Time of Death

a thin file, all things considered.’

Everett had no idea where she was going.

‘What we did have, wrapped in a brown paper bag – God bless Detective Whoever – was Trudie Hammond’s nightgown…’

Something was slowly dawning on Peter Everett.

Ren kept going. ‘So I figured, maybe those blood stains weren’t all Trudie Hammond’s. There may have been blood stains from the killer; the vase used to beat her to death had shattered, so he may have gotten cut himself. Back then, they didn’t have the means to test for DNA and determine who the blood belonged to. So I sent the nightgown to the lab…and, no, it was all just Trudie Hammond’s blood.’

Everett appeared to be relaxing.

Not so fast. ‘But what the lab did find was semen stains. On the back of her nightgown. There was so much blood, that no one had paid any attention. And even if they had, Douglas Hammond said he’d had sex with his wife that morning. I might have overlooked that semen stain too, but I believe with a cold-case file you take what’s there and do everything you can with it. Especially something that the original investigators didn’t. So, what the hell, I ran it anyway. And it turns out, it wasn’t Douglas Hammond’s semen. But there were no signs of rape, so consensual sex was had.’

‘I don’t need to hear the details of Trudie Hammond’s death,’ said Everett. ‘Or her file. Or the stains on her nightgown.’

‘Oh, you do,’ said Ren. ‘Back to Helen Wheeler. You’re dating her. She is murdered. The judge who is trying to access her patient files is killed. You used to know him.’ Ren paused. ‘How did you meet Helen Wheeler?’

‘At a benefit.’

‘When?’

‘In September last year.’

‘Had you ever been a patient of hers?’

‘What? No. Psychiatrists are not allowed to date—’

‘Are you for real?’ said Ren.

‘Look, we met at a benefit. We dated. It went from there…’

‘This all seems a little coincidental.’

‘Well, it’s not. Not to me.’

‘So, you didn’t come as a patient to Dr Helen Wheeler and, in therapy, reveal to her that you killed Trudie Hammond? Something that you were afraid Douglas Hammond would find if he accessed the files? The newspapers reported that investigators were looking at the possibility that a patient had killed Dr Wheeler, so…’

‘What are you talking about? This is ridiculous. I did not kill Trudie Hammond. Nor was I ever Helen’s patient. And I barely knew Douglas Hammond. I swear to God.’

‘You may not have known him…Most men would rather not know the husband of the woman they’re sleeping with.’

Everett froze.

‘Did you not see that’s where I was going with the DNA thing?’ said Ren. ‘I had the lab run the semen stain against the sample you gave for the Helen Wheeler investigation. I got a match. It’s black and white. Either you used Trudie Hammond’s nightgown to—’

I can’t stoop that low.

Everett swallowed hard. He said nothing. In the silence, Ren could not take her eyes off him. She treated times like these, pauses from the guilty, as a form of meditation, one of the few times she could be still yet keep her mind on work. It wasn’t healthy meditation, she knew that. It wasn’t as serene as looking at a flickering candle or a statue of Buddha. She snapped out of it when Everett raised his head.

‘Lucinda and I were married two years. I was…young, starting up my business, working out of the house. Douglas Hammond was working as an attorney…the whole time. Trudie was…home.’ He hung his head. ‘I guess I can skip the romantic “how-we-got-together” part. But it wasn’t just loneliness and it wasn’t just sex.’

Here we go…‘OK.’

‘We would get together during the day in one another’s houses, whatever.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘Where was your wife…?’

‘Oh God, my wife,’ said Peter. ‘She was…wonderful. She was…most men would give their right arm to be with Lucinda. I tried so hard for her to be all that to me, but—’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t even know why. Lucinda was beautiful, bright, generous, kind – she still is – but you need more than that, don’t you? I mean, you could forgo some of those things if you had that special thing with a woman. That in definable thing that I never believed in until I met Trudie. I loved the ground she walked on.’

‘That would be beautiful to hear…’

Everett looked up at her, thrown.

‘…if I didn’t know how the fairytale ended,’ said Ren.

Everett bowed his head again.

‘Let me ask you, were you planning to leave your wife?’

He shook his head. ‘It was too early for that.’

‘Because you had a fledgling business that her family money was paying for?’

Everett blushed.

At the money part.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘So, you would meet Trudie, how often?’

‘Every day.’

‘And on one of those days—’

‘Douglas came home early and walked in on us.’

Whoa…Douglas Hammond came home before Trudie was killed?

49

How many dramas have been detonated by people simply coming home early?

‘We were…Trudie and I had a policy of not doing it in our…marital beds.’ Everett paused. ‘I know,’ he said, taking in Ren’s look. ‘How honorable.’

‘Go on,’ said Ren.

‘Trudie and I were in the kitchen…it was all open plan – front door opened into the living room which opened into the kitchen. Douglas walked in. His face…we were in the middle of…I was behind her at the kitchen counter.’

Oh God, the housewife bent over the kitchen counter. Seventies-porntastic.

Everett went on: ‘Douglas had no clue how he had been treating Trudie. No clue. He thought providing for her was enough. He just – he…When he saw us, he burst into tears. That’s when we realized he was there. We struggled to get dressed and before Trudie had even gotten her nightgown back down, he had rushed over and grabbed her.’

He bowed his head. Ren waited.

‘Her arm was kind of half in her nightgown,’ said Everett. ‘She lost her balance, fell against him…he pushed her away and then…she fell. Right through the glass coffee table. She landed on her back. There was glass everywhere. It was like shrapnel, like a bomb had gone off.’

Everett rubbed his hair roughly over and over. ‘It was so screwed-up. I’m standing there, my underwear half on, and everything’s spattered with blood. Douglas is standing with his arm still stretched out, but he’s so still, not crying any more, nothing. And I’m there with my dumb tennis shorts around one ankle. We look at each other. Me and Hammond. We lock eyes. And I think what we are both seeing are huge headlines, front-page photos, cops and cuffs and weeping families and jail and…we don’t even have to say anything. It’s like we make this silent decision.’

Jesus Christ.