She hung up. Avery glanced out the window again—at the police car parked by his front gate. The cop stood near the intercom on the post.
With the cordless in his hand, Avery went back and closed the sliding glass door to the pool area. A feeling of dread gnawed at his insides. He checked out front again. The cop was now staring up at the house, arms crossed.
The telephone rang, and Avery quickly answered it. “Yes, hello?”
“Hi. It’s me,” Sean said. “I checked. These guys are on the level. They’re taking you in for some questioning. I’ll meet you at the station. Don’t tell them anything until I get there. Okay?”
“Right. Thank you, Sean.”
Avery hung up, took a deep breath, and walked into the front hall. He pressed the switch for the front gate. Then at the window, he watched the police car slowly pull into his driveway.
Sean clicked off her cellular and apologized to the lab supervisor for the interruption. Avery’s sperm samples had been stored and analyzed here at Kurtis Labs. The receptionist up front had given Sean a lab coat to wear, then sent her to this supervisor, a fidgety man in his mid-fifties named Alan Keefer. He had dark hair, a rubbery smile, and beneath his white lab coat, he wore a yellow polyester shirt and a tie that just had to be clip-on.
They sat in his office, which looked into one of the main labs. Through the window, Sean had a view of everyone at work, hunched over microscopes, transferring test tubes back and forth from refrigerators to centrifuges, punching data into computers.
Keefer explained that they’d run tests on all nine sperm samples and come up with the same donor, Avery Cooper. He also insisted that his lab team was beyond reproach. But Sean had cross-examined enough people in her day to trust her instincts that Alan Keefer was hiding something. And while he talked, he seemed to be leering at her.
Someone else wouldn’t stop staring at her. An obese bearded man in a lab coat kept shooting her looks through the office window. Sean had been about to ask if she could talk with some of the other technicians when Avery had called on her cellular.
She slipped the phone back in her purse, pulled out a business card, and scribbled on the back of it. “I’m sorry, I have to run,” she said, placing the card on Keefer’s desk. “I wonder if I could come back at a later date, maybe interview some of your staff.”
“Well, speaking of dates, maybe I could interview you over dinner some time?” Keefer asked with his rubbery smile. He walked her to his office door.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Sean said. “But I’m awfully busy with this case, and any free time I have, I spend with my husband and children.”
“Well, I’m busy too,” he replied coolly, the smile gone. “If you’d like to see me again, you’ll have to make an appointment in advance. And I’m sorry, but I can’t have you taking my people away from their jobs for these interviews. You’ll have to make some sort of other arrangements.”
Sean nodded. “I see. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Keefer. I left my card on your desk. Avery Cooper’s phone number is on the back. If you have any new information about those samples, I trust you’ll call one of us.”
“Yes, of course,” he grunted.
Turning to leave, Sean caught the overweight lab technician staring at her again. Something told her that this visit to Kurtis Labs wasn’t quite the dead end it seemed. But she didn’t have any time to ponder that now. The police were about to interrogate Avery, and she needed to be there with him.
Rain pelted the hood of Sean’s car, and the windows were fogging up. Neon lights from the drive-in burger joint illuminated droplets on the windshield. Sean sat at the wheel, nibbling her french fries while Avery devoured his cheeseburger like a starving man. The session with the police had left him tired and ravenous.
Riding in the back of that patrol car on his way to the station, Avery had been so sure he wouldn’t return home for at least a couple of days—or however long it took to post bail. The policemen had led him into a small conference room. He’d seen enough movies to know that the large mirror on the wall was a two-way job—with someone else on the other side. They started asking about his activities on Friday night, November fourteenth. Avery politely refused to answer any questions until his lawyer was present.
Sean arrived within five minutes, and sat down beside him at the table. She was professional and courteous. Avery could tell the detectives liked her despite themselves. She whispered to him at the start, “Don’t mention any conspiracy right now. It’s too soon and we don’t have any evidence to back that up yet. Okay?”
She didn’t interrupt him much, and instinctively knew when to rescue him. “I’m sorry, guys,” she’d say with a smile. “My client can’t answer that at this time. Do you have another question?”
Eventually, they asked if Avery would furnish them with a sperm sample. Sean Olson jumped in before he could answer. “For the time being, I’ve advised my client not to submit to that,” she said.
The interrogation lasted three hours. Although he hadn’t been formally charged, Avery remained a suspect in Libby Stoddard’s murder.
“End of round one,” Sean told him, picking at her order of fries. She glanced out the rain-beaded window. “I think our boys in blue are jerking you around a bit. My guess is that they already have a DNA match on the sperm sample from Libby and your skin tissue under her fingernails. If you had a hairbrush lying around when they were in your house the other day, they probably collected and tested a sample of your hair too. They don’t really need your sperm, Avery. But it looks good for their case if they asked for a sample and you refused.”
“Looks even better for them if I furnish a sample and it matches.”
“Exactly,” Sean said, sipping her Coke. “Either way, you’re screwed. We’re on borrowed time here.”
Avery crumbled up his food bag. “Huh, could you tell me some good news?”
“Well, you have a lawyer who believes you’re innocent,” Sean offered. “I’d like to talk to your friends, the Webers, at their place tomorrow evening. Then we’ll go through and retrace everything you did that Friday night. Think you’re up for that?”
Avery nodded. “I’ll call George. I can also review those security videos with you again during the day—if you’d like. I’m not working this week. I don’t have any plans.”
“You aren’t seeing your wife?” Sean asked.
Frowning, he shook his head. “This new place doesn’t allow visitors the first couple of weeks.”
For a moment, there was just the patter of rain on the roof, and paper bags rustling as they put their uneaten food away. Avery turned and caught her gazing at him. Sean quickly turned away.
“It’s horrible to see someone you love slip away in front of you,” he said. “I feel so powerless, so sad and angry at the same time. I can’t quite describe it….”
“You don’t have to describe it for me, Avery,” she murmured.
It took a moment for him to realize what she was talking about. He felt so stupid. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry, Sean.”
“Don’t sweat it,” she replied, setting the food bag aside. Sean started up the car, then switched on the lights and the windshield wipers. “I should take you home.” She backed out of the space, then turned out of the lot.
Avery stared at the wipers fanning back and forth. “I’m used to Joanne being away. But this is different. I’ve never felt this kind of loneliness. I don’t know how you handle it, Sean.”
“You keep going, Avery,” she replied, studying the road ahead. “You just keep going.”
Nineteen
POLICE QUESTION AVERY COOPER IN BRUTAL RAPE-MURDER. So said the headline running across the bottom half of the morning’s
A mob was waiting at the end of the driveway as Avery left his house. Behind the wheel of his BMW, he slowly cruised toward the wrought-iron doors. About thirty reporters and fifty spectators had amassed outside the
