“No. I’d been sleeping for hours, and the pills were probably wearing off.”
“After you woke up, what did you do?”
“I told you—I felt like getting some air, and I went out onto the balcony.”
“Did you see anything suspicious?”
“No, nothing that was suspicious.”
“This is very close to time of death, and it appears the assailant entered through a study window. Your bedroom balcony isn’t far from there.”
“I know! But I didn’t see anything suspicious.”
“Nothing at all? Nothing the least bit unusual?”
“All I saw was Noah leaving the—” She stopped, looking so horrified that she almost made Noah look guilty. “Noah, I didn’t mean—”
Detective Cagle spoke up for the first time. With that hesitant, uncertain expression, he said, “Mr. Maitland, you didn’t mention that you’d come to the house. You said you’d met Miss Reynolds on the beach.”
Noah seemed unconcerned with the direction the questioning had suddenly taken. “I’d started across the lawn and gotten partway to the house when I saw a woman walking on the beach who could have been Sloan, so I stopped and waited until I was sure it was her; then I walked back to the beach. Which is, technically, where I met her.”
“Are you in the habit of coming here late in the evening, without calling first?”
“I called first, but no one answered.”
“What time did you call?”
“Fifteen minutes before I decided to walk over here. The answering machine picked up the call.”
“That’s right, it did,” Gary Dishler interjected firmly. “Nordstrom goes to bed early, because he gets up very early, so I handle any phone calls that come in after nine-thirty. I had heard the phone ringing when I was taking a shower, but by the time I got to the phone in my room to answer it, Mr. Maitland had hung up. I played back the message on the answering machine to make certain the call wasn’t something I needed to deal with. Mr. Maitland had left a short message for Miss Reynolds. He made something of a joke about knowing she was here and coming over to throw rocks at her balcony window. I used the intercom to call Miss Reynolds’s room, but she wasn’t there. I paged her on the house intercom and she didn’t answer. I assumed that she’d gone outdoors.”
“Did you do anything else?”
“Yes, before I went to bed a short while later, I disarmed the infrared beams so they wouldn’t go on with the rest of the security system, which goes on automatically at midnight.”
“Why did you disarm the beams?”
“So that Miss Reynolds or Mr. Maitland could walk across the yard after midnight if they chose, without tripping the beams and setting off the alarm. It’s quite simple to disarm the beams, although I had to look it up in the instruction manual when Miss Reynolds first arrived.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Miss Reynolds enjoys running on the beach at early hours and walking on it at late hours. Mr. Reynolds and Miss Paris do not indulge in those activities.”
Sloan had always had ambivalent feelings about Dishler, so she was surprised when he went out of his way to loyally shield her, as well as Noah, from further suspicion. He sounded like he had picked up on the detectives’ doubts about Noah’s phone call and Sloan’s late-night jaunt on the beach and was determined to set them straight. “No one has bothered to ask me, however, I can also verify that Mr. Maitland never reached the house because I had gone to my window to open it to let in the night air. I saw Mr. Maitland start across the back lawn, stop, and then start back toward the beach.”
“Did you see Miss Reynolds?”
“No, I did not. I did notice that Mr. Maitland was angling to the north of the property, not to the south, where his house lies. Knowing what I now know, I assume Miss Reynolds must have been returning from the north when he saw her, and he crossed the property in that direction to intercept her.”
Cagle looked gratified and impressed and deeply, deeply apologetic. “I did not mean to imply any suspicion of Miss Reynolds or Mr. Maitland. I just wanted to know where everyone was, and when they were there, so we can rule those locations out when we’re searching the grounds and house for evidence tomorrow. I haven’t been with the department very long. Think of me as sort of an apprentice—”
He shot an apologetic look at everyone in the room, including Captain Hocklin, pushed his glasses up onto his nose, and tried to look invisible while Detective Flynn took over.
“We’re just about finished for tonight,” Flynn said. “Mr. Richardson, you said you were away for the day on business and returned about eleven P.M.?”
“That’s right.”
“And you rang the call button at the gate, spoke to Mr. Dishler on the intercom, and he let you in?”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That’s correct,” Dishler added.
“And thank you, sir,” Flynn said cheerfully.
“Miss Reynolds?” he said, looking at Sloan. “Would you mind going over the last part of the evening for me again? You said you had dinner with the victim. What happened after that, please?”
Sloan reached up and rubbed her temples without realizing her head was beginning to pound. “After dinner, I watched television with her in the room where you found her, until about nine-thirty; then I decided to go upstairs and write a letter. Mrs. Reynolds is very fond of game shows, particularly Jeopardy!, and I’d already sat through three of them with her. I didn’t think I could handle another one. She’s very intense about them and doesn’t like to talk unless a commercial is on. I’d been sitting for hours, and when I got upstairs, I decided I felt more like going for a walk than sitting down again to write.”
Detective Flynn was very understanding and sympathetic. “I hope you aren’t blaming yourself for leaving her when you did. If you hadn’t, it’s likely you would have been killed by the same intruder.”
