Joni sighed. There was no sense in denying it. “Yes, he was in the same room with me. Now what’s happened?”
Apparently, she’d given the right answer, the one that matched Dirk’s, because the detective’s expression eased. “I’m afraid your brother-in-law has found the body of Mrs. DeLong.”
“What?” This made no sense. Joni had believed the stalker was after her or those close to her. “Why would anyone kill Kim?”
“Maybe they had reason to hold a grudge.”
“You mean me?” Her hand flew to her throat. “You think I killed her?”
Dirk strode toward them. “Give her a break, MacDougall. She had nothing to do with this.”
The detective blocked his path. “I need to talk to Mrs. Peterson alone.”
Above MacDougall’s outstretched arm, deep blue eyes met hers. “You should have a lawyer present, Joni.”
“I have nothing to hide.” She knew she sounded naive. But waiting for a lawyer would only drag this matter out and reinforce the policeman’s suspicion of her.
“This way, please.” The detective gestured her toward the building.
In a private office, he questioned her for nearly an hour, taking particular note that both Celia and Dirk could attest to her whereabouts on Saturday night. She held nothing back, knowing he must have interrogated Dirk and that their answers would be compared.
When he was finished, he grudgingly answered a few questions of her own, probably because the information would soon be all over the media anyway. It appeared that Kim DeLong had been stabbed to death several days ago, possibly on Saturday night.
“The blood,” Joni said, “on my patio. Could the killer have dumped it there?”
“Since it was washed off, we have no way of knowing who it belonged to.” MacDougall’s pouchy face looked gray, as if he were upset over the gruesome find, too.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Kim did some rotten things, but she didn’t deserve this.”
“I’m releasing you for now.” The detective inhaled as if intending to say more, then stood up and opened the door. “I may have more questions later.”
“I understand,” Joni said.
Outside, investigators were taking measurements and bagging evidence. Yellow tape encircled the rear of the building, and arriving employees had to use the side door.
Dirk stood near the secured area, watching the activity. When he caught sight of Joni, he started toward her, until the detective waved him away. Reluctantly, Joni got into her car. She wanted to stick this out, but she was late for work.
Although the alarm system would be installed at her home this afternoon, that prospect no longer reassured her. Kim’s elegant Tudor mansion, adjacent to the country club, bore a sign proclaiming the name of her security service. What good had it done?
Trying to keep her thoughts trained on the day ahead, Joni drove to the hospital beneath low, ominous clouds.
THE DETECTIVE KEPT ASKING for the same information, trying to trip him up. After laboriously repeating his description of where he had been Saturday night and how he had found the body this morning, Dirk got annoyed.
“Look,” he said, “Joni’s in danger. Why are you more interested in trying to pin this on me than in protecting her?”
The detective tilted his jowly head. “What I’d like to know, Mr. Peterson, is why you aren’t more concerned about your own safety. Do you have some inside information about where this guy’s going to strike next?”
“I’m not the killer,” Dirk said. “And I can take care of myself.”
“Do you carry a gun?”
“Of course not.” California had strict laws against concealed weapons. “Since you’ve already searched me and impounded my car, you’re well aware that I don’t.”
He supposed it might be more forthright to admit that seeing Kim’s body had left him with a chill deep in his gut. But it wouldn’t do any good.
MacDougall must have serious doubts about whether Joni, newly released from the hospital, could have confronted Kim, murdered her and dragged the body away. So the detective was taking the easy way out by turning his sights on Dirk.
“We’re aware that you don’t have a gun on you,” the detective conceded. “But then, the victim was stabbed.”
If he were trying to get Dirk’s goat, he was succeeding. “Let’s put our cards on the table,” Dirk snapped. “Why would I kill Kim DeLong? Because we had one argument at a soccer field?”
“According to witnesses, you were angry that she’d seduced your brother and embarrassed your family,” the detective said mildly. Luring him, giving him an opening to spew out his fury.
Dirk sighed. “I had nothing to gain from her death and you know it. From my brother’s, I got a job I didn’t need.”
“As well as half ownership of his property,” the man prompted. “He was fairly wealthy, I gather.”
MacDougall was clearly out of his depth. “This may come as a disappointment to you, but in this case, ‘wealthy’ is a relative term. First of all, in case you haven’t already checked, my own net worth far exceeds my brother’s. Furthermore, most of his capital is tied up in the printing company, which is still in debt from its expansion.”
The detective rubbed his jaw. “The two of you didn’t get along, did you?”
“You’re fishing in the wrong creek,” Dirk said. “Come on, MacDougall. Don’t tell me you haven’t checked my whereabouts last Wednesday night I wasn’t even in Viento del Mar.”
He could see resistance in the man’s face. The detective sure hated to give up an easy solution. “Not as far as we can tell anyway.”
“Then I’m free to go?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
They’d been over the facts repeatedly. Moreover, they were wasting time. Somewhere nearby, a killer lurked. If MacDougall didn’t intend to hunt down the clues, then someone else had to.
“Am I under arrest?” Dirk demanded. “If I am, I want a lawyer. If not, I’ve got work to do.”
