Perfect Partners?

by C. J. Carmichael

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep now?”

  The concern in his voice, brought a slight ache to her stomach. More like a yearning than a pain. “Whether I sleep, or not, isn’t really your concern.”

  “Wow. Still, the same prickly Lindsay.”

  She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “I’m just used to being independent, that’s all.”

  “You really believe that?” Nathan gave her a long, considering look, then shook his head. “When we worked together on the police force, I could understand why you kept your distance. I figured you were worried that friendship would lead to something more.”

  “Just because we kissed that one time—”

  “Hey. It was more than a kiss.” When she wouldn’t look at him, he added, “Even if you won’t admit it.”

  “That kiss was a mistake. I thought you agreed with me about that.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You never mentioned anything…”

  “I wanted to. You were the one who froze me out. Next thing I knew, you’d handed in your resignation. I felt guilty about that.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have. My resignation had nothing to do with you.”

  Nathan was silent for a minute. Then he nodded. “Good.”

  “I started my agency because I wanted to do work that was meaningful to me. But now you’ve got me questioning your motives for being here.”

  “Hey, don’t flatter yourself. You’re not exactly irresistible. And for the record, I take my work just as seriously as you do.”

  “Yes.” She’d gone too far suggesting that he might have had ulterior motives for seeking her out. She ought to know better than to make too much out of one necking session.

  Still, she couldn’t silence the nagging feeling that this partnership—which seemed so perfect in so many ways—might turn out to be her biggest mistake.

  MORNING CAME TOO EARLY. It always did for Lindsay. There were few sounds she hated more than the buzzing of her alarm clock, though Nathan Fisher’s voice might become one of them.

  She lifted her head from the pillow, then sank back as a familiar pain made her wince. She’d mixed herself another drink last night before going to bed. The extra alcohol had helped her sleep, but now she was paying the price.

  She groped for the pain relievers she kept at the side of her bed, swallowed two, then hit the snooze button. Thirty minutes later, she was running late, but at least her head was back to a normal size.

  As she dressed, she mentally reviewed her plans for the day. First up was the meeting with Audrey Burchard, but she needed to reschedule some appointments first.

  The air was smoggy and humid, and Lindsay inhaled the familiar scent with resignation as she hurried out her front door. Bad air was the price you paid to live in this city, but frankly, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She passed at least twenty people during the short walk to her office and not one of them tried to make eye contact with her.

  How great was that?

  Nadine handed her a cup of fresh coffee as soon as she stepped into the office. Lindsay accepted thankfully, knocking back several sips despite the hot temperature. Nathan was in the reception room, too, waiting in the sitting area reserved for clients, reading the New York Daily News.

  “Ready to go?” he asked her.

  Lindsay remembered his annoying ability to always, always, always be on time. “I’m well aware of our meeting with Audrey Burchard, thanks, Nathan. Just give me a minute.”

  She passed a list of names and numbers to Nadine. “Would you reschedule these appointments for me, please?”

  “You bet.”

  Lindsay’s gaze snagged on the African violet. “When I get back, we need to talk.”

  “Oh.” Nadine looked sheepish and slightly worried. Perhaps she’d hoped Lindsay wouldn’t even notice the plant. Not that it was a big deal. Still, she had a feeling that if she didn’t put a stop to it now, Nadine would fill the place with big, green, growing things that needed daily care and attention.

  SITTING IN THE BACKSEAT of the cab with Nathan, Lindsay was reminded of the hours they’d spent together in their patrol car. It didn’t feel as if two years had gone by since they’d last worked together. It felt like yesterday.

  “Tell me about the shooting,” she said. She was having trouble dealing with her anger on this. There were lots of cops she’d worked with who cut corners. Most, in fact.

  But she’d been Nathan’s partner for a year and she’d never seen him take the easy way once.

  “I’d rather not.”

