that they had committed a crime. But while they spoke, Catherine always detected the same signs of lying in their faces and bodies. “So he went downstairs alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you and what were you doing?”
“First I asked him not to do it, but he wouldn’t listen. Then I took the phone off its cradle and brought it with me to the top of the stairs.”
“Did you turn on the lights?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We had heard someone making noises down here.”
“What kind?”
“Footsteps.”
“Walking or running?”
“Walking, at first, I guess. Then, when Jack came down, I think it was more like running. The man was trying to get into a good hiding place before Jack got there.”
“What then?”
“When Jack got there he started looking around. The man jumped out of the closet at him, and Jack fired.”
“How many times?”
“Once. No, twice. We called the police.”
“Who did?”
“I did.”
“And you told the responding officers that you didn’t know Samuel Daily.”
“Oh. That was his name, wasn’t it? I remember the police officer looked at his wallet and said it. No, we didn’t know him.”
Catherine said very carefully, “Before your husband arrived, did the intruder touch you?”
“No,” she said.
“Sometimes women don’t say anything when something like that happens. I don’t know if they’re too traumatized to remember it clearly, or they block it out entirely, or if they have some misguided feeling that it must have been their fault. Maybe they’re afraid their husbands will have the wrong idea. But nothing like that happened to you?”
“No. I already told you,” she said. “I was upstairs asleep. He was downstairs.”
“Do you have any idea what he might have been after?”
“I don’t know.”
Catherine was getting close to it, and she sensed that as Mrs. Hammond got more agitated, she was beginning to forget the tape recorder. “Sam Daily is the part of this that I can’t quite get to fit,” Catherine said. “He had no criminal record. He had a good job. He was a shift manager at a big supermarket. It’s the Mighty Food Mart down on Tillamook.” She paused. “Have you ever shopped there?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? It might explain a lot.”
“What would it explain?” She was confused, wary.
“Well, he doesn’t seem to have stolen anything in your house, or even tried to. And he came here on one of the few nights when your husband was away. If he had noticed you in the store, he might have been stalking you. If you pay with a check, they have your name and address. He might have begun to watch you, seen your husband leave with a suitcase or seen that his car was gone, and come for you.”
Mrs. Hammond’s mind seemed to be working hard to evaluate the suggestion. “You know, I may have been there once or twice. It’s not my regular store. But I’ll bet you’re right. I’m lucky my husband came home when he did.” She was grasping for the story, trying to make it her own.
“It’s a theory, anyway,” said Catherine. “It’s possible he wanted to incapacitate your husband or kill him, so he could sexually assault you. Some of them even like to make the husband watch.”
“That’s terrible,” said Mrs. Hammond.
“You’re right. We’ll just have to wait for the rest of the information to come in and tell us which speculations are right.”
“What do you mean?”
Catherine watched her face. “Don’t worry. We’ll try everything. We’ll be looking at your financial records— credit cards, canceled checks, and so on—to pinpoint exactly when you were in that store, and then check the store’s payroll to see if he was working those days. We’ll be interviewing your neighbors to learn whether they’ve seen him hanging around. We’ll ask his co-workers if he had any pictures of you, if he had any absences at odd times, like a few hours during the day when he might have been spying on you. We’ll look at his phone records to see which numbers he might have called to find out your husband’s travel schedule.”
Marjorie Hammond looked sick. “What—what can possibly be the point? We know he was here, and he’s dead. It’s over.”
Catherine was sure now what the lie was. She had to keep pushing. “Not for the police bureau. It’s an open case. The forensics people were already here from twelve-thirty A.M. until around nine this morning, right? I haven’t seen their report yet, of course. It will tell us a lot.”
Mrs. Hammond said, “I want my lawyer.”
“What?”
“Turn off the tape recorder. I won’t speak to you anymore without my lawyer.”
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“I’ll get one.”
“Okay. I’ll read you your rights, and then I’ll turn it off.” She recited the warning, then took out the tape recorder, turned it off, and put it back into her pocket. She said, “And, of course, you’ll have to come with me to the police bureau and wait for your lawyer so we can have the rest of our conversation.” She stood up and took out her handcuffs. “Turn around, please.”
Marjorie Hammond was shocked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I believe you didn’t shoot anyone,” said Catherine. “All you were doing was spending time with Sam Daily. Your husband came home early and caught you together.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not true. None of it is true. The whole thing is a lie.”
Catherine switched on the tape recorder in her pocket. “You said you wanted your lawyer. You know that when I read you your rights it meant that you don’t have to say anything to me at all, right? You’ll have an opportunity to say whatever you want after your attorney is present.”
“Yes. I know that. But I’m telling you the story you made up isn’t true. I didn’t do anything. There was nothing going on between me and Sam Daily.”
Catherine knew Mrs. Hammond was walking right along the edge, and in a moment she would topple over. “Don’t worry. If what you’re saying is true, the physical evidence will prove you’re right.”
“What physical evidence?”
“From the crime scene people. They search for blood, hair, fibers, fingerprints. If they haven’t found any DNA from Sam Daily in your room, your clothing or bedding, and they didn’t find any of yours on him—hairs, saliva, and so on—or any traces of your makeup, then probably the case will be closed just as you said.”
Catherine clicked the handcuffs shut on her wrists, and the voice came again, but it was changed. This time it was a whisper. “Sergeant. Please.”
“What?”
“Please don’t let them do that.”
“Why?”
“I told you the truth. It’s the truth.”
“Do you mean it’s what you want to have been true?”
“It’s what happened. My husband didn’t come in and catch us. He came home and started to get ready for bed. Sam really did hide in the downstairs coat closet, and when Jack opened the door, Sam did jump out at him. Jack’s gun went off. It was an accident. Just a horrible accident.”
