Paper Castles (15 page)

“I already said that.” They were trying to confuse her, two boxers tag-teaming in the ring. One questioning while the other waited in the corner, bashing his gloves together and looking for the knock-out punch.

“Let’s see.” Mueller flipped through his notes, milking the moment. “You said the argument was about his indiscreet behavior at the dance.” He looked up at her with a smug smile and Savannah had an urge to slap it off his face.

“You sure the fight wasn’t about
your
affair?”

“How dare you—”

Fitzgerald fanned out a series of 8x10 photos on the table between them.

Savannah’s breath caught in her throat, an audible hitch of recognition betraying her. Fitzgerald fingered each picture, like a fortune teller studying her cards, while an invisible referee counted off the seconds over Savannah’s sprawled body.

Her and Adam. Outside the coffee shop. Leaning against her car. Holding hands, laughing. Pictures taken on Deerfield Drive outside Adam’s apartment. Savannah picked one up, stared at Adam leaning into her car, kissing her. Such a sweet moment in colorful memory, now rendered sordid in glossy black and white.

“Let’s try this again, Mrs. Palmerton,” Fitzgerald said, stone-faced. “Just how well do you know Mr. Vincent?”

“Where did you get these?” She was shaking.

“They were in your husband’s files.” Mueller seemed pleased they’d rattled her. “He hired a private detective to follow you. Apparently he had reason to be suspicious.”

Her mind raced in seven directions at once. Price knew about her and Adam. Knew the whole time. The
whole
time? When did he start having her followed? Why hadn’t he confronted her sooner?

Her thoughts flew back to the night of the murder and the argument. Price seemed so sure of himself when he threatened she’d never have the kids. He had all the ammunition he needed to keep the children from her. Even now he was reaching out from the grave and she swore she could hear him laughing.

Savannah gathered up all the photos, making a neat stack of a complicated picture and handed them back to Fitzgerald. As the daughter and the wife of a lawyer, she knew enough to end this line of questioning right now.

It took all the strength she had to stand up and she had to keep her hands on the table to steady herself.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I don’t care for the direction of these questions when you should be trying to find my husband’s killer.” Her eyes went from one emotionless, expressionless face to the other. “Instead, you’ve spent days asking me the same questions over and over as if you have nothing else to do.”

The detectives remained immobile. It was like throwing rocks at statues.

“Well?” Hands were on her hips now. “Answer me. Why haven’t you tracked down the woman Price was talking to that night?” Savannah had finally broken down and offered the information about Price and the woman on the terrace after several days of interrogation. It was bound to come out, anyway.

“We’ve tried, Ma’am,” Mueller said. “She doesn’t exist.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t exist? Of course she exists. I saw her with my own two eyes.”

“Yet you can’t describe her.” Fitzgerald’s tone was flat.

“This conversation is over. Forgive me if I don’t see you to the door.”

The two detectives gathered up their paperwork and photos.

“We’ll be back, Mrs. Palmerton.” Mueller said.

“Not without a warrant,” Savannah said.

Her hands were still shaking when she called Kip.

“Sit tight, I’m on my way home,” he said.

S
AVANNAH SAT in Price’s home office, adrift in a sea of papers. Searching for a name. A clue. Something. Anything.

Then Neenie rushed into the room, wild-eyed and out of breath. “They’re back. The police.”

“Are you kidding?” Savannah dropped the file she was holding, its contents spilling into the ocean of documents on the carpet. There was no denying she was a suspect, but she was horrified they were using her affair as the smoking gun, the easy wrap-up on a high profile case. Her anger flared over the thought of them sniffing around her garbage can and trying to goad her into a confession, instead of exploring other options. Book the bitch, hold a press conference, then go out for drinks.

After a couple of deep breaths, she walked to the front door with Neenie following. Angela and PJ abandoned the television in the living room when they heard the commotion.

“I thought I made it perfectly clear yesterday I wouldn’t be speaking to you again.” Savannah said, holding the front door open.

“You said next time, bring a warrant.” Mueller dangled a folded piece of paper in front of her. “Savannah Angeline Palmerton you are under arrest for the murder of Price Walker Palmerton.”

For the murder of...

“Sweet Baby Jesus,” Neenie cried.

The door was forced open. Strong arms grabbed her wrists, yanking them behind her back. Cold cuffs were snapped tight. Although her knees went weak, her instincts took over. She knew enough not to offer up one word of resistance.

For a minute, she thought she might be sick, but they didn’t give her enough time. Angela and PJ’s faces swam in and out of focus as Mueller turned her to face him again.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He led her out the front door. “You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any questioning.”

