Spanish moss moved in a gentle breeze. In the marsh, yellow-green cordgrass gleamed in the sunlight.
Officer Harrison was polite. She spoke to Annie and the group at large. “Chief Cameron will be with you shortly.” She stepped back a few feet.
Gathered were the members of the Jamison family. If Elaine Jamison had appeared pale and shaken before, today her face was waxy. Kit Jamison watched the movement of the police, her eyes huge and staring. She looked bony and ill at ease in a shapeless cotton shift. Every so often she pushed wire-rim glasses higher on her nose. She wore no makeup and her face was extraordinarily pale. Laura’s eyes were again hidden behind sunglasses. She had apparently dressed hurriedly, her glossy black hair scarcely combed, a yellow tee a mismatch with pink shorts. Blond hair tousled, Tommy was shirtless and barefoot, hands jammed into the pockets of khaki shorts. A few feet away, their backs to the siblings, Cleo waited with Richard. The bones in Cleo’s face jutted. She was crisp in a blue blouse and beige linen slacks. Richard’s short brown hair and T-shirt were damp with sweat, as were his Nike running shorts. He gazed toward the gazebo, his face drawn in a tight, worried frown.
“The cop’s coming.” Tommy Jamison’s young voice was shaky. His blue eyes skittered toward Elaine.
Oyster shells crunched as Billy Cameron and former chief Frank Saulter strode toward them. Frank’s cold brown eyes were alert and questioning. Frank looked tough and impervious. He held a notebook and pen.
Billy scanned the waiting faces. “Does anyone have information pertaining to the murder of Darwyn Jack?”
A crow cawed. Magnolia leaves crackled in the breeze. A distant
No one spoke.
“From the progression of rigor mortis, death is estimated to have occurred between ten P.M. and two A.M. with the likelihood that he was dead by midnight.” Billy’s words were as grim as the tolling of a funeral bell. “Did anyone here speak with Darwyn Jack last night?”
His question was also met by silence.
Billy swung toward Elaine, his gaze probing. “You called 911 at a quarter to ten this morning.”
Elaine braced herself against the bench railing with both hands. “I was going to work in the flower bed behind my cottage, but I couldn’t find my gardening gloves. I thought I might have left them in the greenhouse.” She gestured to a small structure between the cottage and the marsh. “That’s why I came out my front door. As I went down the steps, I glanced toward the gazebo and saw someone lying on the ground. It didn’t look right. The person was so still. I dropped my trowel and basket and ran as fast as I could. As soon as I got near, I knew he was dead. The back of his head . . .” She wavered on her feet.
Cleo eyed Elaine speculatively, then spoke to Billy. “How was he killed?”
“The cause of death was blunt trauma to the back of the skull. From the way he fell, it appears he may have been seated on the top step when a weapon with a sharply planed surface struck him with enormous force.”
Tommy moved uneasily on his bare feet. “Somebody hit him?”
“Somebody hit him.” Billy’s voice was heavy. “Did anyone hear a disturbance last night?” He waited. He looked at Cleo. “Mrs. Jamison?”
Cleo brushed back a strand of dark hair, looked wearily at Billy. “Obviously”—her voice was crisp, a ripple of irritation evident—“if anyone—other than a murderer—knew something about the attack on Darwyn, they’d speak up. I want to know what you are doing in this investigation. Glen was killed Tuesday, and so far as we’ve been informed”—her gesture included all of the family—“you haven’t made any progress in solving the crime. Now Darwyn’s dead. He worked in the yard. He was here Tuesday morning. Did he know something about Glen’s death? Did you talk to him?”
Billy’s response was measured. “We interviewed everyone in proximity of your husband’s death. Mr. Jack told us he neither saw nor heard anything.”
“He must have lied.” Cleo’s tone was sharp. The breeze stirred her dark hair. Her face was pale. She, too, wore no makeup. There was a grim hardness in her gaze.
“That is a reasonable assumption. Now”—Billy was crisp—“I want to know if any of you spoke with Mr. Jack between Tuesday morning and last night. I’ll start with you, Mrs. Jamison.”
Cleo massaged one temple. “I think it was yesterday. I believe it was. I called and told him I wanted the front yard raked and cleaned this morning. The memorial service will be Monday. People will come to the house afterward.” She pressed one hand against her eyes for a brief instant. “That was all. He said he’d take care of it. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.”
Billy went from person to person.
None of the Jamison children acknowledged contact with Darwyn.
Elaine shook her head. “I don’t know anything about him except he did the yard work. He was new this summer. I didn’t hire him. Cleo did.”
Billy turned back to Cleo.
“Someone told me about him.” Her tone was offhand. “I don’t remember who it was.” She looked toward Elaine. “Yesterday I stepped out to pick some roses. It was about noon. I was surprised to see Darwyn’s truck.” She glanced at Billy. “He worked here Tuesday mornings. I guess that’s why I stood there and watched. I thought he’d left some tools behind or perhaps he wanted to check out the ladders for trimming.” Cleo turned back toward Elaine. “He got out of the truck but he didn’t come this way. He knocked on the front door of the cottage.” Her tone was tentative.
Elaine lifted a hand to her throat. “I answered the door. I don’t know what he wanted. He acted very odd. His manner was threatening.”
Billy walked closer, looked down, his heavy face challenging. “You didn’t mention this earlier.”
Elaine’s lips trembled. “I asked what he wanted. He looked at me with a kind of smirk. I can’t really describe it, but he didn’t act normally. I didn’t like his attitude. I asked him again, very sharply, what he wanted. He said that he wondered if I’d be interested in knowing what he saw Tuesday morning. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about and again he gave this half smile. Then he said”—it was as if she was trying to recall each and every word precisely—“ ‘I was working in the yard.’ I told him I knew that. I wondered if he was trying to say he knew
