Mr Peanut - Adam Ross [24]
“For what it’s worth,” Cady said, “they didn’t seem like they had problems. At least none beyond Alice’s health.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Alice struggled with her weight for years. And then she finally got it under control. But none of this matters,” Cady said. “There’s no way David killed his wife.”
“Was there anyone here Pepin was close with?”
“Look, Detective, a guy’s wife kills herself. He sees the whole thing. Why drag him through the mud?”
“I can ask around if you prefer.”
Cady shook his head. His e-mail pinged. “There’s Georgine,” he said, “Georgine Darcy. She’s a junior designer. She and David were working on some major projects together.”
Hastroll could tell at first glance that Darcy had been a ballet dancer simply by how she walked with her feet turned out. She was blond, full-lipped, a poor man’s Scarlett Johansson, although there was a bubble of loneliness around her, a remoteness that preceded her as she approached. He made a mental to note to get the neighbor, Rand Harper, to ID her.
“Miss Darcy?”
When Hastroll showed her his badge, all the color left her face.
“Let me see if there’s a conference room available,” she said, then led him down the hallway with her eyes to the ground. “We’ll be private here.” She turned on the light and closed the door behind her, sat down, crossed her arms over her chest, and watched as Hastroll pulled up a chair. He placed his notepad on the table and stared at her until she lowered her eyes.
“This is about David, isn’t it?”
“Mr. Cady tells me that you and Mr. Pepin worked together regularly.”
“We were developing several games together.”
“Would you say that the two of you were close?”
Georgine put a fist to her mouth and cleared her throat. “We were.”
Hastroll waited. “Did the relationship—”
“Yes.”
“How long did you and Pepin have an affair?”
“About a year,” she said. “We broke it off a couple of months ago.”
“You both agreed to?”
She looked at Hastroll impassively. “He broke it off.”
“Why?”
“He said it confused him.”
“How?”
Darcy had to blink once. It was the shock, Hastroll always noticed, of pure honesty. “He was trying to get clear on his feelings for his wife. She left him for a while and then came back, but right before she did he said that so long as the two of us were spending time together, he wouldn’t know if it was because of his problems with Alice or because there was really something between us.”
“And you agreed with that?”
At this, two discrete tears formed at Georgine’s eyes and fell. “I never seem to have a choice in these matters.” She pressed her index fingers to the bridge of her nose and wiped her eyes. Then she cleared her throat, the crying over with.
“Did he talk about Alice much?”
“No.”
“But he talked about her?”
“Very rarely.”
“You said he mentioned ‘problems.’ How would you characterize their relationship?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
“A woman is dead.”
“I think he felt abandoned. It wasn’t hard to understand. She changed on him. She’d lost weight, something they’d gone through a million times. She’d lose weight, gain it back, and then feel like shit about herself. And he was always there for her, every time, over and over, but this time she does something radical. She loses weight for good, becomes this completely different person, and what? I think he was worried she was dispensing with him in the process.”
“Did he tell you his wife was leaving him?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you he thought his