The policeman’s cheeks twitched as if he were chewing gum. Finally, he said, “Don’t leave town without notifying us.”
“I have no intention of leaving town until I’m sure Joni and my s—my nephew are safe.”
The other man’s eyebrows rose. “Your what, Mr. Peterson?”
He’d just slipped, Dirk realized. If the truth came out, it could look very bad indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
Your what, Mr. Peterson? The detective’s words echoed in Dirk’s ears.
“My son,” he answered, since it was obvious that’s what he’d started to say. “That’s how I’ve come to think of him. I have no children of my own, as you should know.”
“You wouldn’t be planning to adopt your nephew, would you?” MacDougall pressed. “Say, once you and Mrs. Peterson get married?”
So that was what the man was implying. If Dirk had been secretly planning to marry Joni and wanted to adopt Jeff, it would give him a motive to get rid of Lowell.
“Until last week, I’d only met my sister-in-law at her wedding and my father’s funeral, and I’d never met my nephew,” Dirk said. “What’s between Joni and me occurred after my brother’s death. For your information, we haven’t discussed marriage.”
He stopped short of explaining that he wasn’t the type to tie himself to one place. That was none of MacDougall’s business.
“I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we check Mrs. Peterson’s phone records?” the detective said.
“You don’t need my permission.” Dirk had no doubt the man would pursue that avenue if he hadn’t already done so. “But you won’t find any international calls to me. Also, my passport will show that I rarely visit this country.”
The other man shrugged. “All right, Mr. Peterson.” As Dirk withdrew, he added, “Hey!”
“Yes?”
“I’m real sorry about your printing plant being in debt. Inheriting it must have put a big strain on your finances.” MacDougall kept
his tone deadpan as he jingled the change in his pocket. “You need a small loan or anything?”
“I’ll let you know,” Dirk retorted, and headed for the side entrance.
ALL DAY, JONI JUMPED every time the phone rang. Her breath caught in her throat as she read through her e-mail, and she made a point of buying lunch.
No more surprises, please.
At least she didn’t risk running into Mrs. Wright. Patients wouldn’t normally undergo dialysis two days in a row.
The scene at the printing plant kept running through her mind: police cruisers and a fire truck parked helter-skelter, yellow tape blocking the crime scene; investigators poring over every pebble and fallen leaf.
Kim’s body had already been removed, and Joni was glad she hadn’t seen it. But a sense of horror remained, mixed with troubling questions. Why had the killer targeted Kim? Did he have the twisted notion that he was avenging her wrongs to Joni, or did he fear Kim might have information about Lowell’s death? Or was there yet another, unsuspected motive?
She shivered at the possibility that Kim’s blood had been dumped on her patio after the murder. What about the pom-pom pin left at the house on Sunday? And the strands found in her lunch sack yesterday?
The killer was close to her. Much too close.
Did he really fantasize about winning Joni and then keeping her under his thumb? The very idea gave her the creeps.
Once she told Basil what had happened at Dirk’s plant, he forgave her lateness, but he reminded her that the newsletter needed to go out. She set to work determined to make the best use of the few hours available.
Her boss helped by steering away a newspaper reporter who wanted to interview her. From the hallway, she could hear his gravelly voice explaining that Mrs. Peterson was too upset to talk.
The young woman apologized and left. Whether Herb had spoken to his friend, the publisher, or whether the reporter was simply respecting small-town sensibilities, Joni was grateful that she apparently wouldn’t be harassed.
At one o’clock, as she drove home to meet the security service, the radio announcer was recounting the news of Kim’s death.
“Police are withholding information about where Mrs. DeLong’s body might have been hidden since Saturday,” he intoned. “However, this station has learned that twigs and leaves were clinging to the plastic sheet found wrapped around her. This might indicate the hiding place was in a wooded area.”
There were plenty of woods around Viento del Mar, Joni reminded herself. It didn’t mean Kim’s body had been kept near her house.
“There were no signs of forced entry at Mrs. DeLong’s home,” the man continued. “She was believed to have been alone Saturday night, and some observers speculate she might have opened the door to someone she knew.
“Mrs. DeLong was known to have argued earlier in the day with Joni Peterson, ex-wife of businessman, Lowell Peterson, and with Peterson’s brother, Dirk. Lowell Peterson was stabbed to death one week ago—”
Joni switched off the radio. How dare the newscaster imply there was a connection between the argument and Kim’s slaying?
It was also unreasonable for anyone to assume that a woman would only open the door to an acquaintance. Viento del Mar was a small town with a low crime rate. Lots of people opened their doors for salesmen, Mormon missionaries, and stranded motorists.
There was no mention of the police having found a murder weapon. She wondered whether the killer had used the same kind of knife and where it was now.
DIRK SPENT MUCH of the day reassuring employees about the murder, answering questions for the police and dodging a reporter and photographer who were hanging around the crime scene. He also had to arrange for another rental car, since his had been impounded pending a search.
In the little free time that remained, he checked the computer for anything in Kim’s background that might provide a lead. Her ex-husband. Her financial situation. Her charitable activities.
If the information existed, it wasn’t in her credit files or anywhere else that he could access. Although he wanted very much to interview the victim’s friends, Dirk suspected MacDougall would arrest him for interfering with a police investigation if he tried.