  So it was still a sore point with him. She glanced out the window as the taxi rounded the corner, then headed toward the Museum of Natural History. When the light changed, the driver sped past the museum into Central Park. They would cut through the park and emerge on the East Side in plenty of time for their ten-o’clock meeting.

  “Does Celia still live with her parents?”

  “You mean, her mother—her dad moved out after the shooting. Yeah, she does, but if you’re worried about her interfering with our interview, don’t. I already suggested it was a good idea if she wasn’t home when we arrive.”

  She gave a short nod of approval, then gave him a closer look. “So what’s up with the two of you? Are you dating?”

  Nathan looked annoyed. “We used to date. Not any longer.”

  Lindsay was hit with emotions she didn’t like or understand. Mild jealousy that he and Celia had once been a couple. Relief that they no longer were.

  Good Lord, what was the matter with her?

  “You’re not worried about your ability to be objective?”

  “Hell, Lindsay, why the inquest? If I didn’t think I could be impartial, I wouldn’t have accepted the case.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” she said. After what he’d gone through the past few months, the last thing he needed was someone questioning his integrity. Quickly, she changed the subject. “I read the file on Mrs. Burchard last night. Thanks for pulling together all that information.”

  “I’m glad it helped.”

  “I knew Maurice Burchard was a big-time property developer, but it’s interesting that Audrey also has money of her own.”

  “Probably more than her husband, since the economic downturn. Her father is a very successful art dealer. He owns several galleries that are operated by various family members, including Audrey and Celia. I believe they both have an ownership stake, as well.”

  “So whatever the divorce might have meant to Audrey, it wouldn’t have threatened her financially.”

  “Not at all. In fact, from a monetary perspective, the divorce would be far more challenging for Maurice. I checked the property tax records today and both the town house and the Catskills lodge are in Audrey’s name.”

  “Is she dependent on him in other ways?”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen. She’s an elegant and polite lady, but underneath the veneer, I would say she is extremely strong and determined.”

  Good for Audrey Burchard. But not necessarily good for her case. “In situations like this I always wonder about possible abuse, either mental or physical. You had the advantage of knowing them on a personal level. Did their relationship appear healthy?”

  “Who can really tell from the outside? Healthy enough. The few occasions I saw them they seemed happy.”

  “It wasn’t a facade?”

  “Why don’t you judge for yourself?”

  The taxi was already gliding up to the Burchard residence on Park Avenue. Before Nathan could pull out his wallet, Lindsay covered the fare, then stepped carefully to the street, avoiding a pile of dried leaves in the gutter. Past the sidewalk, wide stone stairs led to an impressive set of chestnut doors.

  Audrey met them there—a platinum-haired woman with a dynamite smile, dressed in an elegant suit of ivory silk, accented with bold silver jewelry.

  “Nathan! It’s so nice to see you again.
Please come in. And this is your partner?”

  Nathan made the appropriate introductions, then fielded questions from Audrey about his sister and nephew.

  He and Audrey obviously had a warm, intimate relationship and she wondered anew about Nathan and Celia’s history. If he said the relationship was over, she believed him. But how serious had it been in the first place?

  Audrey Burchard led them through an ostentatious foyer to a library with a collection of nineteenth-century oil paintings and glass-fronted cases of leather-bound books.

  Though this was one of the most expensive homes she’d ever been inside, Lindsay wasn’t impressed until she tasted the coffee which was served by a woman in her fifties, who entered and exited the room with the discretion of a soft summer breeze.

  “This is seriously good coffee.”

  “Thank you. It’s my husband’s favorite Ethiopian blend. It’s ridiculously expensive.”

  But they hadn’t come here to discuss coffee. Lindsay sat back in the sofa, and tried not to be distracted by either the fabulous wealth around her, or her silly, nagging resentment of Nathan’s relationship with this woman’s daughter.

