Sandra Brown - Ricochet

“No, and I was with her the whole time upstairs. All she had on was her robe. I got it from her, gave it to Baker. No blood on it that I saw. But the judge, the hem of his robe had blood on it from when he checked the body. He asked permission to dress. Baker’s got his robe, too.”

“Okay, thanks, Sally. Keep them separate till we’re ready to question them.”

“You got it.”

He returned to the study, where DeeDee was examining the judge’s desk. “All these drawers are still locked.”

“Mrs. Laird must have caught the burglar early.”

She raised her head and gave him an arch look. “You believe the burglar scenario?”

“I believe it’s time we asked just how this went down.”

“WHO FIRST, HER OR THE JUDGE?”

Duncan thought about it. “Let’s talk to them together.”

DeeDee registered surprise as well as a trace of disapproval. “How come?”

“Because they’ve already been questioned separately by Crofton and Beale. Sally Beale told me Mrs. Laird’s second telling didn’t vary from the first and that she’s prepared to sign a statement.

“If it really is a matter of her shooting a home intruder, and we continue badgering them, it’s going to look like we doubt them, and that will seem like reprisal for my contempt charge. The only thing it will accomplish is to piss off the judge. Gerard will have my ass if I have another run-in with him.”

“Okay,” DeeDee said. “But what if it isn’t a case of her protecting herself from a home intruder?”

“We have no reason to disbelieve them, do we?”

He left DeeDee to mull that over and followed his nose until he located the kitchen, where Sally Beale and Elise Laird were seated at the table in the breakfast nook, talking quietly. When he came in, the policewoman, in the manner of a heavy person, pushed herself to her feet. “We’re finished here.” She closed the cover of her spiral notebook. “I’ve got it all down.”

None of the color had returned to Elise Laird’s face. She looked at him inquisitively. He sensed unspoken apprehension.

“We’re ready for you in the living room, Mrs. Laird.”

He made his way back to the formal room, where Crofton and Judge Laird had been joined by an austere, gray-haired woman who was pouring hot liquid from a silver pot into china cups.

Sally Beale, who had escorted Elise Laird from the kitchen, came up behind Duncan and noticed his curiosity. “The housekeeper,” she said in a low rumble. “Something Berry. Blew into the kitchen twenty minutes ago like she owned the place.” She chuckled. “’Bout keeled over when she saw my big black self sitting at the breakfast table.”

“So she doesn’t live in?”

She shook her head. “Apparently the judge called her to duty and she came running in no time flat. She’s prepared to do battle for him.”

From over his shoulder, Duncan gave the policewoman a significant look. “For him, but not for Mrs. Laird?”

“All the time she was boiling water and preparing the tea tray, she didn’t say boo to the lady of the house. You couldn’t melt an ice cube on that one’s ass.” She raised her shoulders in an indolent shrug. “I call ’ em as I see ’em.”

The judge stood up and warmly embraced his wife when she rejoined him. They were talking together softly, but Crofton was close enough to overhear, so Duncan reasoned that Judge Laird was only asking his wife how she was faring.

Crofton, trying to balance the dainty teacup and saucer on his knee while jotting something in his notebook, greeted Duncan and DeeDee’s appearance with evident relief. “I’ll turn it over to the detectives now.” He set the china on the nearest table, then left the room along with Beale.

Duncan and DeeDee took the twin chairs facing the sofa, where the judge and his wife sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Neither had touched the steaming cups of tea in front of them. Laird offered some to Duncan and DeeDee.

Duncan declined. DeeDee smiled up at the sour-faced housekeeper. “Do you have a Diet Coke?”

She left the room to fetch the drink.

“Have they removed it?”

Duncan supposed the judge was referring to the corpse. “Yes. On his way to the morgue.”

“Where he belongs,” he muttered with distaste.

Elise Laird tipped her head down. Duncan noticed her hands were tightly clasped together and that she had pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over the backs of them as though to keep them warm.

The housekeeper returned with DeeDee’s Diet Coke, served over ice in a crystal tumbler on a small plate with a doily and a lacy cloth napkin. To her credit, and Duncan’s surprise, DeeDee thanked the housekeeper graciously. Any other time, she would have been breaking up with laughter, or scorn, over such pretentious finery.

At a motion from the judge, Mrs. Berry withdrew, leaving the four of them alone. The judge placed his arm around his wife and drew her closer to him. He looked at her with concern, then focused on Duncan.

“We’ve told the other officers everything we know. They took copious notes. I don’t know what more we could possibly add, although we want to do everything we can to resolve this issue as quickly as possible.” His expression was earnest, concerned.

“I hate asking you to retell what happened, but Detective Bowen and I need to hear it all for ourselves,” Duncan said. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. Let’s just get it over with so I can take Mrs. Laird to bed.”

“I’ll make it as painless as possible,” Duncan said, flashing his most reassuring grin. “However, during our questioning, Judge, I’ll ask you not to offer a comment or answer unless directly asked. Please say nothing that could influence Mrs. Laird’s recollection. It’s important that we hear-”

“I understand the procedure, Detective.” Although the judge’s interruption was rude and his tone brusque, his expression remained as pleasant as Duncan’s. “Please proceed.”

The man’s condescending tone grated on Duncan. The judge was accustomed to running the show. In his courtroom, he was the despotic authority. But this was Duncan’s arena and he was the ringmaster. Lest his anger get him into trouble, Duncan thought it best to let DeeDee begin, ease them into it. He’d take over when it got down to the nitty-gritty.

He gave DeeDee a subtle nod and she picked up the cue immediately. “Mrs. Laird?” DeeDee waited until Elise raised her head and looked at her. “Can you lead us through what happened here tonight?”

Before beginning, Elise took a deep breath. “I came downstairs to get something to drink.”

“She does nearly every night,” the judge chimed in, flouting Duncan’s request that he not speak until asked.

Duncan chose to let it pass. Once. “You suffer from chronic insomnia,” he said, remembering what he’d heard the judge tell Crofton.

“Yes.” She addressed the reply to DeeDee, not to him. “I was on my way to the kitchen when-”

“Excuse me. What time was this?” DeeDee asked.

“Around twelve thirty. I remember looking at the clock shortly after midnight. It was about half an hour later that I got up and came downstairs. I thought a glass of milk would help me fall asleep. Sometimes it does.”

She paused, as though expecting someone to comment on that. When no one did, she continued. “I was in the kitchen when I heard a noise.”

“What kind of noise?”

She turned toward Duncan, meeting his eyes for the first time since that moment in the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure what I heard. I’m still not. I think maybe it was his footfalls. Or him bumping into a piece of furniture. Something like that.”