Hale got up from his desk and hurried to help him. Anything to get away from Kristina and her strangely desperate need to put things “right” in their marriage.
A few moments later Declan declared, “In my pocket! I swear, I searched there.”
Hale said, “I’ll head down with you,” and waited while Declan worked his way into the elevator car again. As the doors closed, he saw Kristina throw him a look as she grabbed her coat, and he couldn’t decipher what was on her face. The closest emotion he could come up with was fear.
CHAPTER 10
Savannah drove away from Bancroft Development, shifting in her seat, as her Braxton Hicks contractions kept right on coming. She had lied about them going away and had done her best to ignore them through the rest of the interview. But maybe these contractions were something more, although every other time she’d felt that way, the contractions had disappeared, so she wasn’t about to make that prediction yet. It was almost as if her eagerness to think they were real scared them away. Screw that. She wasn’t going to think about them too hard unless they settled down into rhythmic waves.
She sighed. On her way to Hale’s offices her mind had been full of thoughts of the women of Siren Song and what she’d learned from Herman Smythe’s account, A Short History of the Colony. Mostly she’d focused on the “gifts” that had apparently been bestowed upon the young women who still resided there, the fact that they’d been passed down from generation to generation. She’d also gotten a further insight into Mary Rutledge Beeman’s days of uninhibited sex and why Catherine Rutledge had drawn a halt to all of them. Savvy had concluded that she should learn more about the offspring—the girls and the boys—whom Mary had given birth to, find out their names at the very least. Since Catherine wasn’t eager to pass out that information, she would contact Herman Smythe, and even though he’d been much younger when he’d written the account of the Colony, there was nothing like going to the source.
But after meeting with Hale and running up against Kristina, Declan, and everyone else at Bancroft Development—that was what it had felt like, a battle more than an interview—she’d dropped thoughts of Catherine and the Colony in favor of the department’s ongoing investigation into the Donatellas’ deaths.
The good thing about that meeting was that Hale St. Cloud had been easy to get along with and more than helpful. In fact, the whole staff had followed his lead and had bent over backward to give her anything she needed. In her experience, everyone—everyone—resented the police looking into their business, no matter if they had something to hide or not, so it was a pleasure being treated with respect and an eagerness to help. She’d never seen that side of Hale before. Was it because she was carrying Baby St. Cloud? Undoubtedly, that was a factor, but was there something else there, too? Maybe he thought he could dissuade her from delving deeper into his company books if he was extra nice?
“Cynical,” she said aloud, driving along the curving cliff-side highway.
Still, it seemed like he’d handed over everything she could have asked for. Was it really that he had nothing to hide, or was he merely killing her with kindness?
Her abdominal muscles suddenly seized, and she sucked air between her teeth. That was a particularly hard contraction. Could this be it? Could it? Nope . . . nope . . . she wasn’t going to be fooled this time. She would just wait.
Fleetingly she wondered if she should change her plans about driving to Portland in the morning. Maybe it was a foolish decision to go, but could she just stand by, waiting and waiting and waiting, while Stone and Clausen and everyone else kept moving forward on the case? Was her interest in being involved less about results and more about her just being obsessive, anxious, and competitive?
She growled in her throat, annoyed at herself. She should probably stay on this side of the mountains and make some phone calls. It wasn’t the same as in person, but it was still just follow-up information. On the other hand, it was all she had.
Her cell phone rang, and she recognized the ring tone she’d assigned to her sister. She answered through Bluetooth. “Hey, there.”
“Savvy, what the hell? Don’t go all ‘Just the facts, ma’am’ on us. You don’t know Hale as well as you think you do. He’s really, really volatile, and the Donatellas’ murders have nothing to do with the Bancrofts, anyway.”
“Hale was nothing but nice.”
“I’m telling you, that’s an act. Don’t mix up the Bancrofts with the Donatellas. I don’t know what the hell that was about, but you’re all wrong.”
