Time of Death rb-2

by Alex Barclay

  I knew it.

  Ren looked at her watch. It was 11 p.m.

  If I can disturb the dead at this time, I can definitely disturb the living.

  48

  Peter Everett opened his door slowly and let his arm fall limp at his side. His hair was standing on end, his eyes red, his pupils like pinholes.

  ‘You must have been a very nervous man over the past few weeks,’ said Ren.

  It threw him. ‘Nervous?’ He stared at her. ‘Why would I be nervous?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  He nodded.

  They went into the living room this time. He gave Ren the sofa and stood leaning against the bureau opposite it, his arms and legs crossed.

  ‘Please sit down.’ Ren gestured to the seat across from hers. He sat down.

  ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Let’s do this.’ She slid a photo across the table between them.

  Everett’s eyes shot wide. He frowned.

  ‘You know who that is,’ said Ren.

  ‘Uh…yeah. It’s…Judge Hammond’s wife. Trudie.’

  Ren nodded. ‘It is.’ She let the silence between them stretch to minutes. He had stopped looking at the photo after his first quick glance. But Ren could sense, behind his eyes, rapid traveling thoughts.

  ‘I won’t show you a crime-scene photo,’ said Ren.

  Tears welled and disappeared into his eyes. In seconds.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Ren. ‘I know, but tell me.’

  Another long silence.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Everett. ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘I’m not playing this game with you,’ said Ren. ‘This back-and-forth thing. What happened to Trudie Hammond? And do not respond with any variation on “Tell you what?” or “How would I know?” I don’t want to hear it. I don’t have the time or the patience.’

  Everett’s hand had a tiny tremor when he lifted it again to rub his forehead.

  ‘Douglas Hammond moved from the area three months after the murder. You and Lucinda moved within two.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have?’ said Peter. ‘The whole place had changed. We didn’t like the idea of bringing up our daughter on a street where someone had been murdered. Especially when the killer hadn’t been caught. And as for Douglas Hammond moving, well, he had even more of a reason.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Ren. ‘I’m looking through the file and thinking about all of that and how there was something missing. I don’t know if you know much about cold-case investigations, but the main bummer is that you’re working with, in this case, a twenty-seven-year-old file and the limited homicide experience of the investigators. It was quite a thin file, all things considered.’

  Everett had no idea where she was going.

  ‘What we did have, wrapped in a brown paper bag – God bless Detective Whoever – was Trudie Hammond’s nightgown…’

  Something was slowly dawning on Peter Everett.

  Ren kept going. ‘So I figured, maybe those blood stains weren’t all Trudie Hammond’s. There may have been blood stains from the killer; the vase used to beat her to death had shattered, so he may have gotten cut himself. Back then, they didn’t have the means to test for DNA and determine who the blood belonged to. So I sent the nightgown to the lab…and, no, it was all just Trudie Hammond’s blood.’

  Everett appeared to be relaxing.

  Not so fast. ‘But what the lab did find was semen stains. On the back of her nightgown. There was so much blood, that no one had paid any attention. And even if they had, Douglas Hammond said he’d had sex with his wife that morning. I might have overlooked that semen stain too, but I believe with a cold-case file you take what’s there and do everything you can with it. Especially something that the original investigators didn’t. So, what the hell, I ran it anyway. And it turns out, it wasn’t Douglas Hammond’s semen. But there were no signs of rape, so consensual sex was had.’

  ‘I don’t need to hear the details of Trudie Hammond’s death,’ said Everett. ‘Or her file. Or the stains on her nightgown.’

  ‘Oh, you do,’ said Ren. ‘Back to Helen Wheeler. You’re dating her. She is murdered. The judge who is trying to access her patient files is killed. You used to know him.’ Ren paused. ‘How did you meet Helen Wheeler?’

  ‘At a benefit.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘In September last year.’

  ‘Had you ever been a patient of hers?’

  ‘What? No. Psychiatrists are not allowed to date—’

  ‘Are you for real?’ said Ren.

