“Yes, well, that was another thing we wanted to talk to you about,” Erin said without missing a beat. “Your husband’s suitcase.”
“What about it?”
“We had our lab take a look at it last night,” Dusty told her.
“And?”
“And it’s our opinion that you didn’t remove it from the Mercedes, as you thought you might have.”
“I didn’t?”
“No,” Dusty said. “You see, our examination indicates that your husband was carrying it when he entered the bedroom.”
“It does?” Clare murmured.
“It does,” Erin confirmed.
There was a long pause. “I was frightened out of my wits that night,” Clare said finally. “And then afterwards, I was numb. So numb I couldn’t tell you what day it was. I thought I’d taken the suitcase from his car. I’d done it before. Sometimes he brought it in, sometimes he didn’t. But maybe I didn’t do it that night. I honestly don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember stepping over your husband’s bleeding, bullet-ridden body to pick it up and put it in the closet while we were knocking down the front door?” Erin queried.
Clare shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember very much about that night at all.”
“Well, do you remember, when you went back into the closet, and found blood on the suitcase, that you tried to wipe it off?”
“No, I don’t remember that, either,” Clare said. “And I’m not sure I like where you seem to be going with all of this. Am I under suspicion of something? Should I be calling my attorney?”
“That’s up to you,” Erin told her. “But it might not be a bad idea.”
***
David Johansen had grown up in Ballard. In fact, he had lived right next door to the Nicolaidis family. His mother and Clare’s mother had been the best of friends, and the two families were always in and out of each other’s houses.
From his early teens, David was big and comfortable to be around, with sandy hair and hazel eyes and a crooked smile. Clare never had a brother, but if she had, she would have wanted him to be just like David. He could do anything, from fixing her broken bicycle to finding her lost kitten. She couldn’t help but adore him.
He played baseball during the school year and Little League during the summer, and she went to every one of his games, although baseball held no real interest for her, just to cheer him on. In return, he attended all her piano recitals, looking very uncomfortable, but being a good sport about it. She decided if he couldn’t be her brother for real, he would certainly be her friend for life.
Two months after David turned eighteen, a drunk driver killed his father. When a lawsuit failed to provide much of a settlement, Gus arranged to have the mortgage on the Johansen house paid off, and then gave David’s mother a job.
“It’s too much, Gus,” she protested.
“No,” Gus replied. “It’s not enough. What’s the good of working hard all your life and having a little money to show for it, if you can’t do what you want with it? You’re family. It’ll be enough when your boys graduate college.”
And he had kept his word. David and his brother not only earned their bachelor’s degrees from the University of Washington, they both went on to graduate school. Today, David’s brother was on staff at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Institute, and David was the head of his own successful law firm.
Clare had every intention of keeping in touch after her marriage, even though Richard disliked David on first meeting, and dismissed any connection out of hand. Clare didn’t understand why, but then, she didn’t let it stop her, either. So between Christmas cards, and telephone calls, and bumping into one another as if by chance at various social gatherings, and lunches squeezed in every month or so, she and David managed to maintain their friendship. Ironically, they had last seen each other just a couple of weeks ago, at Richard’s funeral.
He took her phone call without hesitation. “Hey, kiddo, how’re you doing?” he asked, a smile in his voice.
“Not all that well, actually,” Clare confessed. “Could we get together and talk?”
“Sure,” he replied, looking at his calendar. “I could drop by later this afternoon.”
“That would be fine, I’ll look forward to it,” she said. “And David -- this won’t be a social call.”
He frowned at his end of the line. “What’s up?”
“Not now,” Clare told him. “When I see you.”
***
“We don’t have enough,” Dusty declared. “We may think she meant to murder her husband, but if we’re going to take it up to the prosecutor’s office, we going to have to have more.”
“Let’s go back to some of the people who were on that list Clare gave us,” Erin suggested. “We know a whole lot more now than we did the last time we talked to them. Let’s try again, from a different angle, and see what shakes loose.”
***
It was past eight o’clock when David Johansen left Laurelhurst for his modest home on Queen Anne Hill. Although financially secure in his career, the attorney had learned much from Gus, not the least of which was the value of money. David and his family lived well, but not extravagantly. They saved conscientiously, and gave generously.
He and Clare had talked for almost four hours, and there was still much to be said. But he had to have time to think, to digest what he had heard, and to figure out how best to proceed. He had heard many stories in his sixteen years of practicing law, but never anything quite like the story Clare Durant had told.
***
“I’ve known Clare for four years,” Nina told Erin in her office at Thornburgh House. “We’ve been good friends for, I’d say, at least three-and-a-half of those years. Was her marriage a perfect one? Of course not -- perhaps you can tell me whose ever is? But she was devoted to Richard, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. She’s been devastated by his death. She’ll never get over it.”
“Would she have been devastated if he had wanted a divorce?” Erin asked.
“A divorce?” Nina echoed in surprise. “Of course she would have.”
“Do you think she would have agreed to it?”