“I’m looking for the killer of your friends.”
“Of course. And I want you to find the sick bastard, but just . . . give it up. Go on maternity leave. Please, please, please. For me. Take a break until after the baby gets here.”
Savannah stared through the windshield at the driving rain. Maybe Kristina was right. She gritted her teeth, unable to explain to her sister all the reasons why she wanted to keep going.
“And it sounds like it was a lovers’ quarrel that went bad, anyway. It has nothing to do with us,” Kristina noted.
“What did you say? How’d you know that?”
“I heard on the news that Marcus was having an affair with Hillary Enders and her boyfriend was the one who shot them. It was on at noon. Channel Seven, with that Kirby bitch.”
“Pauline Kirby said that they were killed by Kyle Furstenberg?” Savannah asked as she braked for a hairpin curve, the SUV sliding a bit before straightening out.
“That sounds like the name. She said it was the prevailing theory,” Kristina added, “but then he got on and said he didn’t shoot them, but, of course, they all say that.”
“You mean Furstenberg was actually interviewed on television?”
“That’s what I said.” Kristina was getting perturbed. “But did you hear me? About giving up the investigation?”
“Pauline Kirby asked Kyle Furstenberg whether he shot Marcus and Chandra Donatella on the Channel Seven noon news,” Savannah said, clarifying everything.
“Yes. That’s right,” her sister said with barely controlled patience.
“And he denied the crime.”
“Again. Yes.”
“Was Hillary Enders part of the interview?”
“God, Savannah! I already told you everything I know. You’ve gotta stop this.”
“Was there anyone else in the interview besides Furstenberg?”
“No.”
“I’ll call you later.” Savannah was terse.
“No, no! God damn it. Don’t get further involved, if that’s what you’re trying to do. Let it go.”
Savvy clicked off without another word, then put a call in to Lang’s cell, wondering if he’d gone home already.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Savvy.”
“Did you know Kyle Furstenberg gave an interview with Channel Seven today?”
“I heard.” He sounded disgusted.
“What’s the deal with Hillary Enders? I saw Ella Blessert at Bancroft and asked for Hillary’s address, but you’d already talked to her, and she thought you’d probably already talked to Hillary, too.”
“Hillary Enders is here.”
“Here? You mean at TCSD? Now?”
“In the interview room. She wanted to meet with us, and so I said, ‘Come on down.’”
“What about Furstenberg?”
“He doesn’t want to meet with us. I got through to him, but when I said I was with the sheriff’s department, he got off fast.”
“So, he talks to the media but not to us.” She was disgusted as well.
“Par for the course. I’m hoping Hillary can shed some light on her relationship with Marcus Donatella, and we’ll go from there. I’ve gotta go. We’re all set up.”
“Wait! I’m on my way.”
“Look, Savvy. Hillary’s ready to talk. She wants to talk. I’m not going to put this off and have her get cold feet,” he responded. “She’s one scared chicken, although I’m not sure s
he really knows anything, anyway.”
“I’m twenty minutes out.”
“I’m not waiting,” he said, exasperated. “You don’t even have to come.”
“Don’t piss me off, Lang. Really. Don’t piss me off.”
“Jesus H—” He cut himself off. “O’Halloran wants to talk to you,” he said meaningfully after a pause, “and you know what that’s about.”
“Yeah. He wants me to start my maternity leave. Well, stand in line. If he wants me to quit early, then he can tell me in person. I’m almost there, so save me a seat.”
He muttered a few words under his breath.
“What’s that?” she demanded. “Got something to say?”
“Just hurry up,” he ordered, then clicked off.
Savvy wasn’t near as bold as she’d been on the phone by the time she wheeled into the back parking lot of the TCSD. The rain had turned to a blowing wind, which shivered and bent the firs and caused the overhead wires to swing to and fro. The mud puddles were full of cold water, and Savvy skirted them as she made her way to the rear entry, hurrying up the few steps and then stalking down the hallway to the interview room without bothering to drop her jacket on one of the pegs by the door. As predicted, her Braxton Hicks contractions had disappeared, and she entered the room feeling more in control of her body than she had all day.