“Maybe,” Sloan said, feeling a surge of fury at the monster who had done this and at herself for not being there to stop it. If she hadn’t been so wrapped up with Noah, this might never have happened.
A chill ran through her entire body, and she shivered. Noah saw it, and annoyance put a sharp edge on his voice as he scowled at the police captain. “You’ve had enough questions answered to keep you busy tonight,” he said shortly. “Let these people get some rest.”
To Sloan’s relief, the captain stood up at once, looking apologetic. The detectives followed his lead. “You’re right, Mr. Maitland.”
Carter went up to bed immediately, and Paris got up to follow him. She looked like a walking ghost, her face ashen and expressionless, a handkerchief clutched in her fist, but she hadn’t let herself break down in front of strangers. Sloan walked as far as the doorway with her, then stopped, and she saw Paris’s control start to slip. “Aren’t you coming up to bed, too?” Paris asked, her voice beginning to shake. She sounded frightened about being alone, a reaction to everything that had happened that Sloan understood from experience.
“In a few minutes,” Sloan promised. “I want to talk to Paul first. I was wondering,” Sloan added gently, “if you’d mind staying in my room tonight? It’s a huge bed, and—”
Paris was already nodding with relief, and Sloan wrapped her in a tight hug, trying to infuse her with some of her own strength. When Sloan turned away, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, but she did not acknowledge that she looked almost as drawn as Paris or that she was shaking inside with sorrow and exhaustion.
Noah noticed the signs, however, and with Carter out of the room, he dropped the pretense of being a family friend. Ignoring Paul, he pulled Sloan into his arms and cupped her face to his chest. “Come home with me,” he said in an aching whisper. “We’ll look after you. Don’t stay here tonight, sweetheart.”
It was the first time he’d used an endearment, and the poignant tenderness of it was almost Sloan’s undoing. She was so accustomed t
o looking after other people, of being their strength, that she almost wept at the realization that Noah was there to offer her his strength. “I can’t,” she said, but a tear slipped down her cheek. His thumb softly brushed it away, and another tear followed it. Tenderness was accomplishing what adversity couldn’t—Sloan was on the brink of losing control.
“I’ll be all right,” she said, pulling out of his arms and impatiently brushing at her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Paul watching them, and for a moment he looked so infuriated that she froze; then she concentrated on Noah. “I’ll be fine, really,” she said with a fixed smile, and when he still looked dubious, she tucked her arm through his and walked him to the back door.
36
As Sloan expected, Paul had already gone up to his room, where they could talk in privacy. He’d left the door slightly open for her, and she walked inside, closing it behind her.
He was standing at the window, a drink in his hand, watching Noah walk across the lawn on his way home. “It’s been quite a fucking night,” he said wrathfully as he closed the window and turned around. Except for the anger she’d glimpsed when Noah was leaving, Paul had played the part of a shocked, well-bred insurance salesman all night, but now he looked as furious as he sounded.
He motioned to a pair of comfortable chairs with footstools near the bed. “What the hell is going on between you and Maitland?” he demanded.
It was none of his business, but Sloan was too startled to be offended. On the other hand, she didn’t think she owed him any details, either. “What do you think is going on?” she asked mildly as she sat down across from him.
“Based on what I’ve observed during the last week,” he said sarcastically, “I assumed the two of you were probably having a little fling. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I saw that little scene before he left, and I saw the way you were looking at him tonight.”
“So what?” Sloan said defensively.
His jaw tightened. “How can you be so smart about everything else, and so damned stupid about him? By your own words, he’s got an arsenal on one boat and a sizable stash of firearms on the sailboat.”
“People with boats keep firearms aboard! He’s not selling them or trafficking in them. There are ports all over the globe that aren’t completely safe. Noah is protecting his life, his crew, and his property!”
“With a machine gun?” Paul mocked angrily. “With a room full of automatic weapons? It sounds to me like he might have some sort of cargo he needs to protect.”
“That cargo remark is ridiculous, and I told you, he confiscated the machine gun. Furthermore, I never said those weapons were automatic.”
“You couldn’t tell because you weren’t close enough to examine them!”
“I had no idea you were worried about all that,” Sloan said, trying to keep her temper under tight control. “If it will put your mind at rest, I’ll ask Noah to show them to me again.”
“No. Don’t do that. Just let it alone! Look, I just don’t want you to get too emotionally involved with the man. I don’t give a damn if you’ve been to bed with him; you’re both adults. However, I made the stupid assumption that that wouldn’t happen, based on your past history. You sure as hell didn’t sleep around in Bell Harbor!”
“How would you know?” Sloan demanded irately.
“How would I know?” he repeated with biting sarcasm. “I know when you got your first permanent tooth! How the hell do you think I know?” Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his knees and glared at his drink as he rolled the glass between his hands. When he spoke again, he sounded more weary and worried than angry. “How involved are you with Maitland, emotionally, I mean?”
He asked the question with an almost paternal concern, and Sloan responded firmly but without any rancor. “That’s none of your business.”
He reached the correct conclusion on his own, and his lips quirked in a sardonic half smile as he stared at his glass and stated his conclusion: “That sounds pretty damned involved . . .”
