The teenager stepped back as if he had been struck. He looked at Billy Cameron in his khaki uniform. “Dad?”
Billy’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, son. Your father was found dead in his study shortly before ten-fifteen this morning. You are Tommy Jamison?”
“Yes, sir.” The burly teenager struggled to answer, his voice shaking.
Billy gestured toward the sofa. “We’ve asked family members for their cooperation as we attempt to find out the circumstances. Were you at home this morning?” Billy spoke quietly, but his gaze at Tommy was searching.
Kit stood by her brother, faced Billy. “He spent the night with a friend.”
Billy looked at the teenager. “Where were you?”
“At Buddy Crawford’s house. He lives over on Heron Point.”
“When did you leave the Crawford house?”
“I don’t know exactly.” Tommy’s eyes shifted away. “A while ago. I went by the beach.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Elaine?”
Kit massaged one temple. “She isn’t here. She doesn’t know yet.”
Tommy’s face suddenly screwed up into misery. “Dad . . .” He turned and bolted toward the door. The pounding of his feet on the staircase was loud and sad.
Kit started for the hall.
Billy lifted a big hand. “Miss Jamison, we need for everyone to remain here until we can speak with you.”
She stopped, glaring. “His father’s dead. He’s just a kid. I’m going up to him. You can come and see us upstairs when you want to.” She moved swiftly into the hall.
Laura ran after them.
Billy’s face folded in a frown.
Richard spoke quietly. “Chief, we all want to help. I’ll get Kit and Laura and Tommy when you are ready for them.”
Billy acquiesced. “We’ll be as quick and brief as possible. Former police chief Frank Saulter”—he gestured toward the older man who looked authoritative despite his informal dress, a cream polo and khaki slacks—“has agreed to help us. He will take individual statements and share what information we have at this point. When the statements are done, I would appreciate all of you remaining in the house in case we need to speak with you further. However, once you have given your statement, you are free to go. The room where the crime occurred may not be entered until we have completed our preliminary investigation.” Billy looked from face to face. His gaze stopped when it reached Annie. He glanced at Max, then back to Annie. “What,” and his voice had all the warmth of cracked ice, “are you two doing here?”
Max gave her an encouraging nod.
Annie took a deep breath. “I was in the garden here this morning.”
Billy waited for Annie and Max to precede him, then closed the swinging door.
The old-fashioned kitchen was an odd backdrop for a conference with Billy. The avocado-green electric range, white refrigerator, and green-tiled counters evoked the mid-twentieth century and under different circumstances might have seemed homey and comforting. Annie couldn’t picture Cleo in that kitchen. Elaine, yes; Cleo, no.
Dishes were stacked in the sink. The scent of bacon and coffee hung in the air. On the white wooden kitchen table, a sports section of yesterday afternoon’s
Billy frowned at Annie. “Why were you in the Jamison garden?”
Annie was defiant. “You wouldn’t come and see about the picture in Pat’s BlackBerry. That’s why I drove straight here after I saw you. I found where Pat took that photograph—the gazebo. The color of the wood there matches the picture. A pattern on the left side of the picture turned out to be part of a lattice.”
“I don’t care about Pat Merridew and her BlackBerry right now.” Billy was dismissive. “That photograph and Pat Merridew have no connection to Glen Jamison being shot to death. We will never be able to prove how Pat Merridew died, whether it was suicide, accident, or murder, but we know for sure she didn’t die from a gunshot. Give her death a rest, Annie. Right now I’m dealing with a homicide. Tell me what you saw this morning.”
Annie wished she hadn’t hurried to the gazebo this morning. She wished she didn’t have to speak now. But she had come to the Jamison yard and she had seen what she had seen. “I was in the gazebo. When I realized Pat took that odd photo there, I decided to ask Elaine if she happened to hear or see anything the night the picture was taken. Before I could reach the gazebo steps, Elaine came out of her cottage.”
Billy looked intent. “The time?”
“A few minutes before ten.”
Annie saw intense interest in his eyes. The 911 call had been made at ten-fifteen.
Billy pulled a notebook from his pocket, held a pen ready. “You arrived at the gazebo a few minutes before ten?”
“Yes.” Her excitement at discovering the background for Pat’s BlackBerry photo seemed several lifetimes ago.
“Did you look toward the house?”
“Yes, but the terrace was screened by palmettos.” Annie felt a tightening in her throat. “When was he shot?”