At three-thirty, Joni called to say the alarm system had been installed and she was going to collect Jeff for soccer practice. Dirk was relieved to hear her voice.
He wanted to talk about last night, about the need to maintain their friendship for Jeff’s sake, but he preferred not to risk being overheard. Mostly he wanted to drive to her house and corner her in the bedroom, free her hair from its knot and remove both their clothes.
Exactly what he must not allow himself to do. Not now, and maybe never again.
“I’ll try to make it to soccer practice,” he told her, “but there’s a news team outside. I don’t want to risk having them follow me to the park and disrupt everything.”
“I don’t think they would, but we can’t be sure,” she said. “See you later, then.”
After she hung up, Dirk sat at his desk, thinking about her. He missed the softness of her hair, the glow in her eyes and the silky vibrancy of her skin. He wanted an instant replay of last night.
But he could feel the past and the town itself closing around him like a vise. The expectations, speculations and intrusions left him no privacy. Now he couldn’t even go for a walk without being pestered.
The world outside his hometown, Dirk had discovered long ago, was a wonderful place to hide. He loved the thrill of entering an unfamiliar country and meeting the unknown head-on.
After growing up in such a claustrophobic environment, he enjoyed the anonymity of strolling down a street where no one knew his name or expected anything from him. To be seen exclusively for oneself meant freedom.
Oddly, he didn’t get the lift that usually accompanied his musings about travel. His mind kept returning to one small house, to one intriguing woman—
“Dirk?”
He looked up. His grandfather stood in the doorway. “Herb! Good to see you!”
The older man, as straight and confident as ever, returned the greeting. As he took a seat, however, Dirk could see the tension in his face. “I heard about Kim on the radio.”
“I’m still in shock,” Dirk admitted. “Even my experiences as a bodyguard didn’t prepare me for finding the body of someone I’ve known for years.”
“How’s Joni taking it?”
“She had an alarm system installed and now she’s on her way to soccer practice,” he said. “She’s trying to keep things normal for Jeff.”
“I’ve been wondering if I should spend more time with them,” Herb said. “Not that I’m much of a fighter. But this murderer, he might back off if she’s with someone.”
“Or it might make him angry,” Dirk pointed out.
His grandfather cleared his throat and shifted on the hard chair. “You know, when I asked you to look into Lowell’s death, I never meant to put you or anyone else in danger.”
“You think my snooping contributed to Kim’s getting killed?” Dirk couldn’t see a connection, but Herb knew this town better than he did.
“I’m not sure.” Thick silver hair stood up as the older man ran his fingers through it. “I’ve been mulling over this whole business all day, trying to come up with some useful approach.”
It might not be Herb’s job to solve crimes, but then, it wasn’t Dirk’s job, either, he mused. The Peterson men responded to life’s blows by taking action or trying to, and his grandfather was no exception.
“I don’t like them staying in the house where Lowell died,” Herb went on. “Since Jeff owns half of the estate anyway, I think they should move there. I will, too. The boy needs masculine guidance.”
Dirk wondered how his grandfather would react if he learned the truth about Jeff’s paternity, or that Dirk and Joni were having an affair. Most likely, it would only trouble him unnecessarily.
“I suggested they move back, but Joni vetoed it. In
fact, I’ve listed it with a real-estate agent.” Dirk glanced at the clock. It was after four; soccer practice should have started.
Herb frowned. “I don’t like them living alone in that place after you leave. Alarm or not, I’m surprised Joni can stand it.”
“She thinks the stalker will follow her wherever she goes.” Dirk hoped his grandfather’s worrying wouldn’t affect his heart condition. “I’ll tell her you’ve offered to join her at the estate. Maybe that will make a difference. A couple of buyers want to see the property, but I don’t expect it to sell right away.”
“Thanks.” Herb stood and shook hands. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
After he left, the secretary buzzed Dirk. “You had a call while you were with Mr. Peterson. It didn’t sound important, so I took a message.”
“What was it?” Idly, Dirk jotted down a name and a phone number. Liz at the soccer league. Then he remembered that he’d requested information about the coach.
He returned the call immediately. Liz, a pleasant-sounding woman with a no-nonsense manner, told him it was Charlie’s second year as a coach and that he worked for a plumbing contractor. He’d said that he’d never been convicted of a crime, but the league hadn’t double-checked. If Dirk liked, she would fax over a copy of the application.
He would like it. Very much.
THE PARK’S SOCCER FIELD lacked bleachers, so Joni spread a blanket on the grass next to the Owenses. In the moisture-laden breeze, she could feel the curl evaporating from her hair and hoped she wasn’t going to catch a chill through her light jacket.
The other parents kept their distance, but this time she was prepared to be cold-shouldered. Anyway, she preferred it to intrusive questions.
On the field, Charlie shouted encouragement as he put the boys through calisthenics. Although he wore jeans and a pullover, his close-cropped blond hair gave him a military air.
“I hope it’s not going to rain tomorrow night,” Kathryn said. “Not after all the work I put into those costumes.”
His Secret Son Page 15