“Paul?”
He looked up at her.
“Why are we talking about Noah when someone in this house has been murdered? Didn’t anything about that session in the living room just now strike you as a little odd?”
To her relief, he didn’t persist in discussing Noah. “I don’t know. I suppose I was distracted. What specifically are you referring to?”
“They said a window was broken in the study and the murderer supposedly came in that way. That makes no sense. The drapes were open and she was in plain view, watching television. Even if she didn’t see him at first, she would have heard the glass break.”
“Maybe not, if he was quiet enough and the television set was loud enough to distract her.”
“But why would a thief take a chance like that when he could have broken in through one of the other rooms? And why didn’t she notice him as he was breaking in, and then try to escape?”
“Her vision wasn’t good and the windows were on her left. If she was concentrating on television, she might not have seen him until it was too late.”
“Her vision wasn’t good, but she was a long way from being blind! She was found on the sofa, which means the murderer had to break the window, open it, crawl in, then stroll over to her and shoot her before she noticed him. Either that,” Sloan finished meaningfully, “or she didn’t think she needed to be afraid of whoever shot her.”
“The medical examiner will be able to tell who was where when it happened.”
Sloan had the feeling he was still preoccupied with Noah for some reason, and it frustrated her to the point of anger or tears. “Can’t you see where I’m going with all this?”
“Yes, of course I can,” he said with a grim sigh. “With the exception of the broken window, it points to an inside job.”
“Sooner or later, Flynn and Cagle are going to run me through the system. I’m sure your cover will hold up, but they won’t even have to glance twice to find out I’m not an interior designer in Bell Harbor.”
“I’m hoping they’ll do it later, rather than sooner. After all, you’re an unlikely suspect. Why break into a house you already have a key to?”
“To make it look like an outside job,” Sloan said wearily. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Andy Cagle is sharp. He’ll run me through the system even if it’s to rule me out. You should let me tell them the truth, so they can eliminate me as a suspect and concentrate on real possibilities. I think I should talk to them first thing in the morning.”
“No,” he said sharply. “There’s too much chance Carter would find out. I need thirty-six hours before that happens. In thirty-six hours it won’t matter.”
Sloan opened her eyes and stared at him. “What’s happening in thirty-six hours?”
He frowned at his drink again, rolling the glass between his hands. “I can’t tell you.”
“I’m getting really tired of that—”
“Believe me,” he said tightly, “I want to tell you, I would have told you at this point—but I can’t. Not after tonight.”
Sloan thought he was referring to Edith’s murder tonight. She couldn’t imagine any sort of connection, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to give her a word to go on. “Do you have any hunches about who might have done this tonight, or is that another ‘secret’ you feel you need to keep?” she asked bitterly.
To her surprise, he actually gave her a complete answer. “That depends. If Flynn and Cagle have something substantial that points to an assisted burglary, I’d start with the local maids, not the regular staff who lives in. Reynolds told me more than once that they’ve been with the family for years. In any case, whoever the actual perp was used a nine-millimeter weapon, because I saw the casing on the floor, and he was also an amateur.”
“You mean because he took so many chances by entering through the study—if he did enter that way?”
“No, because he overlooked some items a pro wouldn’t have le
ft behind. While you were outside trying to track him down, I was in the study with Paris. The diamond ring Edith always wore had been taken off her hand, but the perp overlooked a very expensive diamond brooch as well as the ring on her other hand. That’s another reason for Cagle and Flynn to discount you as a suspect: Why would you go through the trouble to fake a break-in, kill her, and then leave her valuables behind?”
When Sloan didn’t come up with an answer, he said, “By the way, what made you search at the front of the house rather than the rear?”
“I’d just walked through the backyard with Noah and hadn’t seen anyone there or on the beach. I knew the front was a long shot, but I had to try.”
Weariness was crashing over Sloan in tidal waves, and the tears she’d been fighting threatened to slip from her eyes. She thought of Edith’s body on the sofa, her hair still perfectly arranged, her dress primly covering her knees. Someone had stolen her life and her jewelry, but even in death, she’d kept her dignity. Sloan drew a shaky breath and brushed away a tear. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”
“It will hit you tomorrow,” Paul said with the philosophical certainty of one who has been here and seen this all many times before. “Let’s get some sleep. You’re going to need it, and so will I.”
Sloan hadn’t realized until then how drawn he actually looked. He’d said he was “distracted,” but she had a peculiar feeling he was worried. Very worried. He always seemed so utterly self-assured and resolute that it was difficult to imagine him any other way.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
In her bedroom, Sloan pulled off her clothes and pulled on an old T-shirt that Sara hadn’t removed from the suitcases. Careful not to disturb Paris, she slipped into bed and fell into an instant, troubled sleep.
37
The call Dennis Flynn was waiting for came in at ten-thirty A.M., while he was slumped in his chair in front of his computer terminal, watching the computer banks at the Regional Organized Crime Information Center in Nashville answer his final query with another blank report. He’d already typed in all the other names on his list of family, friends, and employees at the Reynolds residence.
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