“Neenie, call my father,” Savannah shouted over her shoulder as she was hustled down the front steps. There was a police car in the driveway and another parked sideways across the mouth, blocking escape. Several cruisers were lined up on her block. A small army of officers standing at the ready, as if they’d come to arrest an international drug gang instead of a Georgia housewife.

Neighbors stood in the street watching the television drama unfold in their front yard. The officer placed a strong hand on her head to keep her from whacking it on the doorframe as Savannah was being put in the back seat. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Neenie pull PJ and Angela into her arms. Both kids were hysterical. Then PJ broke free, pushing aside one of the officers and sprinting across the lawn in his attempt to rescue his mother. The officer closed the car door against his muffled shouts. PJ was quickly subdued by a barrel-chested officer who grabbed him in a bear hug from behind.

The cruiser pulled away from the curb and Savannah watched her son, head thrown back, kicking and screaming. Five feet and nine inches of rage.

Dear God, what have I done?

S
AVANNAH WAS used to having her picture in the paper. Usually in the society pages. Not on the front page under the glaring headline:

LOCAL SOCIALITE CHARGED WITH MURDER.

She was used to turning her best side forward and smiling for one single flashbulb. Not two dozen going off at once. She knew how to work her way through a party, addressing questions at her leisure. Not being hustled through a throng of pushing, shoving, journalists thrusting microphones in her face and shouting,
“
Did you do it?
”

Her father and brother had hired two attorneys for her arraignment. Savannah couldn’t recall their names or faces. Only the strength of their arms wrapped around her and the barricade they made between her and the feeding frenzy. They got her home in one piece.

Once more, home was Justice Kendall’s house. The fortress of childhood safety with her father guarding the door. Despite Kip’s reassurances, he didn’t come to Georgia immediately. Everyone agreed for the moment it was best to keep Kip from being photographed with his sister. But she couldn’t help feeling alone and abandoned.

Now, Savannah stood in the shower, scrubbing herself raw. Trying to remove the smell and stain of the jail cell from her limbs. She wanted it gone before she fell into her bed. Her own, clean bed. Not some piss-stained cot where she tossed and turned while prostitutes and petty thieves circled her, smelling her pampered, privileged helplessness.

It felt like the time she was ten years old and rode the tilt-a-whirl at the fair. Spinning, flying, unable to catch her breath. She begged and screamed for the attendant to stop the ride and let her off. He only laughed as she was sent tilting and whirling again and again. The more she screamed, the more people gathered around to watch.

Somehow she’d survived eleven days in the Chatham County Jail. Eleven days of taunting, pushing, and people stealing her food. Two of those days had been spent in the jail’s small infirmary, as Savannah’s body revolted over the loss of its daily Valium and sleeping pills. Two days spent retching in withdrawal, her body howling and shivering under blankets that couldn’t ward off the chill.

Now, leaning against the tile wall, she let go everything she’d been holding in. All the unanswered questions, the innuendos, the fears, the nightmares. Her body heaved, shaking everything loose. Sliding down the wet wall, she sat, defeated under the spray, arms curled around her knees, head buried. She crouched there, weeping, letting the water stream down her back until it ran cold.

She toweled off, wrapped up in a robe, and tiptoed back to her room, leaving a trail of wet footprints like breadcrumbs. The entire family was gathered downstairs to discuss the situation. Everyone was anxious to see her, but she was desperate for a few minutes to gather her strength. She would be face-to-face with her father and Kip soon enough.

Staring out her bedroom window while she towel-dried her hair, she calculated the pros and cons of jumping.

S
AVANNAH REMEMBERED when her daddy was young, strong and invincible. As a little girl with gangly legs, she could curl up in his lap while he made everything right with the world. Jack Kendall had all the answers she ever needed. Either in his head or in the rows of books that lined the walls behind his desk.

He didn’t have an answer for this.

It was Kip who sat behind her father’s desk. Papers and files spread out in a small mountain of hope. Case files already being plundered for any bit of armament to head into battle.

Jack sat, slumped, in his worn leather chair, no longer invincible. The rest of the family fanned out around him as nervousness tap-danced around the room.

He glanced away when Savannah walked in and it was a knife slicing to the bone. She could take anything but him wondering if she was guilty. He’d spent his entire life building an impeccable reputation and she had destroyed it all like a petulant child knocking down a house of cards.

Kip got up and walked around the desk to greet her. As he swallowed her up in a giant hug, she melted into his embrace and for a moment believed that she was worthy of his love.

Kip held her at arm’s length then, looking deep into her eyes until he found the place she was hiding.

“You okay, Sis?”

The words were a rope thrown. He wouldn’t leave her in that dark place. She nodded, hugging him again, grabbing tight to the rope and holding on as he pulled her back to safety. His solid strength settled her raw nerves. She could breathe again.