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“An aesthetic choice to paint three women who match our victims down to their birthmarks? I don’t buy it.”
“You don’t have to buy it,” Nina replied. “It’s the truth.”
“Okay,” Faith said, lifting her hands placatingly and speaking in a gentle voice. “Let’s give you the benefit of the doubt for a second. Where were you last night?”
“Last night?”
“Last night. Between… what time does the library close, Michael?”
“Seven o’clock.”
“Let’s say between seven and nine o’clock.”
“I was home. Eating dinner.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
Nina’s shaking grew more pronounced. “No,” she said softly. “I live alone. My nearest neighbor is a quarter-mile away. You saw my house. It’s surrounded by trees.”
“What about two nights before that when Samantha Reynard was killed?”
Nina pressed her eyelids shut. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “I was home.”
“Alone?” Michael asked.
Nina nodded.
“And no one can verify that?” Faith asked.
She shook her head.
“What about three nights before that when Cassidy Holt was murdered?”
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I was home.”
They sat silently for a while. Faith broke the silence. “Can you see where we’re coming from, Nina? We have a woman with mica powder, including quantities missing of the type used on the murder victims. We have a painting that looks damned close to a portrait of the victims precisely as they were found—including locations—and we have no alibi. We have this samewoman showing great excitement at the killings and getting offended when we suggested the killer was a man.”
Nina didn’t speak for a while. Faith glanced at Turk. Turk kept a watchful eye on her but didn’t seem particularly aggressive or perturbed. Well, that made sense. It wasn’t like Nina was a threat to them. Even unshackled, there wasn’t much she would be able to do to the two agents.
Finally, Nina took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, her face had regained some steel. “You have no real evidence. You have nothing placing me at the crime scene. You have circumstantial evidence mostly based on the fact that you don’t like me. I understand your desperation to make an arrest, but I am the wrong person to arrest.”
“Sure looks like you’re the right person,” Michael said.
“Then I would like a lawyer,” Nina replied.
“We can go that route if you want,” Faith replied, “but if we do, then there will be no deals. There will be no leniency. We will be pushing for consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole, and we will ask that you be incarcerated in a maximum-security facility.”
“I’m sure you’ll do whatever you must to obtain what you believe to be justice,” Nina said brittlely, “but any further conversation between us will take place in the presence of counsel. May I please have a phone to call my lawyer?”
Faith and Michael shared a look. It was Nina’s right to have a lawyer, of course, but that would complicate and delay everything. This trial would be a minor sensation, and it would take months to make any sort of progress and possibly years to convict.
And Faith wasn’t sure they had enough. Could she take the stand and convince a jury that Nina Verbeck was the murderer on the strength of a painting, some cheap powder and Turk’s nose? She wasn’t sure.
“Last chance to do this the easy way,” Michael said.
“I’d like my phone call now,” Nina said, her voice filled with dignity.
The two agents shared another look. Then Michael sighed, and the two of them stood. “We’ll talk to the police about your phone call,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll accommodate you momentarily.”