  ‘Look, we met at a benefit. We dated. It went from there…’

  ‘This all seems a little coincidental.’

  ‘Well, it’s not. Not to me.’

  ‘So, you didn’t come as a patient to Dr Helen Wheeler and, in therapy, reveal to her that you killed Trudie Hammond? Something that you were afraid Douglas Hammond would find if he accessed the files? The newspapers reported that investigators were looking at the possibility that a patient had killed Dr Wheeler, so…’

  ‘What are you talking about? This is ridiculous. I did not kill Trudie Hammond. Nor was I ever Helen’s patient. And I barely knew Douglas Hammond. I swear to God.’

  ‘You may not have known him…Most men would rather not know the husband of the woman they’re sleeping with.’

  Everett froze.

  ‘Did you not see that’s where I was going with the DNA thing?’ said Ren. ‘I had the lab run the semen stain against the sample you gave for the Helen Wheeler investigation. I got a match. It’s black and white. Either you used Trudie Hammond’s nightgown to—’

  I can’t stoop that low.

  Everett swallowed hard. He said nothing. In the silence, Ren could not take her eyes off him. She treated times like these, pauses from the guilty, as a form of meditation, one of the few times she could be still yet keep her mind on work. It wasn’t healthy meditation, she knew that. It wasn’t as serene as looking at a flickering candle or a statue of Buddha. She snapped out of it when Everett raised his head.

  ‘Lucinda and I were married two years. I was…young, starting up my business, working out of the house. Douglas Hammond was working as an attorney…the whole time. Trudie was…home.’ He hung his head. ‘I guess I can skip the romantic “how-we-got-together” part. But it wasn’t just loneliness and it wasn’t just sex.’

  Here we go…‘OK.’

  ‘We would get together during the day in one another’s houses, whatever.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘Where was your wife…?’

  ‘Oh God, my wife,’ said Peter. ‘She was…wonderful. She was…most men would give their right arm to be with Lucinda. I tried so hard for her to be all that to me, but—’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t even know why. Lucinda was beautiful, bright, generous, kind – she still is – but you need more than that, don’t you? I mean, you could forgo some of those things if you had that special thing with a woman. That in definable thing that I never believed in until I met Trudie. I loved the ground she walked on.’

  ‘That would be beautiful to hear…’

  Everett looked up at her, thrown.

  ‘…if I didn’t know how the fairytale ended,’ said Ren.

  Everett bowed his head again.

  ‘Let me ask you, were you planning to leave your wife?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was too early for that.’

  ‘Because you had a fledgling business that her family money was paying for?’

  Everett blushed.

  At the money part.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘So, you would meet Trudie, how often?’

  ‘Every day.’

  ‘And on one of those days—’

  ‘Douglas came home early and walked in on us.’

  Whoa…Douglas Hammond came home before Trudie was killed?

  49

  How many dramas have been detonated by people simply coming home early?

  ‘We were…Trudie and I had a policy of not doing it
in our…marital beds.’ Everett paused. ‘I know,’ he said, taking in Ren’s look. ‘How honorable.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Ren.

  ‘Trudie and I were in the kitchen…it was all open plan – front door opened into the living room which opened into the kitchen. Douglas walked in. His face…we were in the middle of…I was behind her at the kitchen counter.’

  Oh God, the housewife bent over the kitchen counter. Seventies-porntastic.

  Everett went on: ‘Douglas had no clue how he had been treating Trudie. No clue. He thought providing for her was enough. He just – he…When he saw us, he burst into tears. That’s when we realized he was there. We struggled to get dressed and before Trudie had even gotten her nightgown back down, he had rushed over and grabbed her.’

  He bowed his head. Ren waited.

  ‘Her arm was kind of half in her nightgown,’ said Everett. ‘She lost her balance, fell against him…he pushed her away and then…she fell. Right through the glass coffee table. She landed on her back. There was glass everywhere. It was like shrapnel, like a bomb had gone off.’

