Joan Pickart - Body of Evidence

“What?”

“He’s left-handed.”

Colin leaned forward, in time to see Stephen Gardner writing something on a small piece of yellow paper with his left hand.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “Shall we?”

They got out and headed toward the two men and the fancy coupe.

“Nice car.” Darien caught the young man’s attention with the comment. And kept it with her looks, Colin thought wryly as he watched the young man smile at her. When they’d spoken to him briefly a few days ago, his responses had been short and unhelpful, no doubt as instructed by his grandmother. This was an entirely different young man.

“Yeah, isn’t it?” he said enthusiastically. “I’ve been wanting it for ages, it’s the latest-” He broke off, belatedly recognizing them. “Hey, you’re the cops. The detectives.”

“Yeah, we are,” Colin acknowledged, noticing the unobtrusive man with the car wax quietly departing the scene.

“You have news? Did you catch who killed the old man?”

So much for the respectful “my father” he’d used before, Colin noted. Over the shock? Or just more certain he’s going to get away with it?

“We’re getting very close,” Darien said. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh? So was it a burglar like Uncle Lyle says, or did somebody finally get ticked off enough to just do him?”

“Think that’s likely, do you, Stephen?” Colin asked.

The young man scowled. “Look, I told you before, the old man and I didn’t get along. I told you if it hadn’t been for him, my mother would still be alive.”

“I looked into that, Stephen, after we spoke,” Darien said. “The official report says accidental overdose.”

The young man’s mouth twisted scornfully. “Of course it does. What would you expect it to say? My father was Franklin Gardner. But he drove her to it. He could drive anyone to it. She wouldn’t even have had those pills around if she hadn’t needed them to get through every day of living with him.”

Colin thought about asking why she hadn’t just divorced him, but he could guess at the reasons and it wasn’t really relevant anyway.

“Did you hate him, Stephen?”

“I’m not going to lie about it. He was a control freak who had to have everything his way. Nothing was good enough for him. Nothing.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me,” the young man said bitterly. “Did I hate him? Yes. Enough to kill him? No. I didn’t want him to think he was that important to me, that he could get to me like he did my mother.”

There was bitterness in the younger Gardner ’s words, but also the ring of stark truth.

Apparently Darien felt the same way because she said, “Do you have any idea who might have done it, then?”

Something flickered in the young man’s eyes, and Colin’s instincts came to alert.

“No,” Stephen said.

“If you have even a guess, we’d like to hear it,” Colin said.

“You’re the cops, it’s your job to figure it out.”

“That,” Darien said softly, “sounds like something your father would have said.”

Good shot, Colin thought as he watched the young man wince.

“My father was always throwing his weight around,” Stephen acknowledged. “But he was bigger on family loyalty.”

Colin’s already alerted instincts spiked higher. But before he could continue, an imperious voice rang out, interrupting the proceedings thoroughly.

“I told you you were not to speak to my grandson without myself or his uncle present!”

They turned to see Cecelia bearing down on them. The chauffeur, he guessed, must have sounded the alarm. Cecelia was followed by Lyle, who looked rather anxious. Colin wondered if that was his normal mien when in the presence of his overbearing mother, or if he was nervous about something else.

“And, ma’am, I told you he is an adult, and we’re not required to allow a relative present while questioning him.”

“Questioning him?” Lyle asked sharply. “You make it sound like he’s a suspect when we know you’ve arrested Desmond!”

“I think we’ve come to an understanding,” Darien said, glancing at Stephen and giving him a smile that made the young man redden.

I know how you feel, kid, Colin thought ruefully. She does the same thing to me.

Oddly, although Cecelia backed off a bit, Lyle didn’t seem to relax. Or maybe it was just his normal demeanor; as Darien had said after their original contact with him, he was a bit full of being a Gardner. But they shooed Stephen away, and turned on Colin and Darien.

“If you don’t have anything worthwhile to report to us,” Lyle demanded, gesturing rather wildly, “why are you here and not out hunting the person who killed my brother?”

Because we’re here hunting the person who killed your brother, Colin thought, eyeing the man. Something was bothering him about Lyle, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

“Because we have some additional questions to ask.” He turned to Darien, letting his gaze flick from her to Mrs. Gardner and back. She picked up on his cue quickly, and more efficiently than he would have thought possible she had ushered the redoubtable woman away, leaving him with the surviving Gardner brother.

Now he just had to decide where to start, and how far to go.

Darien studied the woman sitting beside her, wondering if she was imagining that she looked older, less intimidating than before. She certainly hadn’t expected it to be so easy to separate her and get her alone.

“I’m sorry this is so difficult,” she said, going on instinct. “It must seem like this process takes forever to you.”

“At least you finally have the killer in custody now,” the woman said, but her critical tone seemed more automatic than truly snappish. As had the order for coffee; Darien doubted, had the woman been herself, that she would be serving one of the cops she held responsible for all the delay.

“We thought we did, but it turns out the evidence proved us wrong and we had to begin again.”

Mrs. Gardner actually looked startled. “Wrong?”

“Yes. He’s still being held on…other charges, but it appears he’s not guilty of murdering your son.”

“Then who is it?”

“We don’t know yet. I’m sorry.”

“It’s my son who’s dead,” she snapped. “First I have to fight to get them to release his body for burial, and now you’re telling me the man you arrested is innocent and you don’t have any idea who killed him?”

“I didn’t say we had no idea. Just nothing I can talk about yet.”

Mrs. Gardner subsided, but not happily. Darien looked at the elderly woman, who looked not stylishly slender just now, but thin and frail. And no matter how she tried she couldn’t picture her killing not just her own son, but anyone.

Except perhaps by slicing them to death with that tongue of hers, she added silently.

“We understand your need to protect your family,” Darien said. “Especially when you’ve already lost a son. But doesn’t that son deserve your total honesty, if it will help find his killer?”

For a long moment Cecelia Gardner looked at her, a steady, assessing gaze that made Darien want to draw back. But she held her place, met the woman’s gaze, and refused to avert her eyes. Finally, as if defeated, Mrs. Gardner broke first and looked away.

She’s hiding something, Darien realized with a little jolt. She knows something, and she’s hiding it.

Her mind began to race. Could she have found out about her son’s little sideline? Was she afraid we’ll also find out, or already know? Or did she know something about her son’s murder that she wasn’t telling? She still couldn’t believe the woman could have done it herself, but neither could she doubt that Cecelia Gardner knew something she wasn’t telling.