“I don’t have time to change.” I pulled out a chair and got him in it. “Have some cereal.”
Kev stared at the bowl in front of him. “It’s Cheerios again.”
“You like Cheerios.”
“I like tomatoes better.”
“That’s on you,” I told Davey.
He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I don’t know how you figure that. I didn’t dress him.”
Davey picked up a bowl, splashed some milk into it, then tipped the bowl to his mouth and drank his cereal down. Kevin watched in fascination. Actually I was kind of fascinated myself. Davey finished the whole bowl in a few quick gulps without spilling a single drop. He walked over and placed the empty bowl in the sink.
“At dinner, I’m going to expect better manners,” I informed him.
“At dinner, I won’t be in such a hurry.” Davey slipped his jacket off the back of a chair. Then he reached around Tar and grabbed his backpack. Surprisingly, it was still dry.
“Did you finish your homework?” I asked as he headed for the back door.
“Mostly,” Davey told me over his shoulder.
“When are you going to do the rest?”
“On the bus.” The door opened and shut and he was gone.
A moment later Sam appeared. He was wearing a red flannel shirt. Before I could comment on that, he looked across the kitchen at the back door. “Did Davey already leave?”
“You just missed him,” I said. “We’re running late.”
“So I see.” He eyed the two remaining bowls of cereal. “That’s breakfast?”
“Unless you want a banana.”
“Or a tomato,” Kevin added. Suspiciously his bowl was already half empty. And Bud was under the table chewing something.
Sam looked at me. “Do we have tomatoes?”
“No, but Kevin decided it’s a red day.”
Sam gestured toward his shirt. “I heard about that earlier. It looks like you’re the only one who didn’t get the memo.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. Then he reached for a cereal bowl and filled it with milk.
“You need to change your clothes,” Kevin reminded me.
I sighed and pulled over the last bowl. I dug my fingers into the mound of cereal and scooped up a handful. It was quicker if I ate my Cheerios dry. Hopefully my manners would be better by dinnertime too.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Sam asked.
“School!” Kev told him gleefully. At his age, school was still a treat.
“For me too,” I said.
Sam wasn’t fooled. I’d been MIA a lot recently. He suspected today might not be any different. And he was right.
“And after that?” he asked.
“I want to go to the police station in New Canaan and have a chat with Detective Hronis. I’ll drop Faith and Kevin off at home on my way, assuming it’s all right if I leave Kev with you?”
“Sure,” said Sam. “That works. Hronis is the guy you met in December when Claire had that problem?”
Claire was Davey’s stepmother. She was married to my ex-husband, Bob, and the two of them lived on the other side of Stamford. During the holidays, Claire had worked as a personal Christmas shopper, and “that problem” referred to the fact that one of her clients had been murdered. Neither Sam nor I had any intention of elaborating in front of Kevin.
I nodded. “He and I didn’t get along in the beginning. But eventually we figured out how to tolerate each other well enough.”
At least nobody else had ended up dead. I counted that as a plus.
“I thought I might run a couple of theories by him and see what he thinks.”
“Detective Hronis is in New Canaan,” Sam pointed out. He was well aware of the circumstances surrounding Victor’s death in New York.
“He’s in law enforcement,” I said. “That’s close enough for me.”
Kevin had been listening to our conversation while he polished off his cereal. “Does he wear a uniform?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” I told him. “He isn’t that kind of policeman.”
“Too bad.” Kev considered. “Maybe he’ll get a promotion. And then he’ll get a uniform to wear.”
Sam grinned. Since he thought it was funny I figured I’d let him explain. Meanwhile I needed to run upstairs and change my sweater. It was a red day, after all.
* * *
The New Canaan Police Department was housed in a large brick building with four tall columns flanking the front door. Located on South Avenue between the Merritt Parkway and downtown, it was easy to find. There was even plenty of parking out front.
I hadn’t called for an appointment but Detective Hronis and I had just met in December, so I was pretty sure he’d remember who I was. I was counting on his curiosity to get me a meeting. That and the fact that when it came to crime fighting, New Canaan was generally a pretty dull town.
Once I’d parked, I sat in the car for a few minutes to organize my thoughts. I expected the detective might be skeptical about what I had to tell him. So I needed to be as clear and as concise as possible.
Looking back, I realized that when I contemplated all the things people had told me about Victor, it was the women’s voices that resonated the loudest. It was too bad it had taken me so long to actually hear what they were trying to tell me. Early on, Olivia had referred to Victor as a cad. Then Louise had issued a similar warning. It wasn’t until Mattie disclosed her story that I’d finally started to pay attention to what really mattered.
Then I’d talked to Clark. Based on what he’d told me, I now suspected that what mattered most of all was what Hannah Bly had not said.
Hannah belonged to Victor’s Poodle club. The fact that she was also on the board of directors meant she would have spent a significant amount of time in his company. But in hindsight, her complaint about Victor seemed relatively minor compared to some.
Unless she hadn’t told me the truth. Or at least not all of it.
