“Yeah, I moved out of there.”
“Quite suddenly.”
“Uh, right.” She lit a cigarette and waited for Nikki to say something, and when she didn’t, Opal filled the void. “Yeah, well, I had a bad breakup with my girlfriend. She was coming around all hours, you know, just being a bitch, so I…” Opal finished the thought by sliding one palm off another like a jet taking off from an aircraft carrier.
“I know how that goes.” Heat poised her pen over her notebook. “May I ask your girlfriend’s name?”
“Ex. Do you have to involve her? She’s an actress on a movie that’s filming in town.” Again, Heat left a space. Opal Onishi filled it with a woman’s name that Heat probably didn’t need but wrote down anyway. What she really wanted to know was why Jeanne Capois had her address and if it was relevant to the murders. And why the sudden move? Nikki didn’t buy the harassing-lover story at all, and picked at that.
She appraised the living room of the East Village one bedroom, which was over-filled with cardboard cartons and stacked furniture. “Did you file any complaints against your girlfriend?”
“With the police? Nah. I just moved.”
“At midnight.”
Opal seemed smart and came up with quick answers. Some might even be true. “It’s easier to double-park a cargo van then. No traffic.”
Nikki decided to follow another course. “I’d like to show you a picture and ask if you can identify the person.” She placed an enlargement of the photo of Jeanne Capois on the coffee table. Opal stubbed out her cigarette and picked up the picture. Nikki couldn’t be sure if it was hesitation or simply an attempt at recollection, but she felt like it took a few seconds too long to answer.
“…Jeanne.” She offered the picture back. “Jeanne.” Heat let her keep it.
“Do you know her last name?”
She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Sorry, but I only know her as Jeanne.”
“And how do you know her?”
Again, that fraction of waffling gained the detective’s notice. Opal said, “I hired her to clean. She’s a maid.”
Heat noted her use of the present tense. But still, why all the mulling for simple answers? “May I ask when she did housekeeping for you?”
“Gee, I’d have to think. I dunno, three weeks ago, last time?”
“How did you hear about her?”
A pause, then, “Through a service or something, yeah. I don’t remember the name.”
Nikki offered, “Happy Hazels?”
Quickly, this time, jumping at it, Opal said, “Yeah, that’s it. Happy Hazels.”
This was all feeling improvised so Heat kept at it. “Did you pay her cash or check?” A long shot, but a paper trail from a check register might be useful.
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“Wow, you bear down.” Then she searched the ceiling. “I guess, what, fifty bucks?”
“You tell me.”
“Fifty. Why are you asking about Jeanne?”
“She’s a victim in a homicide investigation.” Heat watched her reaction, always crucial, but especially when there’s a sense of something being off. Opal Onishi’s face grew slack and she sat, staring into the middle distance. To Heat’s mind, a strong response, considering the hesitation at recalling her name.
“Fuck…What happened to her?” Unguarded at last.
Nikki kept it in simplest terms, for now. “Jeanne Capois was found beaten and strangled on the street uptown.” She turned to a blank page, wanting to take advantage of the openness shock always brought. “When Jeanne came to your place, did she mention any threats against her?”
“No,” she said, low and dazed. She gave the same reply when she quizzed her about whether Capois seemed agitated, worried, or talked about being followed. Then Nikki brought out the photographs and sketches, She presented them, one at a time, to Opal, who had slid to a spot on the couch beside her. The young woman shook her head to each one: Fabian Beauvais — no; the four mercs who had attacked Heat a block from Opal’s old apartment in Chelsea — no; the gangstas in the ATM shot — no; Keith Gilbert…Hesitation.
“Opal, do you recognize him?”
“Of course, he’s that politician. Kind of a dickwad, if you ask me.”
“You have no other reason to know of him?”
“No, why should I?”
Heat smelled something here. Rather than jam her, she offered an escape hatch. “Opal, I talk to a lot of people in my job. And I sort of get a sense when someone is not being open with me.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I’m saying if there is anything you aren’t sharing, for any reason, this is the time to tell me.” She read her interviewee, sitting again with her back against the armrest of the couch with her knees pulled into an upright fetal position. “If you are afraid of someone, I can give you protection.”
Opal Onishi digested that but said, “I answered all your questions, right?”
At the door Heat gave her a business card. “In case you remember anything.” Or, she thought, watching her take it, if you decide to tell me why your hand is shaking.
Rook met Heat on the sidewalk outside the precinct at nine that morning. “What did Wally say?”
“Don’t worry about Wally, just come in.”
“You threaten him? Maybe say I’ll do him dirty in the press?”