, and one woman--
you
!--would be fortunate enough to collect handsomely on all three policies?”

         
Perry, breathing loud, did not respond.

         
Tasha stood up and leaned within inches of Perry’s face. “You collected four hundred and fifty thousand from Tyrone Banks’ death, and another four hundred thousand
 
from Lester Perkins’ death. Wasn’t enough, was it,
girlfriend
? You channeled the three hundred thousand from Willie Davis’ death through your daughter, who probably doesn’t know Willie from SpongeBob Squarepants.”

         
Perry closed her eyes.

         
“Robert Stubbs, you remember him, don’t you? The old white man down in Dawson? The one you robbed of all his furniture. The petunias in his yard!”

         
Tasha paused, smiling, as if engaging an old friend. “How do you do it? Huh? Tell me. How? Color it up, flash it at them, like you did back at your house. Is that what lures men to their death, Mrs. Davis? Huh? A bright shade of dye?”

         
Suddenly, Perry jumped up, fists clenched. “You bitch!”

         
Tasha braced herself, expecting and hoping Perry would strike.

         
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bob said, inserting himself between the two. “No need for this.” He guided Perry back to her seat. To Tasha: “Why don’t you take a break?”

         
Tasha started out the door, then stopped and looked at Perry. “The women’s unit in Pine Bluff is in bad need of a horticulturist. I’ll call and tell them I got the perfect woman for the job.
You!
”

                                     
* * * * *

         
The second the door closed, Perry said, “You
 
keep that bitch away from me, you hear!”

         
“Now hold on!”

         
“I mean it!” Her voice shrill. “I mean it, keep her away from me!”

         
“Mrs. Davis, just calm down. Just calm down.”

         
Perry stood again, fist still clenched, the veins in her neck engorged and pulsating. “Are you going to charge me with something?”