According to Clark, Hannah was angry about something that had happened at a Christmas party. That wasn’t a likely place for a dispute over membership irregularities to have come to a head. But in that rowdy social setting, I could well imagine something much more sinister happening between Victor and Hannah.
Hannah was strong, and fit, and felt capable of handling herself in any situation. Victor liked to take advantage of women, and he carried a packet of powder that ensured he never had to take no for an answer. If Victor had attacked Hannah and she’d been unable to fight him off, it wasn’t a stretch to think that the consequences of that forced encounter could have proved disastrous.
Victor had had a significant amount of THC in his blood when he died. Now I was pretty sure I knew how it got there. With marijuana being legal in nearby states, it wasn’t difficult to come by. Hannah would have been able to finesse that part of her plan easily enough. I was betting she’d plotted a revenge that followed Victor’s lead.
The note whose trail I’d been following was just a red herring. Hannah had been two steps ahead of me all along. She’d concocted that story to throw me off the right track. And I’d fallen for it, just as she’d wanted me to.
Meanwhile, what Hannah hadn’t wanted me to figure out was that she’d put something in Louise’s food at the specialty. Perhaps that had been a trial run for what she was planning next? Victor had drugged Hannah at the Christmas party, and then she’d retaliated in kind at Westminster. After that, it was payback time.
It was a good working theory—but even I had to admit that it still contained a few holes. I hoped Detective Hronis would be willing to hear me out, and maybe offer some input of his own.
As I got out of the car I realized that I was feeling conflicted. I genuinely liked Hannah. Even now, I wasn’t entirely sure whether I wanted Hronis to agree with me—or laugh me out of his office.
Inside the building, I gave my name to the receptionist and took a seat. The detective didn’t keep me waiting long. Hro
nis was in his forties and had the kind of face that had already settled into permanent lines of disgruntlement. He wasn’t tall, but somehow he took up a lot of room. He walked with the deliberate stride of a man who was ready to defend his territory.
The detective’s gaze skimmed around the reception area and he gave the woman behind the desk a fleeting smile. Then his eyes settled on me and the smile died. “Ms. Travis,” he said. “This is unexpected.”
I stood up and held out my hand. Hronis hesitated only a moment before reciprocating. His large hand engulfed mine and gave it a hearty pump.
“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked.
“I need help.”
A bushy brown brow lifted. “Police help?”
“Yes.”
I could have sworn he almost sighed. Then the detective shook his head slightly and said, “You’d better come with me.”
His office was on the second floor and had a window that overlooked the heavily wooded residential area behind the building. At other times of the year it must have been a lovely view. Now, between the gray February sky and the tangle of barren tree branches, it just looked stark and cold.
“Take a seat,” Hronis said. “And tell me what this is about.”
Aside from the chair behind the desk, there was only one seat in the room. The chair he directed me to was metal, straight backed, and hadn’t been designed for comfort. I took off my down jacket and balled it up in my lap. I might have been stalling for time while I figured out how to get started.
Hronis, meanwhile, leaned back to perch on the front edge of his desk. He stared down at me, then crossed his arms over his chest. He was waiting.
“A man named Victor Durbin was killed in New York City a week ago,” I said.
He dipped his head in a small nod. “Friend of yours?”
“More like an acquaintance. At one point we both belonged to the same Poodle club.”
“A Poodle club?” he repeated. “That’s a real thing?”
“Yes. It’s an association for people who breed and show Poodles.”
He looked bemused. “Like with a clubhouse? Maybe a pool and tennis courts?”
We were in Fairfield County—so deep in country club territory. That made his confusion understandable. And actually kind of funny. I was careful not to let a single hint of humor show on my face.
“Not exactly. It’s more like a business organization or a social group. We hold monthly meetings to talk about our Poodles. Sometimes we host dog shows or other kinds of performance events.”
Hronis stared past me. Presumably he found the jumbled bookshelf against the wall fascinating. “The world is full of wacky people,” he muttered to himself.
“You would know,” I replied smartly.
That snapped his gaze back to me. “Excuse me?”
“I meant your job. Being in law enforcement. I’m sure that puts you in contact with lots of crazy people.”
“I hope you’re not being sarcastic, Ms. Travis.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I told him. “I need your help.”
“So you said. Perhaps you could move this story along?”
It wasn’t me who’d derailed the conversation. But okay.
“Victor Durbin was murdered,” I said. It didn’t seem as though we’d moved much past that point.
“In New York,” Hronis replied. “Fifty miles from here. Was he a New Canaan resident?”
“No,” I admitted. “He lived in Peekskill.”
“Then maybe I’m a little confused as to why you’re here.”
“I think I have an idea who killed him.”
Hronis frowned. Now he was staring at the ceiling. “Why am I not surprised?” Then his gaze lowered and fixed on me. “You should talk to someone in that jurisdiction.... You said it happened in the city. Which borough?”
“Manhattan. Midtown. Madison Square Garden.”
“Probably Midtown Precinct South,” he considered. “I could get you a name.”
