Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [73]
The apartment appeared more spacious without the unwanted crowd of police and other officials. The living room had been neatened to the point of sterility, meshing with the antiseptic smell wafting through the hallway. Udonis Gelb wore a loose-fitting housedress and had slippers on her feet. She had taken some time to shower and make up her face—a little blush, a little lipstick. She had curly, salt-and-pepper hair and brown red-rimmed eyes with deep discolored skin that sagged under her lower lashes. She was holding a piece of paper—a to-do list from her son, she told them.
“It’s my bible. It gives me organization so I don’t have to think.”
Marge and Oliver were sitting on the couch, drinking lukewarm coffee. It was a dark and chilly Thursday morning, menacing skies holding the threat of rain all week.
“What’s on the list?” Oliver asked her. When she handed him the paper, Scott’s eyes skimmed down the items. Most of the numbered chores were errands—grocery shopping, bank, laundry, and so on—but one entry leaped out.
Find Myra’s laptop.
He handed the paper back to her. “That’ll keep you busy for a while.”
“Maybe.” Silence. “The hardest part of my day is waking up.” She regarded her muumuu and slippers. “I should have put on something more respectable.”
“You look fine,” Marge told her.
“All things considered, I guess that’s true.” Udonis picked at her nails. “When I go back to work next week, I’ll have to dress like a normal person again.”
Oliver said, “I noticed item number fifteen—find Myra’s laptop. Have you found it?”
“I haven’t looked for it. I haven’t been in the room.”
Marge asked, “Has anyone been in the room?”
“Eric was here when the cleaning service came. I wasn’t home. I don’t know if Eric was actually in the room, but he took care of it for me.”
“My lieutenant and I were in Myra’s room on the day of the incident,” Marge said. “Would you mind if Detective Oliver and I had another look at her room?”
She nodded. “Go ahead.” Oliver thanked her, and then she said, “You took a couple boxes of her artwork with you.”
“Yes, we did,” Marge said. “We’re still looking at the pictures, but we can give them back if you want them now.”
“No, just when you’re done.” She kneaded her hands. “Why do you need them?”
Marge said, “They help us get to know Myra a little, give us a little peek into who she liked at school and who she didn’t like.”
“She didn’t like too many people. She was critical. Most artists are.”
“If you feel up to it, it would be helpful to hear about Myra from you.”
The grieving mother sighed. “I appreciate your interest in my daughter, but can I ask you why it’s a police matter? It’s Gregory Hesse, right?”
Marge said, “Yes, it’s true that we want to make sure that there’s no overlooked connection between the two of them. Is this something you thought of, Mrs. Gelb? That the two incidents might be related?”
“Call me Udonis. And it crossed my mind. It crossed Wendy Hesse’s mind, too. She called me up. We spoke for about an hour. Mostly, we commiserated about belonging to the club that nobody wants to belong to.”
Her eyes blurred, and it took her a minute to find her voice again.
“As far as we could figure out, the kids didn’t know each other. Besides, Myra, God bless her soul, was having depression problems for some time.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I was stunned it happened, but upon reflection, I should have been more aware. Once they’ve tried it, I don’t think you’re ever quite safe.”
“There have been other attempts?” Marge asked the question even though she knew the answer from Eric.
“Yes. About three years ago, she took pills. I put her into therapy and I thought we were long past that.” Her eyes were brimming over with water. “I should have been more aware.”
Oliver said, “Did she seem particularly depressed before this happened.”
“Not more depressed, not less depressed. Just Myra—quiet, studious, thoughtful.”
“She