Hillary Enders sat at a table, a Styrofoam cup of coffee cradled in her hands, her head bent, long dark hair falling forward, screening her face. She was thin, almost waiflike, shivering and pale.
Lang was seated opposite her and was saying quietly, “I believe you. I don’t want you to feel interrogated. If you say there’s no truth to what we heard, I believe you.”
She nodded jerkily, her whole body rocking.
“It’s just that we really need to talk to Kyle, too, and he’s avoiding us,” Lang went on after shooting Savannah a look that warned her not to disturb him. Message received, Savvy stayed back by the wall, trying to blend into the surroundings.
“Kyle wouldn’t hurt anybody,” Hillary said.
“He told a reporter that you were having an affair with Marcus Donatella. Now, he may have been lying, or he may have really believed it.”
“He knows I would never.” She gulped at the coffee, spilling a little.
“So he was lying, then?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see the interview.”
“We can sure get you a copy of it, but in the meantime, let me tell you what he said.” He looked down at the file in front of him. “‘She dumped me for her boss, but I didn’t kill him, and anybody who says I did is a lying piece of . . .’ The last word was bleeped out for all the viewers’ delicate ears.”
She shot him an upward glance to see if he was joking. “Sounds like him.”
“Well, it is like him. He said those things.”
“I wasn’t cheating on him. We broke up after what happened to Marcus and Chandra. . . . I was a mess. It was just awful.” She slowly shook her head, staring into the middle distance. “But Kyle . . . he didn’t get it.”
“Didn’t get . . . ?”
“Why I was so upset. I mean . . . really? He couldn’t understand?” She took a hand from the Styrofoam cup and placed trembling fingers to her temple. “It didn’t affect him like it did me, so he was just the same. It didn’t work between us anymore. Maybe he did think I was seeing Marcus. I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in months.”
Lang considered. “Let’s assume he did believe you were in a relationship with Marcus Donatella, since that’s what he said on the news.”
She didn’t respond.
“Maybe he killed Marcus and Chandra Donatella as a means to get back at you.”
“No. Oh, no.” She was positive. “He’s not like that.”
“Was he over you? The relationship?” Lang asked.
She shook her head, whether in answer to his questions or just because she didn’t even want to consider them, Savvy couldn’t tell. “Where did Channel Seven get the idea that he killed the Donatellas?” she demanded. “It’s ludicrous. You don’t understand what Kyle’s like.”
“Maybe you could fill us in.”
“He’s a big doofus,” she declared. “We’ve known each other for years. Were we dating? Yeah. But it wasn’t going anywhere. He’s not marriage material, if you know what I mean.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?”
She turned her gaze from Lang to Savvy and then over to O’Halloran and Deputy Burghsmith, who were sitting at a back table, listening. Hillary had clearly allowed them to be there, but now she looked like she was changing her mind.
“You think I had designs on Marcus Donatella? That’s what Ella told you, isn’t it? Ella Blessert. Because I told her I thought he was good-looking and successful. Marriage material. Except, well, he was already married, and in my book, that counts for something. Ella’s a doofus, too.” She pressed her lips together and scowled at Lang. “I wasn’t having an affair with Marcus Donatella, and I’m not in love with Kyle and never have been. Maybe Kyle thought I wanted Marcus, but he never said so when Marcus was alive, so I don’t see how you people even got his name.” A moment later she said, “Ella. This all comes back to Ella, doesn’t it?”
“Kyle’s the one who said you dumped him for your boss,” Lang reminded, though in truth, Hillary was right on in her assessment.
“I’ve got to see this TV interview,” Hillary declared.
“If Kyle said that, somebody must’ve put the idea in his head and he just repeated it.”