“I don’t want to talk to someone I don’t know. It will just be some random person in a huge police station who won’t pay any attention to what I have to say. I already have a name. Yours.”
Hronis sighed. “Is there any connection between this crime and the town of New Canaan?”
“Yes,” I told him firmly. “The woman who killed Victor lives here.”
“Okay.” The detective walked around the back of his desk and sat down. He picked up a pen and grabbed a sheet of paper. “That’s a start. What’s the woman’s name?”
Of course it wasn’t that simple. Now that Detective Hronis was finally listening to me, I had to start by giving him the details of Victor’s murder. I followed that by telling him about the people Victor associated with whom I’d spoken to. I lined up the clues I’d unearthed in a way that I hoped made sense.
Hronis took notes as I talked. Occasionally he stopped to ask a question, but mostly he just nodded and let me keep going. At one point he said, “I suppose there’s no point in my asking how you came to be involved in this?”
“It just happened. I knew Victor. And then my Aunt Peg ended up being a suspect.”
That took us off in a whole new direction. I described Aunt Peg’s encounter with Victor the evening before he died. I made special mention of the packet that had fallen out of his pocket when he’d jerked away.
Detective Hronis grimaced at that. At least I thought he had, until he said, “You really broke the guy’s finger?”
“Of course not. It was only bruised. But I needed to do something to make him release her. Don’t you think the white powder was suspicious?”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “It would be more suspicious if I knew what it was. For all you know, it could have been powdered sugar.”
I stared at him across the desk. “Do you really believe that?”
“No. But I’m just trying to stick to the facts.”
“The facts are that Victor was a horrible man who wouldn’t keep his hands to himself. One woman has admitted that she had problems with him. Several others have implied as much. And the woman who lives here in your town was overheard screaming at him about an incident that happened not long before his death. There was a witness who heard her threaten him.”
He glanced down at his notes. “Clark Donnay. The business partner.”
I nodded. “I think the powder Victor was carrying was Rohypnol. And that his encounter with Aunt Peg wasn’t the first time he’d planned to use it.”
“Do you have any proof of that?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “But there’s something else.”
“I’m all ears,” Hronis said. I was pretty sure that was sarcasm.
“According to the autopsy, Victor Durbin had a lot of THC in his blood when he died.”
“So maybe he smoked some marijuana.”
“Or maybe Hannah slipped him the drug without his knowing it—just like he’d done to her. She gave Victor something laced with enough THC to make him dizzy, and maybe nauseated. Then she volunteered to help him find a men’s room. In his impaired state, it wouldn’t have been hard for her to overpower him once they were inside.”
“And you think this woman”—he glanced down at the paper—“Hannah Bly did that?”
“Yes.”
“Why her? Why not one of those other women who were all supposedly mad at him?”
“Because I believe she used the same drug on someone else two days earlier at Victor’s dog show.”
That assertion led to even more explanation. By now, Detective Hronis was looking increasingly skeptical. I wasn’t even sure I blamed him. All these arguments had sounded better in my head. Out loud, they seemed pretty flimsy.
“So that’s it?” he said when I was finished.
I nodded.
Hronis was staring down at his notes. And frowning again. His fingers had begun to drum a steady tattoo on the desktop—as if he hoped that action might drum up some additional evidence for him to perus
e. I was beginning to feel the same way.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I asked.
The detective raised his head to look at me. “Let’s just say I think it’s an interesting story. But I’m not entirely convinced. And I have to repeat what I told you earlier. None of these things you’re talking about happened in my jurisdiction.”
He was right. But I still couldn’t bring myself to give up.
“Will you at least talk to Hannah Bly?”
“I don’t see how I can do that,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of conjecture here, but you haven’t offered me much in the way of proof.”
“But—” I began.
Hronis held up a hand for silence. I quickly complied.
“Here’s what I will do. I’ll get in touch with my counterpart at the Manhattan precinct and pass along your information. Will that make you happy?”
At this point, that was probably as good an outcome as I could hope for.
“I guess so,” I replied. “Thank you for listening.”
“Let me walk you out.” He came around his desk and waited in the doorway until I’d pulled on my jacket and preceded him into the hallway.
“One more thing, Ms. Travis,” Detective Hronis said. “Let’s not make a habit of this, okay?”
There was only one answer I could give to that. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 26
Bertie called while I was on my way home.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“In my car.” I checked the rearview mirror and moved into the outer lane.
“No, like where specifically?”
“On the Merritt Parkway, just about to get off my exit. Why, where are you?”
“I’m sitting in your driveway. I had a doctor’s appointment in Greenwich and I stopped by to say hi on my way home.” Bertie and Frank lived in Wilton, which was on the other side of New Canaan.
“A doctor?” I frowned as I pulled onto High Ridge Road. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure. It was just a normal checkup. No big deal.”
“Then what . . . ?” Abruptly I laughed. “Oh wait, I get it. Frank’s at home watching your kids, isn’t he? And you’re in no hurry to get back and relieve him of dad duty.”
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