Victor said to Lehman, “Mr. Lehman, we’d like to ask you a few questions.” He glanced in the direction of the sunny kitchen. “Why don’t we go in and sit down, while your probation officer looks around.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No sir.”
“Then I’m not answering any questions.”
Victor smiled. “We’d appreciate it if you would. We just want to clear up a couple things.”
“I can’t believe this! I’m calling my lawyer.”
“You’re not under arrest. We’re only asking for a little cooperation.”
“You can fuck that.” Lehman picked up his cell phone from the kitchen table and turned away from them.
It was a short conversation. When he was through, he closed the phone with a snap and slapped it on the table. “Lawyer’s on his way.”
“Can we at least sit down?” Victor asked him.
“I can’t stop you, can I?”
They sat in the breakfast nook. Lehman leaned against the refrigerator, arms folded.
Victor set his mini-recorder on the table. He spoke into it, giving the time and date and Lehman’s name.
Lehman ignored him, staring straight ahead, his eyes like two holes in his face. She could feel his rage under the surface—he hummed like a powerline.
“Did you know Cary Statler?” Victor asked Lehman.
Lehman didn’t answer. He was in his own zone, his breathing short and rapid. Staring so hard at a spot on the wall, she thought he’d go cross-eyed.
“When was the last time you saw Statler?” Victor asked.
Lehman transferred his gaze to the ceiling.
“Do you remember where you were the evening Jessica was kidnapped?”
It went on like that for a minute or so before Victor gave up.
Usually he could charm people with his easygoing nature, his sympathetic ear. But Lehman was immune.
Laura looked around the kitchen. Everything was spotless, gleaming. The stove, refrigerator and cooking island were all stainless steel and modern. There was not the usual clutter you’d see on shelves or near the sink; in her house the dishwashing liquid sat next to the sink, but here, the kitchen counter was cleared of everything except a bowl of fruit.
Not much in plain sight.
Buddy leaned in the doorway, looking at her. A self-satisfied smirk on his face. Laura ignored him and concentrated on the kitchen.
Place reminded her of a model home. She thought of the way the bad guy had washed the girl, washed her hair, clipped her nails. This guy was that neat. Would there be trace evidence in the shower? She knew that the probation officer’s search wouldn’t extend there, but if she found something else incriminating, they could get a search warrant.
What would that be? Dress patterns for little girls?
Sylvia poked her head in the doorway. “Can I get in here?”
Lehman shot her a virulent look and launched himself away from the refrigerator like a missile. He went out the kitchen door into his yard, letting the screen door slam behind him. Laura, Victor, and Buddy followed.
Out into the steaming summer heat. Brick patio. Immaculate propane grill. Lehman turned on the hose and began watering the potted plants. The smell of the water mingled with the scent of wet earth.
Laura knew that Clegg could not do a comprehensive search. She’d noticed how Victor had worked certain words into his conversation with Clegg as they’d walked over here. He asked her if she knew how to sew. Mentioned his own mother’s sewing machine. Asked her about actors, too, what she knew about makeup, wigs, dress-up. How as a kid one Halloween he’d gone as Snidely Whiplash, twiddling his big black mustache.
Broad hints. Clegg had gotten it.
Now Clegg spoke through the screen door. “All I have left is the bedroom.”
Laura glanced at her watch. Victor would have to leave soon; he had Cary Statler’s autopsy in Sierra Vista. She wanted to get out of here, too. She needed to go to Tucson to notify Cary’s uncle about the death in person. The man might know already, although the police had not yet given Cary’s name to the press.
She glanced at Lehman.
His intensity scared her. All this time and his anger had not abated. A hard smell to him—could you smell testosterone?—mingling with the smell of water and earth.
This was Victor’s show. Victor’s and Buddy’s.
“I’ve got to go,” she said to no one in particular.
Neither Buddy nor Victor said anything.
Laura let herself out the gate just as a Lexus pulled up to the curb. An ugly little man in an expensive suit
