“Oh, I don’t know him very well. A handsome man, yes, he is, but not very open with the likes of me, no, he isn’t.”
“Did they have any problems that you were aware of?”
“Why, no. No. None at all. They seemed to be very happy. Very content, yes, they were.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else near the house. What about Saturday?”
“No, I didn’t see anyone there Saturday, no, I didn’t. I’d like to get back to my guests now, if I could?”
“Just a few more questions, Mrs. Manchini. Are you here in the house during the day?”
“Yes, yes, I am. I retired from the post office a ways back, yes, I did. I keep pretty much to myself nowadays, yes, I do. I read, and watch television, and go to my book club and do some gardening. I have lots of friends, yes, I do.”
“That’s good, Mrs. Manchini. Do the Wolffs entertain often?”
“Well, of course. They’re young and popular, they are indeed. But no more so than anyone else on this street. I’ve lived here for forty years, yes, I have, and I’ve seen neighbors come and go. Everyone seems very happy here, yes, they do.” She stopped wringing her hands, set them in her lap. The knuckles were red and gnarled. Combined with the wistful statement, her true age showed through. A lonely old woman, Mrs. Manchini.
“Okay, ma’am, let’s get you back with the others. You’re very kind to allow your house to be overrun like this. I’m sure the Harrises appreciate your help. I may want to talk to you again. Would that be okay?”
The woman lifted herself slowly off the bed, making the springs squeak in protest.
“Certainly, of course. Any time you need me, I’ll be right here, yes, I will.”
Taylor followed the mousy Mrs. Manchini back to the great room. The scene hadn’t changed much, except Michelle Harris now sat in a flowered chintz-covered armchair, holding a blond cherub in her arms. The little girl had china-blue eyes, a soft rosebud mouth, ivory skin with red apple cheeks. This must be Hayden. The child caught her eye, an unfathomable darkness shifting behind the cornflower depths. She spied Taylor’s gun, fixated on it for a moment, then started to cry, burying her face in her aunt’s shoulder.
Taylor and Michelle Harris sat at the kitchen table in Mrs. Manchini’s house, afternoon sunlight streaming hard through the southerly facing windows. Michelle was handling herself as well as could be expected, considering Taylor was pumping her again about her traumatic morning.
The father of the victim had returned with the younger brother, who wasn’t taking the news of his sister’s murder well. Fitz had Derek Harris out on the back deck, talking with an avuncular tilt to his head. Taylor could see the two men over the top of Michelle Harris’s shoulder, out the bay windows that were framed with a short, fringed chintz curtain. Taylor couldn’t imagine looking at all the busy mishmashed floral patterns and colors day in and day out.
At least she’d identified the unknown scent in the Wolffs’ house. It was the perfume Corinne’s sister wore, a heady scent overlaid with iris and jasmine. Cloyingly sweet, and too heavily applied, as if Michelle had used soap, lotion and perfume all from the same line.
Nose twitching, she continued the interview. “Okay. Run me through it again. Start with the last time you talked to your sister.”
Michelle was pale, looking drained and torn. She kept glancing over her shoulder at her little brother, obviously wanting to comfort him.
“Michelle?” Taylor asked.
“Sorry, Lieutenant. You know how it is with siblings. Sometimes you want to protect them from hurting.”
“No, actually, I’m an only child. I wouldn’t know. So please, run through it again. You and Corinne had a tennis date?” She sat back in the wooden chair, crossed her arms across her chest and waited patiently.
Michelle toyed with her ponytail, wrapping it around her neck in what Taylor thought was a compulsive gesture. “That’s right. We play at Richland. We’ve been making a run at the championship flight for the past few weeks. We’re doubles partners, have been for years. I thought about playing singles once, but Corinne wouldn’t hear of it. We are, were, such a great team. Something happens to us on the court, we can just sense each other’s movements, I guess.”
“And your sister played even though she was pregnant?”
“That’s right. She played up until the week before Hayden was born, only stopped when Todd begged her. This time, she’s had such an easy pregnancy that she swore she would go from a match straight to the delivery room. She would have, too, I bet. Corinne could always make her body work to her specifications. Give her a sprain, she’d manage to mend in time for the next event and never lose a step. She’s a wonder woman.”
“When was the baby due?”
Michelle’s voice grew thick. “Eight weeks.”
“Wow. She wasn’t very big for someone seven months along.”
“She didn’t get big with Hayden either. Only gained eight pounds, and Hayden was seven pounds, six ounces. Her body snapped right back. She was on that road this time, too. The poor baby. What will they do with him?”
Tears sprang to Michelle’s eyes. Taylor looked away while Michelle recovered her composure. She didn’t especially want to think about fetal death certificates right now.
“Let’s talk about that in a bit. Stay with me, okay? So you were coming to pick her up-”
“Actually, I noticed that she hadn’t turned off the outside lights. That was unusual. Corinne was very… specific about certain things. She always turned those lights off as soon as she got up, which was usually 5:30 a.m. sharp. It was almost to spite Todd, really. They’d had an argument about the style of lights. That’s not important, sorry. She gets up, turns off the lights, starts the coffeepot, does half an hour on her elliptical, then gets Todd up. On the days he’s home.”
“When does she turn the lights on for the evening?”
“What?” Michelle asked.
“The outside lights. When does Corinne usually put them on?”
“Oh.” Michelle pursed her lips and thought. “You know, I’m not sure. I’d guess at dark.”
“Okay, so the lights were on when you pulled up. What else caught your attention?”
“I got out of the car and started toward the house. The door was unlocked, but that’s nothing new. No one around here locks their doors. It’s stupid, but they all feel so safe. I bet they’ll start locking them now.” Michelle got a dreamy, detached expression, began reciting in an absent tone. “I went in the house, saw the blood, ran up the stairs, saw Corinne, saw Hayden, freaked, grabbed Hayden, and ran.”
“You called 911.”
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’m just still so shaken up. Just seeing all that blood, seeing Hayden…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes clouded with tears. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to erase that moment from my memory. Do you ever have that? I imagine with all the bodies you’ve seen, that you can just shut it off and not think about it. Me, I’m going to remember that bedroom for a very long time.”
“You’re doing great, Michelle. Just a few more questions, okay? Tell me about Todd.”
“What’s there to say? Todd is-”
“What’s there to say?” Matthew Harris stormed into the kitchen. “I’ll tell you what there is to say. Todd isn’t here, and my Corinne is dead. He might as well have beaten her to death himself. Him and all this travel, this desperate need to get his name out there. If he’d been home, protecting Corinne like he should have been, this wouldn’t have happened. My daughter and my grandson wouldn’t be dead.”
Five
M atthew Harris stepped toward Taylor, pointing his forefinger at her chest, making jabbing motions in the air. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, Lieutenant, except ‘I’m going to nail this bastard to the wall for what he’s done.’ That’s all I need to hear.”
Taylor stood, stretching to her nearly six-foot height, only an inch shorter than Corinne’s father. He took another step toward her and she put up her hand.
“Mr. Harris. I suggest you take a step back.”
“Daddy!” Michelle was on his arm, yanking at him, pulling him toward a chair. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, this isn’t