  Everett rubbed his hair roughly over and over. ‘It was so screwed-up. I’m standing there, my underwear half on, and everything’s spattered with blood. Douglas is standing with his arm still stretched out, but he’s so still, not crying any more, nothing. And I’m there with my dumb tennis shorts around one ankle. We look at each other. Me and Hammond. We lock eyes. And I think what we are both seeing are huge headlines, front-page photos, cops and cuffs and weeping families and jail and…we don’t even have to say anything. It’s like we make this silent decision.’

  Jesus Christ.

  ‘We…Trudie was still alive at this point,’ said Everett. ‘She’s choking on blood. But not fast enough, God forgive me. And we both love this woman and no one wanted her to suffer.’

  Ren opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say that would express how she felt, while leaving her with some form of professional dignity.

  Everett started to cry. ‘I couldn’t watch it any more. I was going to put a pillow over her face. That’s what I thought would be the humane thing to do. But Douglas stopped me and said, “An intruder wouldn’t do that. An intruder would leave her.” I couldn’t believe how quickly he said it, how calmly. But the worst part was Trudie heard too. And we both saw that she had heard.’

  Jesus Christ.

  ‘I was frozen to the spot,’ said Everett. ‘I could not look at her. But my life would be over if I were part of all this. Lucinda’s life would be over. She was pregnant. Her family…who had all been so good to me. And Douglas Hammond had a two-year-old daughter. So I picked up a vase…and I…I ended it for Trudie.’

  ‘Ended it for Trudie’; the strange language people use to temper the truth. Like veneer on rotting timber.

  ‘Me and the future Judge Douglas Hammond…’ Everett looked at Ren as if he was talking about someone else.

  ‘What a team,’ said Ren.

  ‘We stood there, we were…in shock. It was horrific. And next thing you know, I was back in my house, cleaned up like nothing had ever happened.’

  ‘Until – shock horror – you hear that the pretty lawyer’s wife who lives down the street was found dead.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where was your wife at that time?’

  ‘Lucinda was at home on bed rest. She had pre-eclampsia.’

  What an absolute shit. If only Helen knew who she had been dating…

  ‘Have you ever fallen in love?’ said Peter. ‘With the right person at the wrong time? The wrong person at the right time? The wrong person at the wrong time?’

  ‘So, this is about love…’ said Ren. You have got to be kidding me.

  ‘I’m not a bad person.’

  ‘If you’re not—’

  ‘You surely are not naïve enough to think that there aren’t a million other people around the world like me: good people who have done maybe one bad thing and have had no choice but to separate themselves from it.’

  ‘Separate themselves from it? Interesting choice of words.’

  Everett looked down.

  ‘Do you think your wife ever suspected?’

  Everett’s head jerked back up. ‘Not for one second. Lucinda just does not see badness anywhere. Or in anyone.’

  God help her.

  ‘And so you were able to continue with your life,’ said Ren. ‘Hold your wife’s hand in the delivery room, cry at the birth of your daughter, get that business of yours up off the ground, build it to its current heights and keep it there…’

  ‘I was – and am – haunted.’

  ‘Probably by Casper the Friendly Ghost…’ Ren stared at him. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t want to upset yourself too much.’

  ‘You have to admit that, if you met me out, in company, in a bar, wherever, you would think I was a nice man,’ said Everett. ‘We would talk, we’d have things in common. You wouldn’t spend the evening with a chill up your spine.’

  Ren said nothing.

  ‘Look at Helen…’ There was pain in his eyes when he mentioned her name. ‘She didn’t figure me for a killer.’

  ‘You don’t figure yourself for a killer,’ said Ren, ‘and you had almost thirty years to make yourself believe that. The human mind is a powerful thing. It also helped you to create that mask of yours and keep on working on it right until…well, I suppose the end. Which is round about now. I can’t blame Helen for not seeing through you. You’re right, I would have met you and not suspected you of anything. But please, don’t be foolish enough to take that as a compliment on your acting skills or anything else. Nor is it a sign that, deep down, you really are a good person and that that is what ultimately shone through.’ Ren shook her head. ‘What you and Douglas Hammond did was possibly the most…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s just mind-blowing how you came together in that way. Did you ever cross paths since then?’

