“I want to,” Lucy mumbled. “They’re trying to figure out what happened to her.”
Ethan nodded. “That’s right, Lucy. And we really appreciate you helping us.”
Barrett’s eyes sought his daughter’s. “You can tell Detective Drake that you want me to be there with you.”
Lucy stared at the door that Nick had closed on them. Tears glimmered beneath her lids. She hugged her arms. “I’m okay. They just want to know what happened.”
Barrett swiped his hand through his hair. “Honey, your brother did not make a good decision. Let me come in with you. I’m a lawyer, I can—”
Ethan stepped in front of Lucy. “Sir, your daughter has made her wishes clear.”
Barrett’s face tightened. He looked as if he wanted to push Ethan out of the way.
Just try it, Barrett. Just try it.
“Why doesn’t Grandma Penny go in with you,” Barrett asked, his voice calm, the look in his eyes anything but.
Lucy nodded. “Okay.”
“Let’s do it, then,” Ethan said. “Lucy, Mrs. Barrett, this way, please.” He ushered them through the doorway, then gave one final glance over his shoulder.
Constable Brown stepped toward Barrett. He had a stunned look on his face. Both children had rejected his help. Only now, in the soulless air-conditioned doorway of a police interview room, had he glimpsed the consequences of being AWOL when his children found the bloodied and smashed body of their mother.
Ethan closed the door behind him.
They’d start with Lucy and hope she’d seen enough to give them a gauge of just how much everyone else was lying.
20
Saturday, 9:46 a.m.
“Kate.” Nat’s voice was tense, excited.
Nat had gotten a scoop. Kate gripped her cell phone, putting it closer to her ear. She was heading to the park, in the warm-up phase of her run, both dogs happily trotting at her heels.
“A woman fell over a balcony a couple of hours ago. The police aren’t sure what they are dealing with. But I found out who the victim was.” She paused for effect. “It’s Randall Barrett’s ex-wife.”
She knew she was about to ruin Nat’s obvious pleasure in breaking this juicy piece of news to her.
“Kate. Did you hear me?”
“Yes, yes, I heard you.” She slowed down to a walk, panting lightly. She couldn’t have this conversation running. “Look, Randall called me today to see if I could take care of his dog.”
“So he told you what happened?” Nat’s voice took on the unmistakable treble of excitement.
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He told me his wife—I mean, ex-wife—had fallen off the balcony. He thinks it was an accident.”
“Oh, really?” Nat didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “So why was he hiding?”
“Hiding? He was hiding? Why?” She realized she’d repeated Nat’s words like a drunken parody. The alcohol from last night seemed to have killed off more than its fair share of brain cells.
“Why do you think, Kate? His ex-wife is dead. And it sounds like they had one hell of a row before she wound up with her brains splattered on the concrete.”
Kate’s insides clenched. Nat’s blunt words brought to mind a picture she did not want to imagine. Of that woman, blond hair waving in the breeze. Trying to ensure her daughter wasn’t going to get hurt by a large dog. And now, dead. In a very traumatic manner.
Her mind jumped to another traumatic death. Craig Peters. Facedown in a pool of blood. She remembered lying on the ground, gasping for air after Craig Peters’ hands had finally loosened their stranglehold, watching his blood creep toward her. She had willed her limbs to reoxygenate, to let her escape. But she had been too weak. So she had lain there, watching Craig Peters’ blood, staring into his empty eyes.
She had done this. She had stabbed him. She had taken his life.
Had he left behind any grieving family? She had never asked, didn’t want to know. But she knew that Elise Vanderzell had left behind plenty of grieving family members. Had her children seen her smashed body after she fell?
She said softly, “That wasn’t necessary, Nat.”
Nat exhaled. “Sorry. Sometimes my mouth runs off with me.”
“I…I saw her, Nat. Yesterday.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Kate’s hand tightened on the leashes, although Charlie and Alaska were walking sedately by her side. “I think she’d just arrived. Her daughter wanted to pat Alaska.”
“Whoa. What was she like? Did she know you worked for Randall? Did she say anything about him?”
