Sandra Brown - Ricochet

“That’ll be nice. It’s so hot out.”

“Yes.”

Having exhausted the topic of the weather, they lapsed into an awkward silence. Elise was aware of Duncan, still standing near the window, watching her. She resisted looking in his direction.

Finally Bowen said, “We have a few more questions.”

“Before leaving last night you implied that you would.”

“Just a few things we’d like to clear up.”

“I understand.”

“Overnight, did you think of anything you left out? Something that may have slipped your mind?”

“No.”

“That can happen in stressful situations.” The woman smiled at her. “I’ve had people call me in the middle of the night, suddenly remembering a detail they’d forgotten.”

“I told you what I remembered exactly as I remembered it.”

The soft rattle of glassware announced the arrival of a serving cart, pushed into the room by Mrs. Berry. “Shall I serve, Mrs. Laird?” Her voice was as chilly as the condensation on the ice bucket. Elise wasn’t sure if she was disdainful of their guests, or her. Probably both.

“No, thank you.” Welcoming a chance to move and get out from under the scrutiny of the detectives, she left her chair and approached the cart. “I believe you prefer Diet Coke, Detective Bowen?”

“Sounds great.”

Elise poured the cola over a glass of ice and carried it to her. She accepted it with an easy smile, which Elise instantly mistrusted. Then she turned and looked up at Duncan Hatcher. His eyes were still on her. Unblinking. Intent. “Something for you?”

He glanced at the cart. “Is that tea?”

“It’s sweetened. Mrs. Berry thinks that’s the only way to make it.”

“That’s the only way my mom makes it, too. Sweetened is fine.” His smile was as easy as DeeDee Bowen’s, but Elise trusted it even less. It never reached his eyes.

She wondered if the decision she’d made before coming downstairs was a foolhardy one.

Of course, it would have been more foolhardy not to do anything.

She poured Duncan Hatcher a glass of iced tea and was passing it to him when Cato strode into the room. “Apparently I didn’t receive the memo.”

“OR DID YOU JUST HAPPEN TO BE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD?” the judge added with less civility.

Yep, he’s angry, DeeDee thought. Just as Duncan had predicted he would be once he learned that they’d questioned his wife-or tried to-without his being present. They had the right to, of course, but had agreed to avoid ruffling the judge’s feathers if at all possible.

Mrs. What’s-her-name, the housekeeper, must have called him immediately upon their arrival, probably even before she went upstairs to tell Elise Laird they were here. It was clear that the domestic’s loyalty lay with the judge and that she seemed to have little regard for his missus.

Elise offered to pour her husband a glass of tea.

“No, thank you.” He kissed her on the lips, then pulled back and stroked her cheek. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine.”

“Still shaken?”

“I think I will be for a while.”

“Understandable.”

He guided her down onto the settee that was barely wide enough to accommodate both of them, pulled her hand onto his knee, and covered it with his. “What would you like to know?”

DeeDee saw Duncan ’s jaw tense. He said, “I’d like to know if you want to call a lawyer before we begin. We’ll be happy to wait until one arrives.”

The judge replied crisply, “That won’t be necessary. But to show up here unannounced was a cheap trick and, frankly, beneath you, Detective Hatcher.”

“My apologies to you and to Mrs. Laird.” Duncan sat down in one of the wicker armchairs facing the couple. “The name of the man who died in your study last night was Gary Ray Trotter.”

Like Duncan, DeeDee closely watched their faces for any giveaway sign of recognition. There wasn’t so much as a flicker, not in the judge’s implacable stare, not in Elise Laird’s limpid green eyes.

The judge glanced down at his wife. Reading his silent question, she shook her head. Looking back at them, he said, “We don’t know him. I thought we’d made that clear to you last night.”

“We hoped the name might jog your memory, remind you-”

“Obviously not, Detective Bowen,” the judge said, cutting her off.

“A lot of people have been shuttled through your courtroom,” Duncan said. “Trotter was a repeat offender. Perhaps he’d come before your bench.”

“I would remember.”

“You remember every party to every case you’ve ever tried?” DeeDee said. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

He fired another impatient glance at her, then addressed himself to Duncan. “He was a repeat offender? Then what more is there to discuss? This Trotter broke into my house, fired a handgun at my wife, forcing her to protect herself. Thank God her aim was better than his. He died, she didn’t. Don’t expect me to cry over him.”

“I don’t expect that at all.”

The judge took a slow, deep breath as though to calm himself. “Then I guess I don’t understand why you’re here today. Why do you feel it necessary to make Elise relive this terrifying event?”

“We have some points that need clarification before we close the case,” DeeDee said.

“Elise told you everything she had to tell you last night. As a judge who’s heard years of courtroom testimony, I can honestly say that her account of what happened was comprehensive.”

“I agree, and we appreciate her cooperation last night,” DeeDee said to the couple, smiling at both. “Identifying Gary Ray Trotter has answered some of our outstanding questions, but created others, I’m afraid.”

“Such as?”

DeeDee laughed softly. “Well, Judge, he wasn’t a very accomplished crook. In fact, he was pretty much a loser, who couldn’t even hack it as a criminal.”

“So?”

“So Detective Hatcher and I were wondering why he chose your house to burglarize.”

“I have no idea.”

“Neither do we,” DeeDee said bluntly. “Trotter had a criminal history dating back to adolescence. Robbery mostly. But he was a goof. For instance, he once walked into a convenience store with a stick in his pocket in lieu of a pistol and demanded the money in the till. But he paid for the gas he pumped into his getaway car with his sister’s credit card.”

The judge smiled wryly. “Which I think explains why he failed as a crook.”

“I guess,” DeeDee exclaimed on a short laugh. “I mean, last night he didn’t even bring along gloves or robber paraphernalia of any kind. Can you believe that? Sort of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

Then she dropped her smile. “What the heck Gary Ray Trotter was doing in your study.”

After a moment of taut silence, the judge said, “I know one thing he did. He tried to kill my wife.”

Duncan pounced on that. “Which is another thing we must clear up, Mrs. Laird.”

“What needs clearing up?” the judge asked.

“Are you absolutely certain that Trotter fired first?”

“Of course she’s certain.”

“I asked her, Judge.”

“My wife has been through a terrible ordeal.”

“And I’ve got a job to do,” Duncan fired back. “That involves asking her some tough questions. If you haven’t got the stomach for it, Judge, you can leave.”

Elise held up her hand, stopping the judge from saying whatever he was about to say in response to Duncan’s angry put-down. “Please, Cato. I want to answer their questions. I don’t want there to be any doubt as to what happened.” She had addressed her husband by name, but DeeDee noticed that her green gaze didn’t waver from Duncan’s face, nor his from hers.