  Everett shook his head. ‘No. I’m sure we both saw each other in the media…’

  ‘Deathstyles of the Rich and Famous?’ Ren tilted her head. ‘What do you know about Douglas Hammond’s death?’

  ‘Nothing more than what I read in the paper. A car wreck…’

  ‘OK. Well, Denver PD will talk to you about all that when I bring you in.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident. It was homicide.’

  ‘What…why would Denver PD want to talk to me?’

  Ren gave him a patient look. She stood up from the sofa. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘This is not me,’ said Everett. ‘None of this. It’s just not me. The person who did that to Trudie.’

  ‘If that makes you feel bett—’

  Ren broke off as she caught a shadow passing by the glass in the dining room. She took another step, but stopped again. She could hear the faint sound of ceramic rocking on a shelf, as if something had been disturbed.

  There is someone in the other room. She looked at Peter Everett.

  Did he know? Was someone here all along?

  Keeping him in her sight, Ren slowly reached for her sidearm and began moving toward the door. Suddenly the doors burst open, knocking her gun from her hand and sending her sprawling to the floor. Seeing two masked men, she reached for her ankle holster but a boot slammed down hard on her thin wrist and she lost her grip. She kicked out and caught the intruder in the knee. He buckled. She stood up and moved to punch him in the face, until the hot pain of her wrist shot up through her arm. Shit. As she raised her leg to kick again, she caught sight of Peter Everett charging her way. Oh my God: he’s trying to help. Everett grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to spin him around. But the room seemed to fill with more people. Just two more. But it was enough.

  The last thing Ren saw was Peter Everett being dragged, unconscious, from the room.

  50

  Ren woke up on Peter Everett’s sofa. It looked like nothing had happened. No signs of a struggle. But two people had struggle
d…against four others. She glanced at her watch. Two hours had gone by…and now nothing. The only disturbance was the pounding inside her head. She sat up and slowly brought her feet to the floor. It was dark and clear outside. There was no snow falling. She let her head rest back against the sofa.

  Douglas Hammond and Peter Everett killed Trudie Hammond. Now Douglas Hammond was dead. Peter Everett would have been dead, too, if that was what the intruders had wanted.

  And so would I.

  Ren made a call to Gary Dettling and held the phone an inch from her ear.

  There was no evidence of a break-in in Peter Everett’s house. The rooms were undisturbed, the intruders had worn gloves, the back door had not been smashed in. There were no footprints – no fresh snow to hold them. Everett’s car was in the driveway where he had left it. Ren’s car was outside on the street.

  Gary arrived at the scene with Colin, Cliff and Robbie. Ren went through everything twice. Cliff took her aside gently.

  ‘How are you doing? Are you OK?’

  Ren nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Just a heads-up – I called Glenn Buddy myself, to…lessen the blow.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Ren. ‘I never even thought of that. He’s going to—’

  ‘Hello,’ said Cliff loudly. ‘Glenn, how are you doing?’

  Glenn came up behind Ren and shook Cliff’s hand. He reached out for Ren’s as an afterthought.

  I am the ground zero of all things bad in Denver. ‘Hey,’ said Ren.

  ‘What happened here?’ said Glenn.

  ‘Nothing that you’re going to find any evidence of, I’m afraid,’ said Ren.

  Glenn walked past her. ‘Well, we’ll see about that. Follow me in here, please.’

  Everyone arrived back at Safe Streets at around the same time. Ren made a pot of coffee for ten and drank most of it. The television flickered in the corner. Every media outlet in Denver had heard the news of the missing millionaire…minus the detail that he and the dead judge had killed the woman they loved. Ren sat miserably in front of her computer.