Nina thought about that for a moment. “Clare is a very proud woman, but not a foolish one,” she said finally. “I think if Richard had really wanted a divorce, Clare would have given it to him. She would have made him pay, of course,” she added, with a little twinkle in her eye, “but she would have given it to him. I don’t understand why you’re coming around and asking all these questions now, though. I thought the case had been closed.”
“We have just a few loose ends to tie up,” Erin said. “One of which is, we’re trying to understand why Richard Durant would cut his business trip short and not tell his wife.”
“I didn’t think he would,” Nina said. “But then again, what do I know? I didn’t think he’d come walking into the house in the middle of the night, either, when he knew all of you were out there, expecting the stalker.”
***
“As far as we knew, the Durants were a perfectly normal, happy family,” Marcia Bennett, one of the next-door neighbors, confirmed. “What a terrible tragedy this has been. I saw Clare just yesterday. She’s lost at least ten pounds. I doubt she’ll ever be the same. And heaven knows what effect it will have on the children.”
“Would you say that you and the Durants were friends?” Dusty inquired.
“Of course, I would,” Marcia assured him. “We’ve lived next-door to each other for ten years now. Of course, we’re all busy people, and we don’t see each other nearly as much as we might like to, but we certainly kept in touch.”
“What I mean is, would you know if there were any problems in the marriage?”
“Problems?” Marcia echoed. “What sort of problems are you talking about?”
“Serious problems,” Dusty said. “The kind that could lead to irreconcilable differences.”
“Well, if there
were, I can assure you it wasn’t obvious to us.”
“You mean Mr. Durant never talked to your husband about wanting a divorce? And Mrs. Durant never talked to you about her husband wanting a divorce?”
“Certainly not,” Marcia said firmly. “On both counts.”
“Well, do you think, if there were any problems in the marriage, you would have known about them?”
“I think so,” Marcia Bennett replied. “As far as we could tell, aside from that perfectly awful stalker business that Clare got caught up in, she and Richard seemed to have an idyllic life.”
***
“We’re getting nowhere with this,” Dusty said when he and Erin sat down to compare notes at the end of the day. “No one I’ve talked to so far knows anything about Durant wanting a divorce. I’m beginning to think it was wishful thinking on Stephanie Burdick’s part.”
“There are a few people left to see,” Erin said. “Let’s not give up just yet.”
***
“We’ve known Clare and Richard -- my goodness, it must be over a dozen years now,” Annabelle Fowler said, sitting in the parlor of her gracious lakefront home in Windermere, another exclusive Seattle suburb, just to the northeast of Laurelhurst. “Richard went sailing with my husband John almost every Sunday during the season. Clare and I served together on any number of committees. What a dreadful thing it was, what a terrible, terrible tragedy, losing poor Richard, and then to have it happen the way it did, just when we thought everything was going to be okay with them.”
“What do you mean?” Erin inquired.
“All that nonsense about Richard wanting a divorce, of course,” Annabelle offered.
“What did you know about that?” Dusty asked, as the two detectives almost jumped out of their seats.
“Well, only what John told me. He said that no one could have been more surprised than he was when Richard approached him -- I guess it was almost a year ago now. Well, no one except me, I can assure you. I don’t mind telling you, I was bowled over. I always thought they had a perfect marriage.”
“Do you know why Durant would have approached your husband about this?”
Annabelle shrugged. “I assume it’s because my husband is a divorce attorney.”
Dusty held his breath. “Did your husband tell you why Durant wanted a divorce?”
“No, he didn’t. All he said was that Richard wanted to know exactly what his position would be at Nicolaidis Industries if he were to get one. Of course, John had to tell him that he more than likely wouldn’t have a position at Nicolaidis if there was a divorce.”
Dusty and Erin both leaned forward intently. “And why was that?” Dusty asked.
“Because Richard never had any real financial interest in the company. He took it public about ten years ago, and may have picked up a few shares for himself in the process, but Clare retains seventy percent of the voting stock. If there had been a divorce, I can assure you, Clare would have had Richard removed in a heartbeat.”
“How do you know that, Mrs. Fowler?” Erin inquired.
“Because she told me so.”
Dusty hoped he had heard correctly. “Clare Durant knew her husband was talking to a divorce attorney?”
“Well, certainly she knew,” Annabelle asserted.
“Did she say how she had found out about it?”
“She didn’t have to. I knew how. I told her.”
“You told her?” Erin almost whispered.
“Well, of course I did,” Annabelle declared. “I had to. As I told John, I was sure it was just a temporary aberration on Richard’s part, you know, a midlife crisis sort of thing, and I didn’t want to see that lovely family split up over it. And I was right to do it. The two of them obviously worked everything out, because Richard stopped talking about getting a divorce, and he and Clare seemed as happy as ever together.”
***
“I’ve worked for the Durants for seven years now,” Doreen said, sitting at the table in the kitchen. “And I worked for Mrs. Durant’s mother before that.”
“And how would you best describe the Durants’ marriage?” Dusty inquired.
