'Not that we could find.'
'That doesn't make sense, Bowie. Why wouldn't he have a weapon? Surely he was afraid they'd come after him, whoever they are.'
'Mrs. Royal had his gun, the S-and-W.'
'But still-'
'Agreed,' Savich said from behind Bowie. 'Maybe he thought he was safe enough in the house, just get his passport and some cash-which we found on him-and he'd be on his way to South America. Maybe he didn't want to face his wife. Or maybe he planned to take the gun just before he left.'
Erin said, 'On the other hand, maybe Mr. Royal had another gun and the killers took it with them after they killed him.'
Sherlock shook her head. 'There were no other casings in the laundry room except the one nine-millimeter we found from the kill shot, so Mr. Royal didn't shoot back. The laundry room door was locked, so while they were kicking it in, he'd have been firing if he'd had a gun. We think he must have been trying to get out the window, but when they crashed through the door, he turned back to them, and was shot in the forehead.'
Bowie said, 'Royal had to be very afraid making even this quick foray into his own house, yet he had no weapon at all to defend himself.'
Sherlock frowned. 'Now, why didn't Mr. Royal tell his wife he was coming back?'
'He couldn't face her, that's why,' Erin said. 'He was running and he wanted to run alone. He didn't want arguments or recriminations, he didn't want to take the chance that she'd call you guys.'
Savich said, 'And his kids-did he know they weren't there? I'll tell you, the last place I'd go was where my kids were.'
'Where are the two boys?'
Sherlock said, 'Jane Ann sent them to her sister in Philadelphia. To give Caskie fatherhood points, he might have seen them leave, knew only Jane Ann was there, and he decided to ghost it.' Sherlock turned to Erin. 'You okay? I gotta say your eyes look bright, but you're hurting, aren't you?'
'Maybe a little bit,' Erin said absently, barely registering that her back was throbbing again. She said, 'Seems to me Jane Ann had to know her husband was in the house, no matter how careful he was.'
'Not necessarily,' Bowie said. 'He obviously didn't plan on staying long.'
'What really bothers me is that the men who killed Caskie didn't seem to care about her,' Sherlock said. 'Wouldn't the killers be afraid her husband had confided too much to her, the reasons they were after him? She was an unknown, wasn't she? A loose thread? So why didn't they kill her too? One murder, two murders, who cares?' She shrugged. 'I guess it's possible, but my gut is singing another song.'
Savich hugged her to his side. 'Maybe mine is, too. Or maybe your different song is from exhaustion and being too jazzed on caffeine.'
Erin said, 'But what would her husband have confided? That he'd murdered Blauvelt? If he did, then why kill him? He was going down.'
'The someone who killed him was afraid Caskie would talk, that's why,' Sherlock said.
Savich turned to scan the Royal house, the early morning light bathing it in a soft pink glow. If it weren't for all the cops standing around, it would look idyllic.
After agreeing to some sleep before meeting at the police station, Bowie held open the passenger side door and waited silently for Erin to slide in. She didn't want to, but finally, she did. She buckled her seat belt and looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead.
'After all that's happened, you should be over your snit by now, Bowie.'
'Oh, no,' he said as he drove the Taurus away from the Royal house. He gave her a quick look, his face hard. 'I really can't believe you, Erin. You break the law, betray all of us who trusted you, and to top it off, you put my daughter in danger.'
She didn't look at him. 'I've already apologized ad nauseam. What else do you want from me? And I didn't put Georgie in danger.'
His hands tightened around the steering wheel. In that moment, she realized what was really wrong-he was scared.
She laid her hand over his. 'Thank you for staying at my apartment. I feel completely safe now because of you.'
He still didn't look at her. 'I don't want my daughter in any danger.'
She grinned at him, lightly smacked his arm. 'I don't believe I've told you I think you're the best cop I've ever met.'
The breath whooshed out of him, even as he was shaking his head. 'Yeah, sure, isn't that the truth. Another dead body right under my nose. Yeah, there's no doubt, I'm the greatest.'
'Stop beating yourself up, it really pisses me off. I'm sorry, Bowie. Please, believe me. Just please don't be angry with me any longer. I can't stand it. And really, having you sleeping at my apartment, it means a lot to me.'
He was stone silent for two blocks, then he said in an emotionless voice, 'My wife, Bethany, drove into a bridge abutment. They told me she died instantly. She was drunk. Another driver saw the whole thing. He said her car was weaving in and out of her lane, and she just kept accelerating as she neared the bridge. He said she was doing at least seventy when she drove into the abutment. She was an alcoholic. This happened right after Georgie's third birthday.'
Erin remembered her brief marriage, remembered how she'd felt lower than a slug since she'd been lied to, her heart stomped. But this? She couldn't begin to imagine such a thing. 'I'm very sorry.'
'It happened four years ago. All of it's faded now, for which I'm profoundly grateful. Georgie missed her mother for a little while, but then her nanny Glynn came. It was Glynn who told Georgie I loved her mother so much that I'd never marry again.' He looked over at her, his dark eyes shadowed. 'Glynn called me. She's feeling better every day. She wants to know when I need her back.'
Erin said, 'No time soon.'
44
STONE BRIDGE POLICE STATION
Four hours of sleep did wonders for the brain, Bowie decided as he sat down at the conference table in the police station. He felt alert and focused. Erin didn't look bad either, what with a couple of aspirin on board to keep the throbbing down in her back. She'd refused Vicodin, said she wanted to be able to face the two Schiffer Hartwin directors with a clear head. He knew no one was going to like the fact Erin was here-this was an official meeting, after all-but she'd looked at him and said simply, 'I've got to come, Bowie. Surely you see I've got to come.'
He'd said nothing more, simply touched his fingers to her cheek, then nodded. Where'd she get all this grit, this bravery, in the face of all the bad stuff raining down on her? She'd even managed to keep Georgie in the dark, hard to do at any time, but she had, laughing with her, helping her dress, brushing her hair and French braiding it, something he did well himself. At least he'd put out the Grape-Nuts and made toast, with apricot jam, Georgie's favorite. They'd taken Georgie to school together, hugging her, telling her to have a nice day, and bless her heart, she'd been oblivious to her early morning car ride to a murder scene. They'd come back to Erin's apartment, Georgie never stirring.
It was eleven o'clock Friday morning before the four of them congregated in the conference room to await the arrival of Adler Dieffendorf and Werner Gerlach. Sherlock looked over at Dillon, wondering how he could look so well rested when he'd slept for only an hour after they'd gotten back to their B &B room with its
Bowie's cell played a very nice rendition of 'Silver Bells.' Bowie felt around in his pants pockets, then his jacket pockets, frowned, tried to track the sound as the song segued into the chorus.