  Perhaps it was because she’d become used to working on her own, but Nathan’s presence seemed to change everything for her. Focusing on work had never been a problem before. Now, the sound of his voice, his physical appearance, even the scent of his shampoo, were all intensely distracting.

  It was damned annoying.

  Lindsay trained her eyes on the woman they’d come to interview. In person Audrey Burchard exuded energy and power. Her demeanor was not just of confidence, but of one used to taking control of situations and managing outcomes. Her silver hair was very short, showcasing pretty ears and diamond studs as big as the nail on Lindsay’s pinkie. Her green eyes were clear and sharply focused.

  It seemed extremely unlikely that this woman was cowed by her husband, no matter how domineering or powerful he might be. This deduction was supported by Mr. Burchard’s slight physical appearance which Lindsay noticed in a framed family photograph on a nearby table. The balding man probably weighed only ten pounds more than his tall, slender wife.

  One of the theories Lindsay had been considering was that the shooting may have been Audrey’s method of retaliating against a domineering, possibly abusive, husband. That, however, did not seem very likely anymore.

  Determined to take control of the meeting before Nathan, Lindsay leaned forward, but before she could say a word, Audrey was speaking.

  “Thank you so much for coming here today, but I’m afraid this is going to be a complete waste of your time.”

  Surprised, Lindsay looked over at Nathan who appeared equally taken aback at Audrey Burchard’s announcement.

  “My daughter means well, she’s a sweetheart, but there’s nothing either of you can do to help my situation.”

  “Why do you say that, Audrey?” Nathan asked gently.

  “Because I shot my husband. There’s simply no doubt about what I did.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “OKAY. YOU SHOT YOUR HUSBAND.” Lindsay restated this fact as calmly as she could. “But there were extenuating circumstances. Mitigating factors. Nothing is black-and-white in the eyes of the law.”

  Mrs. Burchard looked unimpressed. “What sort of factors mitigate the shooting of one’s spouse?”

  “Were you trying to kill him, Audrey?” Nathan asked, obviously fishing for a negative response.

  “I must have been. Why else would I have fired the gun?”

  Lindsay caught Nathan’s eye. Audrey wasn’t making this easy. She tried again. “Do you remember what you were thinking at the time?”

  “No. I don’t recall anything about the shooting. I remember having breakfast with Maurice, going out into the garden, Maurice asking for the divorce, arguing…and then nothing. Next thing I knew, Maurice was bleeding and yelling with pain, and I was lying on the grass with the shotgun in my hand.”

  Lindsay had been doubtful about the gap in Audrey’s memory, but now she had to admit the woman was convincing. She glanced at Nathan and could tell that he was inclined to believe her, as well.

  “Would you review all the events of that morning in detail, please?” Lindsay asked. “And would you mind if I recorded our conversation?”

  Audrey shook her head wearily. “I just don’t see the point.”

  “I’m sure you must be tired of talking about that day,” Nathan said, his gaze warm and compassionate. “But will you do it once more for Celia’s sake?”

  At the mention of her daughter’s name, Audrey relented. “Fine. For Celia, one more time.” She flashed a weak smile at Lindsay. “Go ahead and record this. I don’t mind. My story hasn’t changed from the first time I gave my statement to the police and it won’t ever change because I’m speaking the truth.”

  Lindsay removed the recorder from her bag, confirmed that it was working, then set it on the table between them. She didn’t like recording interviews, and only did so when she suspected the conversation was going to be longer than her memory and note-taking ability could manage.

  She pressed Record, then nodded at Audrey. “Let’s start with the first thing you remember in the morning,” she prompted.

  “I slept in, waking up an hour later than my usual time of eight o’clock.” She leaned forward and added, “I’m not a morning person.”

  Lindsay had to smile. “I can relate.”

  “It was the weekend and we were at our lodge in the Catskills. My husband was already in the kitchen. I remember he poured my coffee and made me toast, something he rarely did. That should have tipped me off that he had something up his sleeve. But silly me, I sat down to breakfast and chatted about this and that. Maurice didn’t say much, but then he is by nature a quiet man, and again, I didn’t clue in that something was wrong.”