“I make it my business not to describe anything about the people who employ me,” Doreen replied crisply.
“Look, we certainly appreciate that you want to be loyal to Mrs. Durant,” Erin coaxed. “And believe me, we’re not the enemy here. We don’t want anyone to get hurt unnecessarily. We just want to find out what really happened that night.”
“I wasn’t here,” Doreen told them. “I haven’t the faintest idea what happened.”
“She knows more than she’s saying,” Erin said under her breath, as they left the kitchen. “I can feel it.”
“Of course she does,” Dusty agreed. “But the only way we’re likely to get it out of her is with a subpoena.”
***
“Under no circumstances will I allow you to speak to my children,” Clare said defiantly.
Dusty and Erin exchanged glances.
“Even if it would be in your own best interests?” Dusty asked.
“I’m far more concerned about what would be in their best interests,” Clare replied. “Good God, you people have been annoying everyone I know -- my housekeeper, my friends, my relatives, my neighbors, my business associates -- and for what? Because you think that I shot an innocent person on purpose? And now you want my children to help you prove it? The answer is no! You don’t go near Julie and Peter. They weren’t here that night. They know nothing about what happened. How many times do I have to say it? I shot someone I thought was trying to kill me. That’s all there is to it.”
***
Not for the first time, Erin lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to put it all together. The clock on the night table told her it was well after midnight, but that didn’t matter. She did some of her best thinking in the creaky old bed, in the dark, quiet time, alone. And she needed all her wits about her, because the Durant case really confounded her.
There was now little doubt in Erin’s mind that Clare Durant had deliberately shot and killed her husband, but the question was -- could they prove it? They could establish that Richard Durant wanted a divorce. And thanks to Annabelle Fowler, they could now confirm that Clare was aware of it.
Fear and panic notwithstanding, Erin felt they could also show that Clare knew her husband was returning a day early from his trip, and therefore knew she might well shoot him instead of the stalker. And then the most telling thing of all -- when she in fact did shoot her husband, she tried to cover it up by hiding the suitcase. In Erin’s book, that showed consciousness of guilt. Had Clare really been as fearful or as numb as she claimed, she would simply have left things as they lay.
Erin was fairly confident they could show means and opportunity. Which meant the only thing lacking was the motive.
And that was what was keeping her awake this night. Richard Durant had apparently abandoned his pursuit of a divorce, despite what he might have led Stephanie Burdick to believe, so the marriage was not in jeopardy. On the contrary, everyone she and Dusty had spoken to seemed convinced that things were just fine between them. So was Clare’s motive simply revenge for the pain and anguish that his consulting with John Fowler had caused her? Not to mention his ongoing adultery. And could they sell that to the prosecutor’s office? And could the prosecutor, in turn, sell it to a jury?
Erin sighed. Pride? Humiliation? Women had murdered for less, she knew. But there was something else here, something she couldn’t quite grab hold of that bothered her, that didn’t fit. And she knew enough to believe that whatever it was had a great deal to do with Richard Durant’s death.
***
Through black-framed eyeglasses, King County Deputy Prosecuting Attorney Mark Sundstrom stared dourly at the file in front of him, and then looked up at Dusty and Erin, who were sitting on the edge of their seats across the desk.
“Please don’t tell me this is all you’ve got,” he declared with a groan.
“So far,” Dusty replied, a shade defensively. “But we’re still working on it.”
“Let me see if I have this straight -- you convince the Nicolaidis heiress that a stalker is coming to get her, and by mistake she shoots her husband, who’s supposed to be out of town, and you think it’s murder?”
“We don’t think she shot him by mistake,” Erin replied.
“Well, maybe she didn’t,” the prosecutor conceded with just a hint of exasperation in his voice, “but what makes you think you’ve got anything here that would convince a jury?”
“No need to get testy,” Erin said with a toss of her head. “If you don’t think we’ve got it, then don’t file the charge. We’ll just close the case and let her get away with it.”
“Oh, don’t even go there,” Sundstrom snapped. “You know damn well it doesn’t matter what I think -- it’s what I can prove. We’re talking Nicolaidis Industries here, not some indigent with an overworked public defender I can run rings around.”
The two detectives exchanged sidelong glances. It was all they needed to hear. They had worked with Mark Sundstrom a number of times over the years, and they knew the man well enough to know when a “no” was really an “I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to.”
“Talk to John Fowler,” Sundstrom said. “See if he corroborates his wife’s statement. If he does, then I’ll think about it. But do us all a favor, would you please, and try to come up with something that looks like evidence?”
***
“In case you still want to know, we found the truck that ran Clare Durant off the road on Mercer Island,” a police officer told Dusty and Erin two days later.
Erin was instantly alert. “Where?”
“In a scrap yard south of Olympia.”
“Conclusive?” Dusty asked.
“Yes,” the officer confirmed. “We matched the first two numbers on the plate to the numbers one of the witnesses gave the Mercer Island officer at the scene, and then CSU found a scrape on the front right fender with red paint on it that was a match to the BMW.”
In Self Defense Page 15
