"Yeah, that's a shame,” I said, bored. “Anything else?"
"Just that I resented Jason's remarks,” he said. “'Trophy husband'—how unkind, and untrue. Meredith and Andrew planned to marry because they were deeply in love."
"I see,” I said. Poor, naive old guy, I thought. It sounded to me like Jason had sized things up pretty well, and Otis was too blinded by love for his daughter to see the truth. I sent him on his way, wondering if I'd be sharp enough to protect Kevin and the new kid from whatever dangers they might face. Here was Otis Colchester, evidently a smart guy, but he hadn't realized Andrew was a gold-digger, hadn't protected his daughter from a man who might rip through her bank account and break her heart. Well, people can be odd combinations of strengths and weaknesses.
"Funny, isn't it?” I commented to Bolt. “Otis seems shrewd about investments, but when it came to Andrew—"
Bolt chuckled. "Very funny. When he solemnly declared he hadn't looked into Mr. Atherton's assets—oh! My sides ached with suppressed laughter. A man so watchful of his daughter's portfolio and mortgage! The very idea that he wouldn't investigate a suitor with lavish habits and no steady job! And Mr. Atherton frequently attended events that seem designed for women with enough money and leisure to fancy themselves the victims of amorphous ailments, yet Otis pretended he hadn't noticed that warning sign! And you kept such a straight face—that was the funniest part. Please, sir, don't put on such a performance again, or I may laugh out loud and disgrace the department."
Well, hell. I hadn't meant “funny” in that sense, and I hadn't noticed half the stuff Bolt ticked off. “I'm sure Otis would be happy,” I said, grumpily, “to know you were paying such close attention to his every word."
Abruptly, Bolt stopped chuckling. “Thank you for pointing that out, sir,” he said soberly. “He did seem to be choosing every word carefully, to be drawing our attention to certain pieces of evidence and inviting us to draw connections."
I was on the verge of breaking down and asking what the hell he meant when Krista knocked on the door. “I'm sorry,” she said, looking flustered. “I know we're supposed to wait for you to call us in. But I need to show you something."
I glanced over at Bolt. “Take a seat,” I said. “What do you need to show us?"
It was the text message from Andrew, of course. “You have to understand,” she said, “I didn't read this message last night. I turned my cell phone off when we got home, and when we heard Andrew was dead, I just threw it in my purse and ran over here to be with April. I didn't even think about checking my messages until two minutes ago. When I saw that message, I—well, I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."
I didn't let an eyelash flicker. “What impression didn't you want us to get?"
"You know.” She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. “I didn't want you to think that I'd read the message and come over here, and that Andrew and I . . . quarreled."
"So you didn't come here last night?” I pressed.
She crossed her legs again. “Of course not. When we got home, April went up to bed, and Jason and I had a drink and watched Conan O'Brien. Then Jason checked on April, we watched Jimmy Fallon, and then we went to bed. It was a quiet evening."
"But Fallon's show ends at 1:30,” I pointed out, “and Andrew sent his message at 2:12, and he says your kitchen light was still on. How do you explain that?"
"I'm not sure,” she said. “Maybe we forgot to turn the light off, or . . . well.” She paused. “Has the coroner determined the time of death?"
"Not yet,” I said. “Why do you ask?"
"No reason,” she said. “It just worries me to think there's a burglar running around our neighborhood killing people, and I wondered just when it happened. The coroner will be able to figure out just when it happened, won't she?"
"Not down to the minute,” I said. “She usually gives us a range of a few hours."
"Oh,” she said. “Hours.” She paused. “Does she know how Andrew died? April said his head was bloody—was he hit with something? What does the coroner say?"
"Nothing I should repeat,” I said.
She nodded. “I also wondered—well, until last night, Andrew and I hadn't spoken ten words to each other. Why would he send me a message?"
I passed on answering that one. “Dunno. How did you feel about Andrew?"
