Time of Death

‘We…Trudie was still alive at this point,’ said Everett. ‘She’s choking on blood. But not fast enough, God forgive me. And we both love this woman and no one wanted her to suffer.’

Ren opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say that would express how she felt, while leaving her with some form of professional dignity.

Everett started to cry. ‘I couldn’t watch it any more. I was going to put a pillow over her face. That’s what I thought would be the humane thing to do. But Douglas stopped me and said, “An intruder wouldn’t do that. An intruder would leave her.” I couldn’t believe how quickly he said it, how calmly. But the worst part was Trudie heard too. And we both saw that she had heard.’

Jesus Christ.

‘I was frozen to the spot,’ said Everett. ‘I could not look at her. But my life would be over if I were part of all this. Lucinda’s life would be over. She was pregnant. Her family…who had all been so good to me. And Douglas Hammond had a two-year-old daughter. So I picked up a vase…and I…I ended it for Trudie.’

‘Ended it for Trudie’; the strange language people use to temper the truth. Like veneer on rotting timber.

‘Me and the future Judge Douglas Hammond…’ Everett looked at Ren as if he was talking about someone else.

‘What a team,’ said Ren.

‘We stood there, we were…in shock. It was horrific. And next thing you know, I was back in my house, cleaned up like nothing had ever happened.’

‘Until – shock horror – you hear that the pretty lawyer’s wife who lives down the street was found dead.’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Where was your wife at that time?’

‘Lucinda was at home on bed rest. She had pre-eclampsia.’

What an absolute shit. If only Helen knew who she had been dating…

‘Have you ever fallen in love?’ said Peter. ‘With the right person at the wrong time? The wrong person at the right time? The wrong person at the wrong time?’

‘So, this is about love…’ said Ren. You have got to be kidding me.

‘I’m not a bad person.’

‘If you’re not—’

‘You surely are not naive enough to think that there aren’t a million other people around the world like me: good people who have done maybe one bad thing and have had no choice but to separate themselves from it.’

‘Separate themselves from it? Interesting choice of words.’

Everett looked down.

‘Do you think your wife ever suspected?’

Everett’s head jerked back up. ‘Not for one second. Lucinda just does not see badness anywhere. Or in anyone.’

God help her.

‘And so you were able to continue with your life,’ said Ren. ‘Hold your wife’s hand in the delivery room, cry at the birth of your daughter, get that business of yours up off the ground, build it to its current heights and keep it there…’

‘I was – and am – haunted.’

‘Probably by Casper the Friendly Ghost…’ Ren stared at him. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t want to upset yourself too much.’

‘You have to admit that, if you met me out, in company, in a bar, wherever, you would think I was a nice man,’ said Everett. ‘We would talk, we’d have things in common. You wouldn’t spend the evening with a chill up your spine.’

Ren said nothing.

‘Look at Helen…’ There was pain in his eyes when he mentioned her name. ‘She didn’t figure me for a killer.’

‘You don’t figure yourself for a killer,’ said Ren, ‘and you had almost thirty years to make yourself believe that. The human mind is a powerful thing. It also helped you to create that mask of yours and keep on working on it right until…well, I suppose the end. Which is round about now. I can’t blame Helen for not seeing through you. You’re right, I would have met you and not suspected you of anything. But please, don’t be foolish enough to take that as a compliment on your acting skills or anything else. Nor is it a sign that, deep down, you really are a good person and that that is what ultimately shone through.’ Ren shook her head. ‘What you and Douglas Hammond did was possibly the most…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s just mind-blowing how you came together in that way. Did you ever cross paths since then?’

Everett shook his head. ‘No. I’m sure we both saw each other in the media…’

‘Deathstyles of the Rich and Famous?’ Ren tilted her head. ‘What do you know about Douglas Hammond’s death?’

‘Nothing more than what I read in the paper. A car wreck…’

‘OK. Well, Denver PD will talk to you about all that when I bring you in.’

‘What about it?’

‘It wasn’t an accident. It was homicide.’

‘What…why would Denver PD want to talk to me?’

Ren gave him a patient look. She stood up from the sofa. ‘Let’s go.’

‘This is not me,’ said Everett. ‘None of this. It’s just not me. The person who did that to Trudie.’

‘If that makes you feel bett—’

Ren broke off as she caught a shadow passing by the glass in the dining room. She took another step, but stopped again. She could hear the faint sound of ceramic rocking on a shelf, as if something had been disturbed.

There is someone in the other room. She looked at Peter Everett.

Did he know? Was someone here all along?

Keeping him in her sight, Ren slowly reached for her sidearm and began moving toward the door. Suddenly the doors burst open, knocking her gun from her hand and sending her sprawling to the floor. Seeing two masked men, she reached for her ankle holster but a boot slammed down hard on her thin wrist and she lost her grip. She kicked out and caught the intruder in the knee. He buckled. She stood up and moved to punch him in the face, until the hot pain of her wrist shot up through her arm. Shit. As she raised her leg to kick again, she caught sight of Peter Everett charging her way. Oh my God: he’s trying to help. Everett grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to spin him around. But the room seemed to fill with more people. Just two more. But it was enough.

The last thing Ren saw was Peter Everett being dragged, unconscious, from the room.

50

Ren woke up on Peter Everett’s sofa. It looked like nothing had happened. No signs of a struggle. But two people had struggled…against four others. She glanced at her watch. Two hours had gone by…and now nothing. The only disturbance was the pounding inside her head. She sat up and slowly brought her feet to the floor. It was dark and clear outside. There was no snow falling. She let her head rest back against the sofa.

Douglas Hammond and Peter Everett killed Trudie Hammond. Now Douglas Hammond was dead. Peter Everett would have been dead, too, if that was what the intruders had wanted.

And so would I.

Ren made a call to Gary Dettling and held the phone an inch from her ear.

There was no evidence of a break-in in Peter Everett’s house. The rooms were undisturbed, the intruders had worn gloves, the back door had not been smashed in. There were no footprints – no fresh snow to hold them.