She was one smart cookie, Savvy thought with admiration. The reason she’d come to the station was that she knew there was no truth to the accusations and she wanted to nip this story in the bud. Lang sensed it, too, because he leaned back in his chair and regarded the woman thoughtfully.
“You think you could get Kyle to talk to us?” he asked.
“If he doesn’t want to come to the station, I could go to him.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Can you help me with Kyle?”
“I don’t see him anymore, but I could call him, I suppose,” she said reluctantly.
Lang nodded, pointed to her purse, and Hillary, catching his drift, grabbed up the purse, dug around inside it, then pulled out her cell and placed the call. After a moment, she said, “Voice mail,” in a stage whisper. Then a few more moments passed, and she launched into, “Hey, Kyle. It’s me. The police want to talk to you. Just try to tell them the truth, okay? I don’t appreciate your lies. You know I wasn’t with Marcus Donatella. Don’t be such a dick.” Clicking off, she looked up at them half angrily, a flush creeping up her face.
“Thanks,” Lang said, closing the file.
“Are we done here?” she asked.
“For now. We appreciate you coming in.”
For the first time she relaxed a little. “I was afraid you were all going to be so eager to close the case that I would have to get a lawyer and time would go by, and the real killer would be still out there. I want you to find him and lock him away forever. I liked both of them, Marcus and Chandra. . . .” She trailed off, and her eyes became slightly moist. “String the bastard up.”
Fifteen minutes later Hillary Enders was on her way back to Seaside, and Lang, Savvy, O’Halloran, and Burghsmith were looking at each other.
“Back to square one,” Lang said.
“You think she was telling the truth?” Burghsmith asked.
“Uh-huh,” Savvy said, and they all nodded in agreement. “Where’s Clausen?” she asked.
“Had to cut your friend Mickey loose on the trespassing violation, so he followed him to make sure he wasn’t heading right back up to Bankruptcy Bluff,” Lang revealed.
“He will go back there,” Burghsmith said knowingly. “They always do.”
“What about Toonie?” Savannah asked. Toonie was Althea Tunewell, who ran a shelter on the south side of Tillamook. She was often contacted by the department when there
was a homeless situation.
“We called her, and she came by,” Lang said. “She offered him space, but he didn’t sound ready to go. There was a lot of Jesus talk between them, but Toonie’s for real, whereas your friend Mickey just spouts off stuff randomly, so I’m not sure it’s gonna take.”
“Why is he my friend Mickey?” Savannah asked.
“You found him,” Lang pointed out.
The sheriff, who’d been standing by, listening, cleared his throat and asked, “Dunbar, can I see you in my office?”
Savvy shot a look toward Lang, who just raised his brows in that “Didn’t I warn you?” way. She followed O’Halloran into his office and waited as he took a seat, his chair squeaking in protest under his weight.
“When are you due?” he asked without preliminaries.
“Sean, I know you want me to quit now,” Savvy responded. “I don’t want to, but I will soon. I just have a couple things I want to finish first. Tomorrow I’m driving to Portland to interview the Bancroft Development employees in that office. I saw Hale St. Cloud today, and he’s let them know I’m coming. On Monday I’ll come in and file a report on those interviews, and then . . . okay . . .” She felt slightly depressed, but it was sort of a relief, too. She was pissed off and tired of fighting, and there was only so much she could do, anyway.
“We’ll talk about this on Monday. It’s just the fieldwork we need to cut out,” O’Halloran said.
“Okay.”
“You sure you want to go to Portland? Could be bad weather. Somebody said something about a cold front coming.”
“I’ll stay in Portland if the weather gets bad.”
He held up his hands in surrender, and Savvy left the room, feeling like she’d won a major battle, even if she’d lost the war.
Hale entered the house through the garage door and tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, by the phone. He pulled out his cell phone and snapped on the charger, which was already plugged into the electrical outlet. Then he went back into the garage and took off his jacket, leaving it on the coatrack that hung next to the row of cabinets that held lawn and gardening tools.