Миранда Джеймс - File M For Murder

“Sorry about that,” I said. “But I didn’t really have time to explain anything. Are you at home now? Because I need to talk to you, and I don’t want you driving and talking on your phone.”

“I’m home,” Sean said. “Fire away.”

I leaned back against the headrest and tried to relax. My entire body felt tight and tense. “Connor Lawton is dead, and Laura found him.” Then, before Sean could start firing questions at me, I gave him a precis of the situation. When I finished, Sean didn’t respond for a moment.

“Bloody hell.” I heard him expel a sharp breath. “I’m on my way, Dad.” He ended the call before I could respond.

I tucked my cell phone away and put the car in gear. My hands trembled slightly, and I gripped the wheel more firmly. I tried not to think about Laura being arrested for murder on the drive to the sheriff’s department.

When I pulled into a parking space some ten minutes later, I was wrestling with a different question.

Why did I think Connor Lawton was murdered?

Lawton had a volatile, even violent, temperament, but he hadn’t appeared to be a manic depressive in my brief acquaintance with him. I didn’t see him as the suicidal type. Even if he was wrestling with the play and unhappy with the way it was developing, he wouldn’t end his life over it. Lawton was a fighter; I was convinced of that.

His death could have been an accident. I considered that possibility again as I walked from the parking lot toward the front door of the sheriff’s department. Alcohol poisoning? There was that bottle of bourbon near his body.

Even as these thoughts entered my mind, I had a nasty feeling that Lawton’s death was definitely murder.

Inside the sheriff’s department, the fluorescent lighting and chilly air brought me out of my reverie. I spoke to the officer at the front desk and explained why I was there. He nodded and pointed to a small waiting area. He said he’d make sure the chief deputy knew I was there.

I was at the water cooler, gulping down my third paper cup of water when Sean arrived. He strode over, the heels of his cowboy boots thudding against the scuffed linoleum. The officer at the desk glanced up, frowned, and went back to whatever he was doing.

Sean squeezed my shoulder. “How are you doing, Dad?”

“I’ve had better days.” I crumpled the paper cup and dropped it in the wastebasket next to the cooler. “But it’s Laura I’m worried about. Let’s go sit down and talk.”

Sean followed me to the waiting area, and we selected seats in the corner, as far from the front desk as possible.

In an undertone I told Sean the one thing I hadn’t shared with him during the phone call—Laura’s strange action with the thumb drive.

Sean’s expression turned grim when I finished. “If that turns out to be a crime scene, and they find out Laura removed that device, she could face some serious charges.”

FIFTEEN

Laura’s face was so drawn and pale that I didn’t have the heart to question her once we were alone in the car. My concern for her well-being was paramount. I didn’t understand her relationship with Connor Lawton. She insisted they were no longer romantically involved and even seemed to dislike him, yet she had gone out of her way this afternoon to help him. My late wife and I had reared our children to be loyal to their friends and family, but I had seen little evidence that Lawton deserved such loyalty.

After Laura moved to Hollywood to pursue her dream, she visited infrequently, particularly after her mother died. When she did come to visit, she seemed different in some small ways, the natural effect of her experiences in California. But I had little doubt that at heart she was still my Laura. A verse from Proverbs ran through my head: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” We instilled in both our children a strong sense of responsibility for their actions, and though they might occasionally make a small misstep, I knew they were good people. Laura as a child, however, had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, sometimes taking on more than she should in an effort to help another person. Perhaps this was the case with Connor Lawton.

If so, I felt Laura had made an error in judgment. She should not have removed that thumb drive from Lawton’s apartment—and surely she must have, or why slip it into my pocket so furtively?

She and I were due for a heart-to-heart the moment she seemed up to it. By the time we reached home it was a few minutes past eight. My head ached and my stomach grumbled—I needed some caffeine and food, and Laura needed some sustenance as well. Sean pulled his car into the garage shortly after Laura and I entered the kitchen. When he joined us I was putting a chicken, rice, and mushroom casserole in the oven to warm. Stewart had left it in the fridge for us, bless him. Laura sipped a diet soda and stared vacantly at the surface of the table. Diesel, who had greeted us at the door, kept wrapping himself around my legs and complaining with loud chirps and meows over having been left behind.

After a glance at his sister, Sean asked, “What can I do?”

“There are some green beans in a pot in the fridge. Can you put them on to warm? I need to give Diesel some attention before he knocks me over.” As Sean moved to comply with my request, I pulled a chair out from the table and sat. Diesel moved between my legs and placed his front paws in my lap. I held his head in both hands and rubbed under his chin with both thumbs. I murmured to him, telling him I was sorry I had to leave him behind, but that Laura had needed me. His purr rumbled as he gazed into my eyes.

Then, to my surprise, he pulled away and padded over to Laura’s chair. She was oblivious to his presence, still focused blankly on the table, but he butted his head against her side to get her attention. Jostled out of her reverie, she set her soda down and turned in her chair. Diesel put his front paws in her lap and stretched his head up toward her face. With a sob, Laura bent and wrapped her arms around his upper body and held him close. Diesel meowed, as if in sympathy.

Sean, stirring the pot of beans at the stove, let go of the spoon and took a tentative step toward his sister. I motioned for him to stop and shook my head. For the moment I figured Diesel, with his sensitivity to humans in distress, might be able to comfort Laura better than either her father or her brother could. Our turns would come.

Sean and I remained silent for the next several minutes while Laura hung on to Diesel and quietly cried. When the oven timer buzzed, Laura lifted a tearstained face and released Diesel. The cat sat back on his hind legs and watched her as she plucked several tissues from the box Sean held out to her. She wiped her face, blew her nose, and crumpled the tissues into a ball.

I went to her and gathered her into my arms when she stood. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment before pulling away. “I’m okay, Dad,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Why don’t you go wash your face, sweetheart, and then we’ll eat.”

She started to protest that she wasn’t hungry, but I asked her when she had eaten last.

“Lunchtime.” Laura smiled briefly. “Yeah, I probably should have something.” She kissed my cheek. “Back in a few.”

“I’m worried about her, Dad,” Sean said the moment Laura was out of the room, Diesel right on her heels. “I think maybe she was still in love with that jerk, and if his death turns out to be something besides suicide or an accident, she could look like the prime suspect.”

“I know, son. That concerns me, too.” My head throbbed to remind me that I had yet to drink anything caffeinated. I pulled a can of diet soda from the fridge and popped the top. I gulped some down, and moments later the throbbing began to ease. “Let’s give her a little time to recover some equilibrium, and then I plan on having a long talk with her about Lawton and all that’s happened.”