"I liked him,” she said promptly. “So did Jason. And of course we were happy Meredith was getting married because that meant Jason wouldn't have to keep paying alimony. That's always seemed wrong—he and I both have jobs, yet he has to pay Meredith alimony when she's got so much money that she doesn't have to work at all."
Bolt sat forward. “But she wasn't nearly so well off at the time of the divorce, was she? She didn't receive her inheritance until her mother died three years ago."
"That's true,” Krista admitted. “When she got the inheritance, we hoped she'd forgo the alimony. But she can be so spiteful, and, well . . .” She broke off. “Anyway, Jason and I got annoyed last night because we were in an awkward position: April might have felt hurt if we hadn't come to the party, but it wasn't much fun for us to be with Meredith and Otis. And we disagreed about who should pay. But the main point—this is the point you have to remember—is that we stood to profit if Meredith got married."
"But Jason called Andrew a trophy husband,” I pointed out.
She blanched at that. “I don't remember what words he used. We all got upset. The point is, Jason and I would have profited if Meredith married Andrew."
"I got that part,” I said dryly. “No need to run it past me a fourth time.” I questioned her for another ten minutes. She seems pretty nice, I thought; but then I remembered she'd had an affair with Jason and broken up his marriage. As she rambled on, my mind wandered. Even nice people can do awful things. I mean, Kevin's a nice kid, and we've worked hard to teach him right from wrong. Even so, we've had incidents with cheating and lying. Now, with the new kid, we'll be starting from scratch, and who knows how we'll do? Kids get curious about drugs and sex and stuff, they act on impulse, and they land in trouble. No matter how many good principles you teach them, they might mess up in a moment of passion.
"Lieutenant?” Krista said, her forehead creased. “Do you have more questions?"
"What?” Startled, I realized that she'd stopped talking, that I'd gotten too caught up in my thoughts to notice. “Sorry. No more questions. You can send your husband in."
"What is it, sir?” Bolt asked, the moment she was out of the room. “You seemed somewhat preoccupied. Do you have a new theory?"
"No,” I said, too embarrassed to try to be coherent. “I was just thinking about, oh, curiosity, acting on impulse, stuff like that."
"I see,” Bolt said. “You're wondering why Krista was so curious about the time and cause of death. Excellent point, sir. And acting on impulse—I think I understand. Even if she and Jason would gain nothing from Mr. Atherton's death, either might have done something rash on impulse."
"Right,” I said, floundering. “I mean, it's hard to know what someone might do in a moment of passion. I'm—well, I've got doubts about that."
Before Bolt could respond, Jason walked in, looking haggard—bags under his eyes, pasty skin. I asked him about his evening, and he gave me the same story Krista had, almost word for word: had a drink, watched Leno, checked in on April, watched O'Brien, went to bed. Not much there, I thought, but Bolt spoke up.
"Was Miss April awake when you checked on her, sir?” he asked.
"Yeah,” Jason said, shifting in his chair. “I heard music coming from her room. That's why I went up. She was fooling around online, watching videos and stuff. She said she couldn't sleep; I told her to turn off her laptop and try again."
"Let's move on,” I said, a little annoyed with Bolt. Who cared when April went to bed? “What happened—"
"Krista's already told you,” Jason cut in. “Look, be straight with me, okay? Krista thinks we should play it cool, but this is
driving me crazy. You obviously don't think a burglar killed Andrew. You think it was one of us."
I tried for a poker face. “We're considering all possibilities."
"Well, it wasn't me,” he said. “Or Krista. We had no reason to want him dead. But Otis—he must've hated it that Meredith was getting married again. He's always tried to control her. That's why he gave us the house next door when she and I got married. This big, generous wedding present—I realized later it was just a way to keep her under his thumb. Our marriage was doomed from day one because he was always interfering, putting me down and ordering her around, and she never had the guts to stand up to him."
"I can see how that'd cause problems,” I said, waiting to see where this would go.
"You bet it did,” he said. “And he kept using his money to manipulate us. I had my own business, and I had some rough times. Whenever we went to Otis for help, he'd give us just enough to bail us out for the moment, never enough to put us on our feet so we could make it on our own. Her mother was the same—little gifts when we got desperate, promises of a big inheritance so Meredith didn't dare displease her. It ripped us apart. We were headed for divorce long before I met Krista."
