Lisa Scottoline - Moment Of Truth

Brinkley made a note of her birth date. 'Born in Philly?'

'No. Actually, in Switzerland. My parents were traveling.'

'You reside here; at Colonial Towers?'

'Yes.'

'I understand that you used to live at home with your parents. When did you move here?'

'Early last year.'

'Your parents' home is beautiful, by the way. Antiques and such, everything nice.' Brinkley gestured vaguely. 'It's very well kept. Do your parents have help, for the house?'

'Yes. A maid.'

'How often did she come?'

'Twice a week, Monday and Thursday.'

'So she had been there yesterday?'

DiNunzio leaned toward Paige. 'If you know,' she said, and Paige shrugged.

'I don't know. I live here now.'

'I see.' Brinkley nodded. He was thinking about the dirt

on the coffee table. If the maid had come on Monday, it could have been new the night of the murder. 'How was it you came to live here?'

DiNunzio interrupted, 'Your question isn't clear. Detective, and I'm not sure I see the relevance anyway.'

'I'm just trying to get some background information.'

'Background or not, she doesn't understand the question, and neither do I.'

He shifted his weight and addressed Paige. 'I was asking you why you moved out of your parents' house.'

'I wanted to be on my own. Live alone. Be independent.'

'Did you get along with your parents?'

'Yes.'

'With your mother?'

DiNunzio cleared her throat. 'She just answered that, Detective Brinkley. Again, I'm not sure it matters who she got along with.'

'I'm wondering why she moved out of her house at such a young age. It's unusual, and we like to fill in all the questions the captain will ask us. He gets feisty about the details.'

That's your problem.'

Brinkley, his annoyance growing, addressed the daughter. 'Did your parents get along?'

DiNunzio cut him off with a chop. 'I'm instructing her not to answer that.'

Brinkley was getting pissed. He'd never met a lawyer who hadn't interfered with getting to the truth. He couldn't understand that kind of job. 'You're disrupting a police investigation, Ms DiNunzio.'

'I disagree, but I won't bother to argue with you.' DiNunzio turned to Paige. 'Don't answer.'

Paige nodded shakily, and Brinkley looked at his notepad. 'Did your father ever strike your mother?' he asked, and DiNunzio scoffed again.

'Detective, she's talking to you voluntarily. You wanna continue this line of questioning, you'll have to get a subpoena and we'll meet you at the Roundhouse.'

Brinkley exchanged looks with Kovich. Neither wanted the girl taken down. Officially, she was still victim's family. It would look like they were beating on her, with the suspect already placed under. 'I don't think that'll be necessary. Paige, when was the last time you saw your mother alive?'

DiNunzio eased back into the cushy sofa, and Paige answered, 'Sunday. The day before she… you know. We were at a photo shoot.'

'You're a model, I understand.'

'Yes.'

'Why was your mother at your photo shoot?'

'She was my manager.'

'Did you ever have another manager?'

'No.'

'Did you want another manager?'

'No. She was still my manager, when she -'

'Passed,' Brinkley supplied, and Paige nodded jerkily. Brinkley shifted forward on the chair. 'What does a model's manager do, exactly?'

'She managed my career, got me the shoots, dealt with the bookers.'

Brinkley made a note. 'Bookers are what?'

'People who give you modeling jobs,' Kovich chirped up, and Brinkley looked over, surprised.

'Okay,' he said, and turned slowly back to the daughter. 'You know what I don't get?'

'What?' Paige pursed her lips, which trembled slightly. It made Brinkley wonder. He made a mental note of it, then said:

'I don't get how you stay so thin.'

'You don't eat!' Paige answered, breaking into a smile that Brinkley thought looked relieved.

'How do you not eat?' he asked. 'Me, I love food. Ribs, burgers, shakes. You give all that up?'

'Milk shakes? Uh, hello.' She laughed.

Kovich nudged Brinkley's arm heavily. 'A lot of models smoke,' he said, with a savvy smile. 'That's how they stay thin.'

Brinkley wanted to hit him, but didn't. 'What do you know about getting thin, partner? Look at you!'

The lawyers laughed, and so did the daughter. Brinkley could feel the tension ebb away and the atmosphere warm.

'I know all about this,' Kovich said. 1 got my finger on the pulse, Mick.' He put a thick finger over his wrist in case anybody missed his point, then turned to Paige. 'I have daughter, she's your age. She tells me about the models. Who smokes, who doesn't. A lot of 'em smoke but they hide it. Kate Moss smokes. Naomi Campbell, she smokes. Am I right or am I right, Paige?'

'It's true. Their diet is, like, water and Camels.' Paige nodded vigorously. 'But that's not my diet secret.'

Kovich inched forward on his chair. 'What's your diet secret?'

'Portion size,' Paige said, her tone confidential. 'Most people, their portions are way too big. It's all portion size. I figured that out by myself.'

'Portion size,' Kovich repeated, like it was a goddamn state secret, and Brinkley tried to get back on track. He was getting there, just slowly.

'You can't make a small cheeseburger.'

'You can't eat cheeseburgers if you want to lose,' Paige said. 'No red meat. No butter. No oil.'

'No meat?' Brinkley asked casually. 'You a vegetarian?'

'Sure am.' Paige nodded in satisfaction. 'A lot of the supermodels are, too.'

Brinkley shook his head, his thoughts elsewhere. That would explain the hummus on the appetizer platter. The daughter had been there for dinner. 'I'd have to think about it. It's a lot to give up. I love meat.'

'You get used to it, you'll see.'

‘I can't get used to that,' Kovich said flatly, but Brinkley excused himself and stood up slowly, shaking his pant leg over his ankle holster.

'Ladies, I hate to interrupt, but may I use the facilities? I'll just be a minute.'

'Sure,' Paige answered. DiNunzio looked unhappy but didn't countermand her, and Brinkley headed off. 'First door on the right,' Paige called after him, and Brinkley slipped inside and shut the door behind him.

Inside the bathroom, he could hear them talking diet. DiNunzio wouldn't put up with it for long; Brinkley didn't have much time. He lifted the toilet seat loudly and coughed at the same moment as he opened the medicine cabinet. His eyes scanned the shallow shelves, which were almost empty. Glade air freshener, extra guest soaps. There. A comb.

Brinkley picked up the comb by the corner. Silky red filaments of hair were entwined in its teeth. He grabbed some toilet paper, slid the hair from the comb, and put the comb back on the shelf. Then he slipped the paper with the hair carefully into his inside jacket pocket. It wouldn't be admissible in court – the seizure wasn't kosher and the chain of custody nonexistent – but it wasn't for court anyway. He closed the cabinet, flushed the toilet, and opened the door and let himself out of the bathroom. He rejoined the group, which looked as chummy as a hen party. Kovich was good with women. Sheree always said he was like a big teddy bear. 'You lose weight yet, partner?'

'I'm on my way,' Kovich said, pushing up his glasses. 'No more oil for me. Kelley tells me the same thing. It's liquid fat. Right, Coach?'

Paige nodded happily, and Brinkley sat down. 'We'll finish up this conversation,' he told her. 'I don't want to keep you too long.' He picked up his notepad from the chair. 'I know this is a hard time for you.'

Thanks. I don't feel very well, it's true. I had a pretty bad migraine last night. I had one the night before that, too.'

Brinkley thought a minute. 'You got it after you heard about what happened -'