Ricochet (10 page)

Keeping a watchful eye in the rearview mirror, she’d been confident that no one had followed her. Despite her haste, she had heeded the speed limits, not wanting to be stopped for a traffic ticket that she would have to explain to Cato.

She had returned home only minutes ahead of the housekeeper and had remained in her bedroom ever since, pacing, playing over in her mind the events of the previous night, trying to decide what her next course of action should be.

Detective Bowen and Duncan Hatcher were waiting for her downstairs. She dreaded the interview, but further delay would look suspicious. She went to her dressing table, gathered her hair into a ponytail, considered changing clothes, then decided not to take the time. She picked up a tube of lip gloss, but changed her mind about that, too. Detective Bowen would find fault with her vanity, and Duncan Hatcher…

What did he think of her? she wondered.
Really
think of her.

She deliberated that for several precious moments, then, before she could talk herself out of it, did one thing more before leaving the bedroom.

The sunroom was a glass-enclosed portion of the terrace, floored in Pennsylvania bluestone, furnished with wicker pieces that had floral print cushions. Mrs. Berry was better with plants than with people. Ferns and palms and other potted tropicals flourished under her care.

When Elise entered the room, DeeDee Bowen was seated in one of the chairs facing the door. Duncan was standing at the wall of windows looking out over the terrace and swimming pool, seemingly captivated by the fountain at the center of it.

Detective Bowen stood up. “Hello, Mrs. Laird. We apologize for showing up unannounced. Is this an inconvenient time?”

“Not at all.”

Upon hearing her name, Duncan turned away from the window. Elise glanced at him, then came into the room and joined Detective Bowen in the sitting area.

“Mrs. Berry will be here shortly with something to drink,” she said, motioning Detective Bowen back into her chair, then sat down in one facing it.

“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.”

“O
R 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.

“As I told you last night,” she said, “when I accidentally switched on the foyer light—”

“Excuse me. Do you mind talking us through it where it happened?”

“In the study?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”

“It will be very difficult for Elise to go into that room until it’s been cleaned, rid of all reminders of what happened in it,” the judge said.

“I realize it won’t be easy,” Duncan said. But he didn’t withdraw the request.

The judge looked at his wife. “Elise?”

“I want to help in any way I can.”

The four of them made their way into the foyer. Duncan approached the fancy console table. Beneath the marble top was a slender drawer that ran the width of the table. “You took the pistol from this drawer?”

“Yes, I came out of the butler’s pantry through that door,” she replied, pointing. “I paused there a moment. I didn’t hear anything, but, as I told you last night, I sensed a presence in the study. I went to the table to get the pistol.”

Duncan fingered one of the drawer pulls. “Did you make any noise?”

“I don’t think so. I tried not to.”

“Did you close the drawer?”

“I… I don’t remember,” she said, faltering. “I don’t believe I did.”

“She didn’t,” the judge said. “It was open when the first two policemen arrived in response to the 911. I remember pointing it out to them.”

DeeDee made a mental note to read the report filed by Officers Beale and Crofton.

Duncan resumed. “You walked from the table to the door of the study.”

“Yes.”

“Were you wearing slippers?”

“I was barefoot.”

“Do you think Trotter heard you approaching?” Duncan asked. “Or did he have no inkling you were there and aware of him until the light came on?”

“If he’d heard me coming toward the study, why didn’t he just scramble out the window?”

“That was going to be my next question,” Duncan said with a guileless smile.

“Then I must have startled him by switching on the light,” Elise said. “When it came on, he froze.”

“This is the switch plate?” Duncan flipped one switch, and the overhead light in the study came on. The other turned on a fixture in the foyer directly above their heads. He looked up at the light, then into the study. “DeeDee, would you play Trotter? Go stand behind the desk.”

She peeled away the crime scene tape that formed an X in the open doorway, then went into the study and took a position behind the desk.

Duncan said, “Is that about where he was standing?”

Elise replied with a slight nod.

“What was he doing, Mrs. Laird?”

“Nothing. Only standing there looking at me. Staring, like a deer caught in headlights.”

“Was he leaning over the desk, like he’d been trying to jimmy the lock on the drawer?”

“It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. Maybe he was bending over the desk drawer, I don’t know. The first mental picture I have of him is his standing there behind the desk, looking at me, motionless.”

“Huh.” Duncan looked toward DeeDee behind the desk as though imagining Gary Ray Trotter. “And what was it he said?” He came back around to Elise.

She didn’t flinch and she didn’t hesitate. “He didn’t say anything, Detective Hatcher. I told you that last night.”

Duncan nodded slowly. “Right. You did. But you spoke to him, correct? You ordered him to leave.”

“Yes.”

“Did he make a move toward the window?”

“No. He didn’t move at all except to raise his arm. Suddenly. Like a string attached to his elbow had been yanked.”

“Like this?” DeeDee demonstrated the motion.

“Something like that, yes. And before it even registered with me that he was holding a pistol, he fired it.” She placed a hand at her throat as though suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

The judge moved closer and slid his arm around her waist.

Duncan asked, “Mrs. Laird, is it possible that he was firing a warning shot, meant only to try and scare you?”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“Did you feel in mortal danger?”

“I assumed I was. It all happened very fast.”

“But not so fast that you didn’t have time to ‘assume’ that you were in mortal danger.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption, isn’t it, Detective?” the judge asked, sounding vexed. “If a man who’s broken into your house fires a pistol, even if his aim is lousy, isn’t it logical to assume that your life is in danger and to act accordingly?”

“It seems logical, yes,” DeeDee said. “But Dr. Brooks had another theory worth considering. He suggested that maybe Trotter was falling backward when he fired his pistol, that reflexively his finger clenched on the trigger. That would explain his aim being so far off.”