“I didn’t talk to her, Nat. I just happened to walk by her.”
“Was Randall Barrett with her?”
“No.” Kate thought of his face, at the outside patio. Closed. Angry. Bitter. With a shock, she realized his expression reminded her of Ethan at his angriest with her. “I didn’t realize he was a suspect.”
“Of course he’s a suspect. All husbands—especially ex-husbands—are suspects.”
Yeah, but do all ex-husbands refer to their former spouses as their “wives”? “Is that what the police are saying?”
“It’s what they aren’t saying, Kate. They are keeping things very close to their chests right now. But I did hear that Randall was arrested by the Halifax police’s harbor patrol—”
“The harbor patrol!”
“Yup. He was speeding out into the harbor on his yacht. At two-thirty in the fucking morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And he was drunk,” Nat added for good measure. “Your boss is in deep shit.”
Kate’s heart began to pound. What the hell had happened? Why were Randall and Elise arguing? “Has he been arrested?”
“Not yet. The Ident guys are checking out the house.” Nat paused. “There’s one more thing…”
Kate took a deep breath. “What?”
“Your Ex is the detective leading the case.”
“But he’s Homicide.”
“I know. That’s what’s making this thing so damn interesting. Why would they call in Homicide?”
And why Ethan, of all people?
Did Nat know about the bad blood between Ethan and Randall? Kate hoped not.
Kate had slowed to a walk but her heart still pounded. “Have you spoken to Ethan?”
“Just got off the phone with him.” Nat’s tone was casual, as if she spoke to Ethan all the time.
“Oh.” The thought her ex-fiancé having frequent chats on the phone with her newly returned college friend made her chest tighten.
“He’s one of my sources, Kate.” As usual, Nat picked up on Kate’s unease. “He’s one of Homicide’s lead detectives. I’ve got to talk to him.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
Kate walked through the gates of the park’s upper parking lot. It was busy, everyone wanting to take advantage of the beautiful morning. She kept the dogs on a tight leash, wary of cars.
“So what does Ethan think?” The last thing she wanted to know was what her ex-fiancé thought. But she was involved in this whether she liked it or not. Randall—and now Nat—had dragged her into it.
“He confirmed Elise Vanderzell fell off a balcony.”
Elise Vanderzell. That was Randall’s wife’s full name.
It was a pretty, feminine name. Kate thought of the blond woman she’d seen. The name seemed perfect for her. “So is it officially a murder investigation?”
“He’s not saying much.” Nat sounded frustrated.
Surprise, surprise. Ethan was an experienced homicide cop. He’d be careful with the media. Even with someone as disarming as Nat.
Why did Nat think he’d give her the inside scoop?
Nat wouldn’t try using her friendship with Kate to buy Ethan’s confidence. Nat was edgier than she remembered, but she wasn’t unethical.
And she wasn’t stupid, either. She knew Kate and Ethan weren’t on speak
ing terms, although they weren’t angry with each other anymore.
They’d gotten past their private grievances. Had recognized their own mistakes and acknowledged each other’s mea culpas. But in May, five months after their engagement ended, Ethan had again declared his love for Kate. And Kate had turned him away.
He’d accepted it with grace and regret.
But it didn’t mean he liked it.
And it didn’t mean they were friends.
It just meant they weren’t enemies. Anymore.
“Kate,” Nat began, “I know you probably won’t tell me—”
“Then don’t ask, Nat.” She added, her tone softer, “Look, you’re my friend. I can’t confide in you if I think it will be in tomorrow’s morning edition.”
“But do you realize that you are in the middle of one hell of a story?”
“I’m not in the middle of anything, Nat. Randall just called me to ask if I’d take his dog out for a pee. That’s it.”
“Okay, fine. Look, I gotta go.”
“Just one thing.” Kate left the parking lot behind her and walked into the park. The dogs stopped to sniff the stone wall marking the boundary. “What time did his ex-wife die?”
“They think she fell around one-thirty in the morning.”
So Elise died several hours after Kate had seen Randall drinking on the outdoor patio.
