Stuart Woods - Imperfect Strangers

There was nothing to do but bluff, Sandy knew. They hadn't arrested him yet, so there was a chance that they were bluffing, too. "So what?" he replied.

"So now we can place you at the locksmith's," Duvivier said.

"Get to the point, Detective. What is all this supposed to mean?"

"Have you ever been into the Third Avenue Locksmith's?"

"Not that I recall," Sandy replied. "What if I have been? Would that have some meaning in my wife's death?"

"It would if you had your keys duplicated and gave them to a hired murderer," Duvivier replied.

"I didn't do that," Sandy said. "Where did you get the keys?" He knew, but he thought he ought to ask, for appearances sake.

"They were given to us by the murderer."

"You've arrested him, then?"

"He says you paid him to kill your wife."

"Then he's lying; I had absolutely nothing to do with my wife's death," Sandy replied. "But you haven't answered my question: Have you arrested somebody in the matter of my wife's murder?"

"It's you who must answer the questions, Mr. Kinsolving," Duvivier said.

Sandy stood up. "You're very wrong about that. I don't know what the hell you're doing here, but I told you that I didn't want to hear from you again, unless you'd found my wife's killer, do you recall that?"

"I do."

"Have you arrested my wife's killer?"

"Not yet."

"Then get out of my office, and if you have anything else to say to me, say it to my lawyer, Mr. Murray Hirsch. Is that clear?"

Duvivier said nothing.

"Detective," Sandy said, growing angry now, "are you here to arrest me?"

"No, sir."

"Then I bid you good day." He walked to his office door, opened it, and stood, waiting for them to leave.

The two detectives exchanged a glance, then reluctantly left the office.

On the street, Leary turned to Duvivier. "You didn't really expect that to work, did you?"

"It was worth a shot," Duvivier replied.

"Do you still think he was involved?"

"I'm certain of it."

"I wish I was as certain as you," Leary said.

Duvivier looked at his partner. "You're not with me on this, then?"

Leary shook his head. "Al, I'm sorry, but I don't read minds like you; I just go with the evidence, you know?"

Duvivier nodded.

"I mean, I respect your ability to sniff out perps; I've seen you do it before, but I've seen you wrong before, too."

Duvivier nodded. "Sometimes I am wrong."

"You think this might be one of those times?"

Duvivier shook his head. "No. This time I'm right."

"You remember what you said to me the first night we worked this case? You said you thought he did it, but we weren't going to be able to prove it?"

"I remember."

"Al, I think that's where we're at."

"Maybe so. Unless we hear more from the guy who sent the keys."

"You mean if the guy walks in and confesses? Because that's the only way he's going to break this for us. If we don't have him, we don't have Kinsolving; it's as simple as that."

Duvivier nodded.

Sandy sat at his desk. He was becoming very weary of Peter Martindale. Still, maybe this development was positive. The keys and the jewelry were the only physical evidence that could connect Martindale to the murder, and he had given up both of those. After all, Martindale couldn't implicate him beyond doubt unless he gave himself up, and somehow, he couldn't see Peter Martindale sending himself to prison. He had played things correctly with Duvivier, he was sure of that.

The only thing he wasn't sure of was Peter Martindale, and all he could do was wait for Martindale to make the next move.

Sandy and Cara sat in first class, sipping a glass of wine before lunch, bound for the West Coast. He spread out the Wall Street Journal and showed her the announcement of his acquiring the vineyard.

"Oh, it's the Larsen Vineyard?" she asked. "I didn't know which one."

"Are you familiar with it?" he asked.

"Oh, I've seen it on wine lists, I guess." She looked away.

"Cara, is there some other reason you're familiar with the Larsen Vineyard?"

She sighed. "Yes. Peter sold Mr. Larsen some pictures last year."

"I remember some pictures from the inventory. Peter's everywhere, isn't he?"

"It seems that way sometimes."

"Cara, let's talk about Peter; I don't really know much about him. What sort of a man is he?"

"Handsome, charming, witty, very clever. Dishonest in his business dealings, if he thinks he can get away with it."

"Is that all?"

"Obsessive," she replied.

"About what?"

"Pictures, the gallery, his apartment, his cars, and-"

"Yes?"

"Me. When I first met him I found it flattering, but by the time we'd been married a few months I found it very… confining."

"How did his obsessiveness with you manifest itself?"

"Jealousy, mainly; it infuriated him if I spent any time with another man, if even I talked with another man for too long at a party. Peter is excellent at scenes; he can speak a few words that will embarrass and annoy everybody, yet hardly cause a ruffle in a crowd. Words are his way; I mean, he's not the sort to haul off and slug another man. Peter is something of a coward, physically."

"That's interesting."

"How?"

"Well, it doesn't sound as though he's one for confrontation. If he ever tries that, I'll know he's bluffing."

"Either that, or he'll have some advantage you're not aware of. Peter is brave only when he knows he's safe."

"And yet, he could… do what he did to Joan and Albert."

"An old man and a woman? Yes, that's Peter's style."

"Still, it took some sort of courage for him to do that."

"The courage of a bully," Cara said. "He'd have no problem harming someone weaker than he, and he'd certainly not mind hurting a woman."

"Did he ever hurt you?"

She sighed. "Yes, just once. We had come home after a party, one where he'd thought I'd paid too much attention to another man. He hit me, knocked me down, actually. I was near the fireplace; I got up, picked up a poker from the hearth, and advanced on him. He wilted very quickly. I told him if he ever struck me again I'd kill him in his sleep. He never did."

"You're a brave woman."

She laughed. "Braver than Peter, anyway."

"Change of subject: I'd like you to do the design work for the Kinsolving Vineyards-labels, letterheads, signs, the owner's house, of course. Anything that comes up."

"I'd be delighted. I'm sure I'll get some ideas when I see title place."

"We'll be there before nightfall," he said. "There's no reason to go into the city; we'll drive from the airport straight to Napa."

"I would like to go into the city before we go back to New York," Cara said. "I need to see my lawyer about a trust that my father set up."

"We'll find the time," Sandy said.

From the main gate of the vineyard, a tree-lined road stretched up to a Victorian house at the end, situated on a low hill.

"I hadn't expected such a grand place," Cara said as they drove toward it.

"Frankly, neither had I," Sandy replied. "I mean, the house was in the inventory, of course, along with some furnishings, but I thought more in terms of a cottage."

When they drove up to the house, Mike Bernini was waiting for them on the front porch. Sandy introduced Cara, then Bernini gave them a quick tour before making his excuses and departing for his own home.

"It's really very nice," Cara said, wandering through the rooms. "Not as big as it looks from the highway, but roomy. There are some nice pieces here, too, things we can use." She stopped and looked at a large picture on the living room wall. "But not this, I think." She walked over to the picture and examined it closely, then lifted the frame from against the wall and looked at the back.