Michael McGarrity - Under the color of law

They waited behind a bus and Sara said, "Before Lieutenant Molina showed up, I did some Internet surfing on Trade Source. Proctor Straley was one of the original investors. He netted fifty million dollars after the company went public, and still holds a sizable block of shares."

The school bus moved. Kerney let cars go around before passing.

"That tangles the web a bit," he said.

"What if the information Phyllis Terrell passed on to Father Mitchell came from her father and not the ambassador?"

"I've given that some thought," Sara said.

"If Straley is involved in the cover-up, Ingram will have warned him by now about our interest in his Trade Source connection."

"If Straley's guarded when meet with him, or not the grieving father, that could tell he's been alerted."

"Not necessarily," Sara said.

"Straley's a heavyweight corporate player. He's dealt with hostile take-overs, angry shareholders, and a Justice Department antitrust probe. I bet he knows how to hold a good poker hand."

On the valley road to the Stewart residence an SLJV filled with school-aged teenagers sped by. Sara looked at the hillside houses and the sweet mountain views. Cloudlike wisps of snow floated off higher peaks. Soft morning light sparkled against the tree cover.

"Nice neighborhood," she said.

"Why don't we rent something up here until we build?"

"Are you serious?"

"Don't be such a penny-pincher, Kerney. Spend some of those riches you've inherited."

Kerney rolled to a stop in Stewart's driveway.

"Let me girl-talk with Mrs. Stewart," Sara said.

"Are you feeling up to it?"

Sara ate a saltine cracker, gave Kerney a winsome smile, swung her legs out of the truck, and said, "I'm fine."

Kerney hung back and let Sara take the lead. The older woman who let them into the foyer spoke in hushed tones. Her daughter couldn't possibly be disturbed, the family was in mourning, the children would become even more upset than they already were.

Sara countered with a sympathetic smile and reassurances. She understood completely, the visit would be brief, there was new information to be shared.

The woman left to consult with her daughter. She came back and took them down a long hallway past a kitchen where an older man was preparing breakfast for two silent young boys sitting at a long country-style table. They climbed stairs to a second-floor master suite where Mrs.

Stewart sat on a couch in a sitting room clutching a pillow around her stomach. A long velour skirt covered her legs. Her hair, parted in the middle, fell loosely across her shoulders. She had a sharp nose that didn't detract from her wholesome good looks, and eyes that seemed slightly tranquilized. An untouched cup of coffee sat within arm's reach on an end table.

"Lori, are you sure you want to talk now?" the older woman asked.

"It's all right, Mother."

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, you go on."

The woman left and Sara sat on the far end of the couch. Kerney moved to a horizontal window that framed the valley panorama below and perched silently on a low ranch-style bench.

Sara turned to face Lori.

"Thank you for seeing us. I know this must be hard."

"What do you want to tell me?"

"We have evidence that strongly suggests your husband was with Phyllis Terrell the night she was killed," Sara said.

Lori Stewart studied Sara unflinchingly.

"What bearing does that have on Randall's death?"

"You're not surprised?"

"From what I've read, her killer was identified by the FBI," Mrs.

Stewart replied.

"Randall may have been many things, but he was not a murderer."

"Many things?" Sara echoed.

"I'd rather not go into it."

"I can understand how you might want to keep family matters private,"

Sara said.

"My parents adored Randall," Lori said.

"Now that he's gone I see no need for them to feel otherwise."

"He was with Phyllis the night she was murdered."

"I'd rather not comment."

"I know how difficult it can be to talk about personal matters with strangers," Sara said.

"If you wish, for the sake of your parents and your children, what you tell us doesn't have to be made public."

Lori reached for her coffee with a shaky hand. She clasped the cup with both hands, took a sip, and said, "You can promise me that?"

"Yes," Sara said.

"Please tell me about Phyllis and Randall."

"I never wanted Randall dead. I only wanted him out of my life. I knew he was sleeping with Phyllis. It wasn't the first time he'd been unfaithful."

"Tell me how you knew."

Lori Stewart put the coffee cup down.

"It started six months after Phyllis moved in. We'd met her socially at neighborhood gatherings, and I could see that Randall was drawn to her.

She started calling and asking if she could borrow him to help her with her computer. He liked to think he was something of an expert.

Soon after that it became obvious what was happening."

"How so?" Sara asked.

"He changed his jogging schedule. Said he thought it would be better to go running later at night, especially during the warm weather. He'd be gone much too long."

"Did you confront him with your suspicions?" Sara asked.

Lori Stewart shook her head.

"No. I talked to an attorney about divorcing him.

He said I'd be much better off to wait until after our tenth anniversary to do it. The court takes a more favorable view of equitable settlements if the marriage has had longevity."

"Was that your plan?"

"Yes, I was going to file for divorce in six months."

"And Randall didn't know about it?" Sara asked.

"No one did. It would've been hard enough to face my parents and the boys when the time came. As far as Randall was concerned, he was happily married with a nearby honey pot to dip into."

"On the night Phyllis Terrell was murdered, did you know he was with her?"

"Yes. He said he had to stay up late to do some work. I went to bed.

After he thought I was sleeping, he left the house. I saw him cut across the arroyo to the Terrell property. I stayed awake until he came back.

He was gone for an hour."

"What time was that?"

"He left at a quarter to eleven and got back shortly before midnight.

The next day, when I learned that Phyllis had been murdered, I thought about telling the police. But I was certain in my mind that he couldn't have killed Phyllis. No one who has done something terrible like that can fall asleep so easily."

"Could he have left the house again after you went to sleep?"

"I would've known it. Randall always wakes me up when he gets out of bed. I'm a very light sleeper."

"Thank you," Sara said.

Kerney stood up.

"What size shoe did your husband wear?"

Lori Stewart gave Kerney a bewildered look.

"A size nine. He had very narrow feet. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," he said, stepping to the door. The shoe print found at the Terrell residence was a size larger.

"That's all for now. We won't take any more of your time."

Traffic backed up along the feeder road to the Interstate. Soccer moms cut across lanes, hurrying to get kids to school before the tardy bell rang. Big-rig truckers pulled off on the shoulder of the road at a twenty-four-hour stop-and-rob near the southbound onramp for coffee refills.

"If you're going to become an alley cat, Kerney, tell me now," Sara said.

Kerney laughed.

"I bet Lori Stewart, on advice of counsel, kept a diary of her husband's late-night visits to Phyllis Terrell."

"What a good idea," Sara said brightly.

"I'll have to remember that. I almost choked when she said she didn't want her husband dead."

"At least she managed to keep the dollar signs from flashing in her eyes."