And harbor patrol stopped him at 2:30 a.m. It only took about twenty minutes to motor down the Arm to the mouth of the harbor. So where had Randall been between 8:30 p.m., when she saw him, and 2:30 a.m., when the harbor patrol stopped him?
And why couldn’t anyone reach him? She thought of all those phone calls. All those Toronto numbers. Had the calls been placed in the middle of the night?
“Look, I gotta go,” Nat repeated, a sudden urgency to her voice. “Someone else is beeping in.”
“Thanks for calling, Nat. I appreciate it.”
Kate hurried the dogs farther along the path, away from the house where Elise Vanderzell had plunged to her death just hours earlier. Randall’s home was less than a ten-minute jog away.
She wondered when Nat would connect the dots.
21
Saturday, 10:20 a.m.
Ethan ushered a rigid Penelope Barrett and a trembling Lucy into the interview room. The girl’s thick blond hair hung around her face, brushed but obviously cried on all night. Despite the warmth outside, she wore an aqua blue hoodie zipped up to her neck. Ethan’s heart constricted. The kid was shaking like a leaf.
Tabby came around the table and held out her hand to the older lady. “You must be Lucy’s grandmother. I’m Tabitha Christos. Everyone calls me Tabby, just like the cat.” Her last comment was directed to Lucy. Tabby smiled, her warmth flowing over the cold concrete of the walls. “I’m a child worker. I’m here to ensure that Lucy’s best interests are represented during her interview.” She let her words sink in for a moment. Then she said, “Lucy, Detective Drake and I have some questions about what happened to your mum. It may be upsetting for you.” Her eyes took in Lucy’s pale face, her hunched shoulders. “Are you up to doing this?”
Lucy straightened. “I want to do it.” Her eyes darted between Tabby and Ethan. “I’m sorry I can’t stop shaking.”
“You don’t need to apologize, hon,” Tabby said, putting a reassuring arm around the girl’s shoulders. She led her gently around the table and sat her down, gesturing for Penelope Barrett to take the seat on the far side of Lucy.
Ethan gave Lucy his gentlest smile, feeling like a wolf about to pounce on a lamb.
Lucy met his gaze. Then her body convulsed in a big shudder. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back against her chair.
“I really don’t think Lucy is up to this,” Penelope said, frowning. “She’s been terribly traumatized. And she hasn’t had any sleep.”
“I understand, Mrs. Barrett,” Ethan said. “We wouldn’t have asked Lucy to come down if her information wasn’t critical to our investigation. Lucy was at the scene. She is a key witness.” He looked over at Lucy. “But if you aren’t feeling well, we’ll wait until you are better.” The last thing Ethan wanted was for the case to be tainted with the suggestion that he bullied the girl into giving her evidence.
Lucy shook her head. “I’m okay, Grandma.” Her face, though, was pale.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Ethan asked.
She looked faintly nauseous at the thought. “No, thank you.”
Tabby turned toward her. They were almost knee to knee. “Lucy, do you know why we want to talk to you?”
“You want to know what…” Lucy blinked. “What happened last night.”
Tabby gave her hand a pat. “That’s right. We’re trying to piece together why your mum fell.” The words needed to be said. They couldn’t pussyfoot around it the whole time. Tabby said them in such a straightforward, yet gentle, tone that Lucy gazed at her with relief. Even Penelope’s guard dropped a notch.
Ethan studied Lucy. Her eyes were an indefinable color. They reminded him of the bottom of a tide pool—blue, gray, green. Color that shifted and redefined itself every time you blinked. Mysterious.
Odd to see that in a young girl’s eyes.
He wondered what she would tell them today.
What her eyes would tell him.
Tabby began the interview with some easy questions, things that would loosen up Lucy before having to remember the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death.
“So, Lucy, you just finished sixth grade.”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favorite subject?”
“Language arts.”
“Do you play any sports?”
She nodded. “Basketball in the winter. I swim and play tennis in the summer. I was going to try a horse-riding camp, too…” Her lip began to tremble.
“On your vacation?” Tabby asked.
