Necessary Evil

by Janelle Taylor

  Catherine couldn’t stop the involuntary reaction as she rolled her eyes at the mention of her ex-husband’s fiancée. Lauren would do anything for attention; she was probably basking in a massive outpouring of sympathy surrounding her right now. She realized her automatic response had not escaped the astute detective, as his next words proved.

  “Not a fan of Lauren McBain, are you?”

  Dave spoke quickly, allowing his sister-in-law time to regain her composure by focusing the detective’s attention on him. “I don’t think Cath’s feelings about Lauren are relative, do you, Steve? Besides, if you’ve met her, I’m sure you’ve formed the same opinion we all share.” He paused to make sure his friend understood the unspoken implications behind his words. “Now, why don’t you tell us what happened to Adam? Since Catherine was out of town last night, she certainly can’t be a suspect. Right now, she’s got a son anxious for her return home.”

  Stephen nodded, then said, “I haven’t suggested your sister-in-law is a suspect, Dave. I was merely commenting on the strained relationship between Mr. James’ ex-wife and his current fiancée. In fact, Lauren McBain claimed in her statement that she had been personally attacked by Ms. James.”

  “What!” Catherine shrieked, making no attempt to mask her sudden burst of surprise and anger. A rosy flush crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks. “My ex-husband and I haven’t had much contact since our divorce. In fact, Matthew hasn’t seen his father in almost eight years. We wrote him out of our lives long ago.” Sarcasm filled her voice as she spoke. “Why would I have any feelings whatsoever about anyone he was associated with now? I could care less what goes on...went on in that man’s life. I certainly don’t give a hoot about Miss Lauren McBain.”

  “You didn’t throw punch and food on her at the Cancer Society Benefit in June?” Stephen asked.

  Catherine could only stare at the man before her as if he’d lost his mind. She managed to stifle the grin, which threatened her lips as she recalled the scene from the charity event, though the glimmer in her eyes exposed her amusement. “Ah, the embittered ex-wife threw her drink at the new, adored fiancée, causing Lauren much embarrassment and humiliation in front of her new high society friends. I can hear her lies now. I’m certain she didn’t tell you what really happened. She grabbed my arm and yanked me towards her. She caused my plate and its contents to go crashing to the floor and the bubbly in my champagne flute to go flying in her direction. She didn’t tell you the real story, did she?”

  Stephen shook his head. “That’s not the way she told it.”

  “Listen, Detective Moore, I had no idea they were engaged at that time and had never met her before that night. I had no idea who she was. She accosted me. Startled me and created the incident. As I said, I could care less what Adam did, or didn’t do, with his life. As long as he stayed out of mine. Which he did. Mostly.”

  “I see. There’s certainly two sides to this story.”

  “I was there that night, Steve. Cath is telling the truth. We were standing near the refreshment table, just got our drinks and snacks, when the crazy bitch tried to start a catfight. We left right after that.”

  “What did she say to you, Ms. James?”

  “Apparently, Adam told her a cock and bull story about how I’ve kept him away from his son and haven’t allowed him to see Matthew. She wanted to . . . convince me what a wonderful father Adam would be. Of course, this poor, deprived man has never paid a dime in child support. Nor has he ever requested to spend any time with his son.” Until last night.

  Stephen noted the strange look which crossed her lovely features. He had met the future Mrs. James and instantly disliked the whining and phony female. She had put on a dramatic show for the entire department when she had burst from the elevator doors, crying and sobbing for the news crew, which was following her. Lauren’s bleached blonde hair and carefully painted face had turned many of the men’s heads, along with her ample show of cleavage. He doubted her grief had been real, though the expression on Catherine’s face said there was much more to this estranged relationship than she was telling him. He glanced down at the file on his desk and asked, “You said you were out of town last night, Ms. James?”

  “Yes, I attended a seminar in Atlanta.”

  “Where did you stay?”

  “At the Marriott on Peachtree. The sessions lasted for two days, and then we took a certification exam today.”

  Stephen wrote the information on the pad in front of him as he said, “I’m sure we can easily verify this information. You’re not a suspect, but we have to cover all the bases, especially after the complaints and accusations by Ms. McBain.”

  “What exactly did the lying bitch say?” Dave demanded.

  “I really can’t discuss her statement with you at this time. If anything comes up that I need clarification on, I’ll be sure to contact you. Do either of you know anyone who wanted Mr. James killed? Or any motive for his murder?”

  Dave and Catherine shook their heads in unison before he asked her, “Do you own a gun, Ms. James?”

  “No, I don’t.” Damn, why had she lied!

  “Fine. That’s all the questions I have for you right now. I assume you’ll be available should anything else come up?” At Catherine’s nod, he continued, “As for what happened to your ex-husband last night, Mr. James’ maid found him at six this morning in his study. He was sitting in his chair, apparently having a drink, when someone shot him in the head four times. Death was immediate.”

  “Do you have any idea who did this?” Dave asked.

  “Not at the moment. We found a gun buried in the garden behind the pool house. It was registered to Adam James, but it had been recently fired. It’s been sent to the lab for fingerprinting and a ballistics match-up.”

  “What kind of gun was it?” Dave asked.

  “A thirty eight. It was fired at close range, so we assume that whoever did this was known to Mr. James. There was no evidence of forced entry or a struggle of any kind.” The detective focused his attention on Catherine once more. “When was the last time you saw your ex-husband, Ms. James?”

  Catherine was picturing Adam sitting in his favorite chair, sipping a Scotch with his hateful glare sending its own kind of bullets through her. She knew well the garden behind the pool house, the one she had designed to ensure privacy around the pool. The thirty-eight pistol Adam had given her for a wedding present—the weapon she’d put in her SUV underneath the seat for protection while she traveled—flashed its image across her mind.

  Dizziness assailed her as trepidation enveloped her weary body. Golden lights flickered before her sea blue eyes and a buzzing sensation tingled in her ears. Her garden! Her gun! Her past tormentor!

  Oh, God, I’m in deep trouble. Damn all these dangerous deceptions! They’re going to destroy me. Adam is going to win our war, even from the grave. Or the morgue. Wherever the bastard is lying in wait . . .