John Lescroart - Damage

“Not really so all right, though,” Durbin added.

“No. Of course not. I hear you.” Novio sat down across from him.

Durbin raised his head. “I keep wondering what I’m supposed to do now. Next. You know?”

“I can imagine. If Kathy died…” He shook his head. “I can’t think about it.”

“No,” Durbin said. “No reason to.” A beat. “I’m just trying to get my arms around what happened. I can’t put together any kind of a plausible scenario. I mean, why was she home? What was she doing there that time of morning? She was supposedly going out the door right behind me, and next thing we know, somebody else is in the house and she’s dead up in the bedroom. How does that happen, Chuck? What’s that about?”

“What do the cops say? They got any theories?”

Durbin’s face went dark. “Fucking cops. Don’t get me started. They got nothing. No lab reports. The autopsy won’t be done until maybe next month. They’re not even ready to say somebody killed her yet, not on purpose, anyway. She might have just happened to be home when whoever it was started the fire. Maybe she ran upstairs and tried to put it out and died of smoke inhalation.”

“So at least they’re saying it was arson?”

“Apparently. But that’s the other thing. I told you not to get me started.”

“Too late now. What’s the other thing?”

“This guy Glitsky, the inspector? When he was here, it was like I was part of his investigation. Like I could have had something to do with it.”

Chuck nodded in understanding. “Yeah. He had some questions for me, too, while we were waiting for you to come downstairs.”

This information straightened Durbin right up. “He talked to you? He questioned you? What about?”

“My cell phone. Or rather, Janice’s cell phone, which didn’t burn up because it was hanging from a peg behind the kitchen door. Evidently, he said, I got twelve calls to or from her in the past two weeks. I told him that evidently I did. So what? We were planning a surprise party for Kathy’s fortieth next month. Was there something sinister about that?”

“What’d he say?”

A shrug. “He just let it go, as he should have. But Jesus, talk about shaking every tree. I know it’s his job, but can you say ridiculous?”

“Yeah, well, I hear you. And the funny thing is, before yesterday, I would have told you Glitsky and I got along all right.”

“Before yesterday? You knew Glitsky personally?”

“Not saying we were friends exactly, but after Ro’s trial we went out together a couple of times, just comparing notes on how the Curtlees were fucking around with both of us. So I figure he knows who I am, basically. But yesterday, I get the strong impression that he doesn’t really think it’s out of the question that I killed her, either.”

“He’s just turning over rocks.”

Durbin shook his head. “Maybe, but stupid and a waste of his time. I told him Janice and me, we were having a few problems, same as every other married couple with teenagers on the planet, but nothing we couldn’t work out…”

“You guys were having problems?”

A shrug. “Nothing we couldn’t fix, Chuck. Nothing to kill her over, trust me.”

“No, I didn’t mean…”

Durbin waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. The point is Glitsky’s ears go up and he’s all ‘How long have you been having these difficulties? ’ and ‘Were you seeing anybody, a marriage counselor, like that?’ I tell him maybe he hasn’t heard, but Janice was a psychiatrist. We weren’t anywhere near therapy. Anyway, bottom line, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Next thing I know, he tells me he’s talked to some of my people down at the shop. He wants to know where was I that I got in late Friday morning? I told him I didn’t even realize I had been late. And he goes, ‘Yeah, like a half hour.’ And then waits, like I’ve got something to tell him. Then he starts asking about Liza.”

“Who’s Liza?”

“My assistant manager at work. Smart and cute. She’s sticking up for me when Glitsky’s down at the store asking questions about how late I was, how was I acting…”

“He actually went to your store?”

“First thing. Before he came to see us here. I told you. I’m on his list.”

“But that’s just so ludicrous.”

“It’s beyond that, but then he’s going on about my relationship with Liza. Like maybe it’s because of her I decided to kill Janice? I want to strangle the guy.” His temper flared again suddenly. “Thinking it could be me, for Christ’s sake!”

Chuck came forward on his bench. “He couldn’t really think that. He’s just getting started. Let the evidence come in, get the autopsy done. It’ll all work itself out.”

Durbin leaned back against the wall of the gazebo. “You’re right. You’re right.” He brought a hand up to his forehead, his eyes dull, shot with red. “I’m just so done in.” Suddenly Durbin cocked his head, life coming into his eyes.

“What?” Chuck asked. “It’s not too often you actually see the lightbulb go on.”

Durbin stared out over Novio’s shoulder.

“Mike? What is it?”

Durbin let out the breath he’d been holding. “You know the troubles I told you we’d been having, Janice and me? I think she was having an affair.”

Novio went still before he finally shook his head. “No way, Mike. I don’t think so. Not Janice.” Then, “Really? You know this? With who?”

“One of her patients, if I had to guess.” The idea growing on him, he straightened up. “I was just wondering who could have had a reason to have done this. No way it was just random, someone picking our house and deciding to burn it down. But if she was involved with somebody and wanted to break it off, and he came over and went into a rage… I mean, that’s somebody who would have a motive, some kind of personal connection to tell Glitsky about, get him looking at somebody besides me.”

Nodding, going along with it, Chuck said, “At least it’s someplace he can start. Or he can go with my other theory.”

“What’s that?”

Chuck hesitated. “That this might not have been about Janice at all. That she was just a way to get at you.”

“Me? Who’d want to get at me? What for?” But then the obvious occurred to him. “Ro Curtlee.”

Novio shrugged. “The first witness who got killed after he got let out, didn’t he burn her place down around her? And you said you thought he recognized you in court last week. So I start thinking maybe…”

Durbin held out a hand, stopping him. “God in heaven,” he said.

“I really think we ought to move to New York,” Theresa Curtlee said on Monday morning. She was at breakfast downstairs with her husband. She would alternately sip from a porcelain coffee cup, a leaded-crystal Riedel wineglass filled with Pellegrino water garnished with a slice of lime, and a small glass of grapefruit juice. On her plate she’d sliced off two small bites of pineapple. The table between her and Cliff groaned with food, most of it destined for the disposal: several bowls and platters of French toast, scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, smoked salmon, bagels, English muffins, bran and blueberry muffins, a composed fruit salad. “There really is no reason we have to live with the constant aggravation here.”

Cliff moved his copy of the Courier off to the side. “It would be difficult to run the businesses from New York,” he said. “And we don’t want to uproot now at our ages. Although it is tempting, I must admit. All this madness with Ro. I just pray now that they let it drop.”

“You don’t think that Glitsky is really going to let it drop, do you? Sometimes I’m afraid he might actually be lying in wait somewhere when Ro goes out.”