"And after the divorce,” I pointed out, “Meredith finally got that big inheritance. So wasn't she already independent from Otis?"
"Financially, yeah,” he acknowledged. “But she still ran to him whenever she had a problem. If she'd married Andrew, that would've changed. And Andrew was obviously marrying her for her money; you think Otis didn't realize that? I think even Meredith suspected it, and that's why she dragged her feet about setting a wedding date."
"So you think Otis murdered Andrew,” I said, to get it out on the table, “to keep him from marrying Meredith."
"I'm not accusing anyone.” Jason ran a hand over his scalp. “All I'm saying is that Otis had a reason to want Andrew dead. I didn't."
Bolt stood up, walked over to Jason's chair, and stood directly in front of it. “But you, sir,” he said, “are the one who had a shouting match with Mr. Atherton last night."
"We were all ticked off at him,” Jason said, his face getting flushed. “I mean, it was ridiculous. Here's this guy with a make-believe job, trying to dazzle April by throwing money around, calling her his special star, pretending she's good enough to go to Hollywood. So I lost my temper, said a few things—"
"Such as calling him a trophy husband?” Bolt cut in.
"Look, I'd had a few drinks,” Jason said. “But I had no reason to kill him."
Bolt leaned forward, putting his hands on the arms of Jason's chair. “Perhaps you weren't thinking reasonably last night. Perhaps, in a moment of passion—"
"Damn it!” Jason jumped up, knocking his chair over backward, panting with rage. “I didn't have a damn moment of passion! I tell you, I never laid a hand on—"
"He was alienating your daughter's affections,” Bolt continued relentlessly, “and positioning himself to take possession of the inheritance you'd coveted throughout your first marriage. You couldn't tolerate that. You—"
"Stop it!” Jason yelled, lunging at him. Don't worry, Mother—I lunged, too, and flopped down hard on top of the desk, and scooted forward, and fell on the floor, and got to my feet in time to pry Jason's fingers from Bolt's throat before any real damage was done. As Bolt gasped for breath, I punched Jason in the gut, and he fell back against a bookshelf, knocking his head on Bartlett's Quotations and sinking to the floor. I called for the uniforms, and they cuffed him and half steered, half dragged him to the kitchen.
Bolt stood massaging his windpipe. “So now we know,” he gasped, “that Jason sometimes acts on impulse in moments of passion. I hope, sir, the demonstration was sufficient to satisfy your doubts. Are you ready to question Meredith Ralston?"
I sank into my chair. “You bet,” I said.
Her eyes were slightly red, but she'd freshened her makeup and brushed her hair. “I saw Jason's in handcuffs,” she said, smiling at Bolt as he held her chair for her. “Is he under arrest?"
"Yeah, for assaulting an officer,” I said. “He got sorta hot under the collar."
"That's so typical.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor Jason. Last night, when he threatened Andrew—but I'm sure he didn't mean it. He's just got such a terrible temper, especially when he's drunk. And it always upsets him to see me with another man."
"Even though you're divorced?” I asked. “Even though he's remarried?"
She sighed. “I'm sure he regrets that now. We were blissfully happy before Krista came along. She had to work hard at seducing him. And now, he always seems so sad."
"So you think Jason was jealous of Andrew?” I asked.
"Jason clings to the past,” she said, giving her head a proud little toss. “But I'm not that way. When something's over, it's over, and it's time to move on. That's the attitude that got me through the divorce.” She looked at Bolt. “I notice you're not wearing a wedding ring. Have you been through a divorce too?"
"No, ma'am.” He looked startled. “My wife passed away, many years ago."
"How sad,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand, “but I'm sure you've found the strength to move on, just as I have."
"Let's get back to last night,” I said, sick of wasting time on personal stuff. “What did you do when you got home?"
"Why, I went to bed,” she said. “My health's been improving—the new medications seem to be helping—but even so, I need my eleven hours."
