Free The Hydrogen Murder by Camille Minichino Page B

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then, and we took seats in front of his desk.
    "Thanks for coming in Ms. Provenza," Matt said.
    "Doctor Provenza," Connie said, to my horror. Even
in my earliest days, as proud as I was of my doctorate, I wouldn't have
corrected anyone that way. Whatever happened to the notion that education was
supposed to make us humble.
    "Excuse me, Doctor Provenza," Matt said with a
calmness that I admired. "What I'm most interested in today is anything
you can tell me about Eric Bensen and his problem with the data from your
group. Doctor Lamerino is here as my interpreter, so to speak."
    "Eric was drunk," Connie said. She sat up straight
on the chair and, like Jim Guffy that morning, seemed ready to bolt. Unlike
Jim, however, Connie didn't seem the least bit nervous. As she elaborated, she
kept her chin high and at an angle, her tone not at all like that of a murder
suspect, but more like that of a wealthy bank customer who'd come to register a
complaint with the manager.
    "He was joking," she said. "I can't imagine
anyone taking him seriously. If something really were wrong do you think he'd
wait until we're singing 'Danny Boy' to bring it up? God knows we have more
than enough meetings for that purpose."
    I knew Connie well enough not to be surprised at her tone.
I'd never seen her intimidated by anyone, and I saw that homicide detectives
were no exception. I chalked it up to her youth. I'd come to the conclusion
that my generation of fifty-something women were just now reaching the level of
self-confidence and assertiveness that women Connie's age started out with. My
liberal intellect told me that was a good thing, but my conservative feelings
rebelled. I still hadn't seen what I was looking for—some perfect
combination of high self-esteem and a pleasant manner.
    "And the last time you saw Eric was when?" Matt
asked, seeming less ruffled by Connie's attitude than I was.
    "I was with him all day on Monday," she said,
"until I left at four for a class. I'm getting my MBA in January."
    "I see that," Matt said, running his pencil along
a page in the Bensen file. "We just had a report from security at the lab.
I'm sure you know Mr. Gallante. He says he saw a late model red Corvette with
Connecticut plates in the lot around midnight."
    For a moment I thought I saw Connie flinch. Not a broad
movement, but a definite flinch, a slight twitching of her shoulders and a
brief flush to her face. If this is what it seems, I noted, Connie needs more
practice before negotiating in the boardroom with the good old boys.
    Matt must have noticed it, too. He leaned forward.
    "Do you know that car, Doctor Provenza?" he asked.
It may have been wishful thinking, but I thought I detected a slight emphasis
on the word Doctor that time.
    "No," Connie said, "I drive a red '73
BMW."
    Matt nodded, then read a few more sections of Connie's
statement to her and asked three or four general questions.
    "Can you think of anyone who'd want to kill Eric?"
    "No, of course not. I mean, I've never known anyone who
was murdered or did a murder."
    "Have you ever seen him arguing with anyone?"
    "Doctor Leder, which we've already discussed. And he
bickered with his wife. But don't we all. Bicker I mean."
    Connie had mellowed considerably since the red Corvette
question. She'd adopted a cooperative spirit and took her time answering Matt's
new questions, even calling him Sergeant Gennaro at one point.
    "Do you think Eric and Andrea Cabrini were having an
affair?" Matt asked.
    "Poor Andrea adored Eric, but I can't see them sl... I
don't think it was an affair."
    "What about on the West Coast?" Matt asked.
"Do you think he was seeing anyone while he was out there?"
    Connie sat back and ran her tongue around her teeth, staring
at her polished navy pumps as if deep in thought.
    "I don't know," she said. "Eric was a flirt,
I suppose, although never with me. Not like Doctor Leder, if you know what I
mean. Eric was just friendly."
    "Anyone he was particularly friendly