Lucy nodded. “Next week,” she managed to whisper.
“Do you have any pets?”
Another nod. “Two cats. Knitty and Purly. They’re brother and sister.”
“What fun names,” Tabby said with a warm smile. “Let me guess—is Pearly white?”
Lucy shook her head. “Everyone thinks Purly means a pearl. But it’s the other kind of purl. When we got them my mum was learning to knit. They’d get all tangled in the wool. So Mum called them Knit One and Purl Two.”
“Did your mum like to knit?” Tabby ventured onto this uncertain territory with the delicacy of a feline.
That actually prompted a smile out of Lucy. “No! My mother only did it because her therapist told her she needed to do something to unwind. But she never liked it because it was so unrewarding, she said. It took too long to make anything.”
Ethan jotted down therapist—still seeing?
“Did your mother find some other hobby?”
Lucy’s brow furrowed. “No. She was always so busy. She said she’d find a hobby when we were in university…” She trailed off. Her eyes clouded with tears. “But she did do yoga sometimes,” she added in a wobbly voice.
“Tell me why you all came to Halifax.”
Lucy wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. Ethan pushed a tissue box toward her.
“My dad wanted us to come.”
“All of you?”
She nodded. “He wanted to go sailing with my brother while I went to riding camp. Then we were going to stay in his house.”
“What about your mother?”
“Mum was going to stay at Cathy’s for a few days. And then go to a cottage. It had sand dollars…” Lucy’s voice trailed off just before it could turn into a sob.
“By Cathy, you mean Dr. Cathy Feldman, the law professor?”
“Yes.”
“She was a friend of your mum’s?”
Lucy nodded. “They met in law school.”
“So after you went to riding camp, the plan was that you were going to spend some time with your dad?”
�
�Yeah.”
“Do you see your dad very often?”
“No. That’s why he wanted us to come visit this summer. Because we’d hardly seen him this spring.”
“When do you normally see him?”
“Usually a weekend every month. But ever since—” Lucy threw Ethan a horrified look. Her grandmother tensed.
“Ever since what, Lucy?” Tabby asked, her voice soft. “Please tell us. It might help us sort things out.”
Lucy darted a nervous glance at Ethan, then turned to Tabitha. “Uh…my brother got into a fight with my dad,” she said, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Ever since that, my dad hasn’t been to Toronto.”
“Had he been there at all since Christmas?”
Lucy nodded. “But when my brother got into this fight—”
“A fistfight?”
“No. My dad just got mad at my brother for something he did.”
Ethan sensed, rather than heard, a slow exhalation from Penelope Barrett.
“What did he do, Lucy?”
Lucy threw a desperate glance to the door.
Bingo, Ethan thought.
“Um…he didn’t mean to do it,” Lucy said. She pushed her hands up opposite sleeves and hugged herself. “It was a mistake.”
“Do what?”
Lucy looked over to the door again.
“You’re upsetting her,” Penelope Barrett said. “I think she’s had enough for today.”
She pushed her chair away from the table, but Ethan caught Lucy’s gaze. “Lucy, you’re doing a great job. I know it isn’t easy to talk about things that are upsetting. But it’s our job to collect any information that might help us figure out what happened to your mother. The good, the bad, the funny, the sad.” His tone softened. “If you don’t want to continue, you don’t have to. But all we are trying to do is help your mum.”
Lucy glanced at her grandmother.
“I don’t see what Nick’s actions in Toronto have to do with this,” Penelope said.
“Mrs. Barrett, at this stage, I don’t either. But that’s our job—to piece together information until it forms a picture.” Ethan’s tone was mild, but he was damn sure Penelope Barrett knew full well that a family conflict a few months ago could have led to last night’s events. He gave Lucy an encouraging smile. “Every bit of information you give me is like a piece of a puzzle. Some of it clearly forms the outline of the picture. Other bits are like those dull background pieces that seem to fit nowhere until all the pieces are assembled. That’s why we want you to tell us what you know. Even the stuff that you’d rather forget. Because it could be important, Lucy. It could help us.”
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