"So you slept through everything that happened last night,” I said. “Didn't see anything, didn't hear anything?"
"I slept like a baby. Like a warm, contented baby,” she said brightly, with another smile for Bolt. She sure didn't seem broken up about her fiancee's death. I couldn't see that she had a motive, though. Well, maybe she came over for a tryst, and they got into a fight; maybe Jason's not the only one who can act impulsively. If she'd finally figured out Andrew was after her money, that might've made her go for the letter opener.
"So, tell me about Andrew,” I said. “He was younger than you, right?"
"A little,” she agreed. “But age means nothing to me. I have no reservations about dating a slightly younger man—or a slightly older one.” She smiled again at Bolt.
"But maybe you had reservations about actually marrying one,” I persisted. “Jason said you were dragging your feet about setting a wedding date."
"Oh, that Jason.” She gave a little trill of a laugh. “That's his jealousy talking. In fact, just yesterday Andrew and I decided to get married in March. We hadn't told anyone yet, but it was all settled."
Maybe—but with Andrew dead, I couldn't check to see if she was telling the truth. “Did you worry that he didn't have a steady job? Jason called him a trophy—"
"Jason's jealous,” she said, sharply. “That's why he said that. And Krista kept egging him on—she's a bitter, nasty woman. At the party, Andrew tried to start a conversation with her. Sweet Andrew—always the peacemaker. So he reached out to her, but she cut him off and walked away. And the way she tries to interfere with April!"
"How does she do that?” I asked.
"In all kinds of ways,” she said, getting heated. “She calls April constantly, and texts her, and posts messages on her MySpace page, and e-mails her. Last Tuesday—my day—Krista sent her an e-mail at eight thirty at night, saying an actor April likes was on some television show. Krista knows I don't allow television on school nights. She was trying to make April resent my rules. Luckily, I deleted the message before April saw it."
"So you monitor your daughter's e-mail, ma'am?” Bolt asked.
She cooled down and mustered another smile. “Please,” she said. “It's not ‘ma'am.’ It's Meredith. And yes, I monitor her e-mails. There are so many dangers lurking on the Internet, especially for innocent girls like April. I'd be irresponsible if I didn't keep track of everything she does online. I'm a devoted mother, Sergeant—or may I call you Gordon? I'm a devoted daughter, too, and I was
a devoted wife when I was married. I guess I'm just a warm, affectionate person."
"I guess,” I said, wondering how she'd learned Bolt's first name. I'd pretty much run out of questions, so I stood up to stretch my legs and ended up looking out the library window. “That's your house on the right, isn't it? And Jason's house is on the left. Doesn't it get uncomfortable, all living so close to each other?"
"I've often wished Jason and Krista would move,” she said, with a resigned smile. “But it's a comfort living so close to Papa. If he's not feeling well, I can check on him. And I can see his house clearly from my kitchen window—I can take a peek any time, day or night, to make sure everything looks all right."
"If you woke up in the middle of the night, for example,” Bolt observed, “you could peek over to see if the library lights were still on, if he'd stayed up late reading."
"That's right.” She nodded eagerly, as if happy to agree with anything he said; but the nods stopped abruptly. “That is, I think I could. I've never tried. I'm a sound sleeper. Once I go to bed, I sleep straight through till morning."
"I see,” I said. “And I guess that's it. Unless you have more questions, Sergeant?"
"I'd just like to ask if we might speak to Miss April alone.” He stepped closer to her. “We'll try our best not to upset her. I give you my word, Mrs. Ralston—Meredith."
She'd looked reluctant, but when Bolt said her first name, she melted. “All right,” she said, “since I have your word, Gordon. I'll get April. And if you need me, I'll be in the kitchen. I'm cooking chili for lunch, and I hope you'll have some. If I say so myself, I make wonderful chili—rich and hot and spicy, the kind that sticks to a man's ribs.” She cast an admiring glance at Bolt, presumably at his rib cage, and scurried off.
AHMM, May 2010 Page 6