  Audrey stopped, then sighed, as if she were imagining herself back, living that day. Lindsay’s stomach tightened as she anticipated the events that would follow. The worst of stories always seemed to begin with this—a normal moment, in a normal life. At the time, Audrey Burchard had thought she was having an uneventful breakfast with her husband. Instead it had been the day her life would shatter.

  Lindsay’s job often brought her into contact with the worst moments of her clients’ lives. It was a journey she had to take with them, at least mentally, in order to help them. Though it was never easy.

  Audrey resumed her story. “While we were lingering over coffee, Maurice noticed that the squirrels were getting into the bird feeders again. We decided to go outside and frighten them off.”

  “How did you plan to do that?”

  “With Maurice’s shotgun. He’d taken it out of the locked cupboard because he was planning to shoot pheasants after breakfast.”

  “Did he often go shooting at that time of day?” Lindsay asked.

  Audrey frowned. “No. He’s usually up before dawn on a hunting day. But then, this wasn’t a regular day. Maybe he thought it would be easier to tell his news if we were outside. At any rate, we went to the garden and Maurice fired the shotgun once. He didn’t hit anything, but it did the job. The squirrels left the bird feeders alone after that.”

  “Then what happened to the gun?” Nathan asked.

  “Maurice must have set it down. I think he must have reloaded it, too, in case the squirrel came back. But I’m not sure.

  “I started talking about Celia, about my concerns regarding her love life—” Here she paused to glance at Nathan, who showed no reaction. She continued.

  “Maurice interrupted me midsentence. It was clear he hadn’t listened to a word I was saying. He told me he wanted a divorce. He was sorry, but he didn’t love me anymore.”

  Lindsay’s stomach twisted as she imagined how that must have felt.

  “I didn’t believe him at first. We’d gone on a holiday to Greece together eight months ago. We’d had a very nice time and discussed all sorts of things, including our marriage. He seeme
d happy, then. We were both happy.”

  “Did you remind him of that?”

  “I did. I said, ‘If you’re joking, this is in terrible taste.’ But he replied that it wasn’t a joke, he was very sorry, but he’d decided he needed a fresh start in life.”

  Mrs. Burchard shook her head, as if she still couldn’t believe it.

  “Did he mention another woman?”

  “He claimed there wasn’t one. I’m not sure if that’s true. I’ve thought of hiring someone to find out. Now, I suppose, that job will fall to the both of you.”

  Lindsay nodded. “Back to that day. After Maurice said he wanted a fresh start. What happened next?”

  “I became extremely angry—so angry that I actually felt ill. We argued, bitterly, and—that’s all I remember.” Again she tossed out her hands. “I know it seems crazy, but the next thing I recall is lying on the grass. The gun was in my hands and Maurice was howling with pain and begging me to put down the gun and call 9–1–1.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Well, I tried to do as he asked, but I felt strange. I think I must have had some sort of episode. My psychologist thinks I was in an automatism state. What he can’t explain, and what I can’t, either, is how it happened.”

  The diagnosis Audrey named had been mentioned in some of the newspaper clippings in the file Nathan had given her. Lindsay had done some research on the Internet and was still skeptical. How convenient to claim you weren’t responsible for your actions because you’d slipped into an alternate state of consciousness.

  Seeing Audrey Burchard, now, though, listening to her describe what had happened, she was a little more persuaded.

  “I realize how lame this sounds, and I’m sorry I don’t have a better, more rational explanation. There are times in the past two months where I’ve questioned my own sanity, believe me.”

  “How much time passed from when you woke up, to the moment Maurice asked you to call 9–1-1?” Nathan asked.

  “I used Maurice’s cell phone to make the call. He always carries it with him. I remember the time on the display was 10:15 a.m.”