we’re back to the husband.”
“We’ll see,” I say, frowning.
“I hear your brother-in-law is representing him,” Hurley says.
“Yes, I asked him to.”
“You’re that convinced he’s innocent?”
“Not one hundred percent, but I can’t see him doing it. And so far the evidence is still circumstantial, isn’t it?”
Hurley gives me a conceding nod. “It is, but there’s a lot of it. We dumped the calls from Shannon’s cell phone.”
“And?” Izzy and I say at the same time.
“It’s mostly calls to her mother in Tennessee, a sister in California, and some local calls to friends, work, and such. There was one call to Erik on the day he showed up at Dairy Airs and argued with her. But there was also an incoming call from him at five forty-five on the day of her murder. He conveniently forgot to tell us about that.”
“See,” Bjorn tosses in. “I told you the husband did it. It’s always the spouse.”
Hurley gives me a self-satisfied smile.
I try to recall what Erik told us about his whereabouts and activities the day of the murder. “Wasn’t that when he said he was having dinner with Jacob Darner?” I ask Hurley.
“It was, and while he did have dinner like he said, Mr. Darner says he left the restaurant around five-forty, meaning Erik was on his own when he made the call and, as far as we know, for the rest of the night.”
“You say he called Shannon, but did he talk to her?” I ask.
“The call only lasted thirty seconds so I’m guessing he got her voice mail.” I open my mouth to ask the next obvious question but Hurley beats me to it. “And no, he didn’t leave a message.”
“Have you asked him about the call?”
Hurley shakes his head. “I planned to interview him at the station this afternoon but I got tied up checking into some other stuff and then the fracas here started.”
“So all you really have is more circumstantial evidence.”
“For now, but give me time.”
Izzy gets up and tucks his chair in under the table. “Well, while you two battle things out here I’ve got a ton of paperwork to finish. Let me know if anything of interest comes up.”
Taking my cue from Izzy, I also get up and push my chair in. “I have some things I want to follow up on. I still want to go back to Shannon’s house and look around. I have a feeling there’s something there I’m missing.”
Hurley says, “We can do that tonight if you like.”
“That would be great.” I’m delighted at the prospect of spending more time with Hurley, even if it is at a murder scene. Sometimes you take what you can get. “Unfortunately my only set of wheels at the moment is Bjorn here and I need to get him back to the cab garage. Would you be willing to be my chauffeur?”
He glances at his watch. “I’m meeting with Luke Nelson in ten minutes and expect it to take a half hour or so but I can pick you up somewhere after that.”
Bjorn, having finished off my Ben & Jerry’s, says to me, “I got a bulge here in my pants that needs tending to.”
Hurley’s eyebrows shoot up halfway to his hairline. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Don’t. It’s better not to know some things.” I turn to Bjorn. “Don’t worry, Bjorn. I’ll take care of it.”
Hurley grins wickedly and says, “Anything I can help with?”
Though I’m pretty sure he means it as a joke, Bjorn is under no such illusion. “Hell, no, you can’t help,” he says irritably. “I don’t want another man having anything to do with my wanker.” Just in case Hurley might be dense enough to miss the meaning, Bjorn grabs his crotch and gives it a jiggle.
Hurley, barely containing his laughter, says to me, “How about if I meet you at the cab garage at six-thirty? That way you and Bjorn here can have some private time together.”
Bjorn and I pull up to the cab garage a little after six. The place is dark and looks deserted. Bjorn has trouble finding his personal car in the lot in part because it’s a moonless night. Fortunately there is only one car in the lot that can be his and as I’m steering him toward it, he looks at me with a frown and asks, “Who are you again?” He scans the parking lot with a bewildered expression. “Are we going somewhere? And where’s Beatrice?”
Uh-oh. Beatrice is his wife, who’s been dead for some ten years now. I’m beginning to suspect Bjorn is a sundowner, an affectionate term those of us in healthcare use for people whose confusion worsens after dark.
I take Bjorn’s keys and open his car, letting him sit on the passenger side to keep him from trying to drive off somewhere in his confusion. We settle in and wait for Hurley, who pulls up a short time later. Leaving Bjorn for a minute, I walk over to Hurley’s car and tap on the driver’s side window. He lowers it, smiling at me.
“Do you and Bjorn need a little more time together?” he asks.
“As a matter of fact, we do. Would you mind following me to his place? He can’t see well enough in the dark to drive and he’s gotten a little disoriented now that the sun has gone down.”
He grins wickedly at me but says nothing. I head back to Bjorn and drive him home with Hurley following. I help Bjorn into his house and then spend ten minutes in the bathroom with him removing his leg bag and connecting him to his nighttime bag, one that hangs at the bedside. As I steer him to his bedroom with him carrying the urine bag in one hand like a pocketbook, he stops for a moment and stares at his feet.
“I really should try to get some shoes to match this bag, don’t you think?” he says.
After making sure Bjorn is tucked in and his door is locked, I walk over to Hurley’s car and climb in the passenger seat. He pulls out, not saying a word but smiling from ear to ear. Five silent minutes later we are standing at Shannon’s front door and Hurley cuts the crime scene tape. When he opens the door, goose bumps race down my arms and the carnal odor of stale blood makes my stomach lurch.
As if sensing my hesitancy, Hurley places a hand at the small of my back and says, “It’s always hard to come back to these places. The initial horror wears off but it gets replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness.” He sighs and his breath is warm and oddly reassuring on my neck. “It’s truly disheartening to see the horrors that human beings are capable of inflicting on one another.”
I’m surprised at the level of emotion in his voice. I’ve developed an impression of him as a hardened, tough guy and this unexpected peek at his soft underbelly is both surprising and erotic. The air around us feels charged, and when I look up at his face he gazes down at me with a warmth I’ve never seen there before. The pressure of his hand at my back increases slightly and when he lowers his head I realize he is about to kiss me. A sensation like warm molten wax courses through my body, centering in my groin area. Then I remember where we are and know in an instant that this is the wrong place and time.
Reluctantly I pull back from him and sigh. “Not here.”
He holds me tight a second longer before the pressure of his hand lightens. “You’re right,” he says, matching my sigh. “Let’s get back to business.”
We enter the house and I wrinkle my nose at the smell of stale death. We pause a moment in the living room to look around and don some gloves. My gut is telling me to head back to the bedroom, that there’s something in there I missed. But I hold off and walk through the rest of the house first.
Nothing strikes me as odd until I reach the kitchen and start examining Shannon’s food stocks. Her monthly grocery bill must have been huge. There is enough here to feed a family of six and at least a quarter of it is designed to satisfy someone with a hellacious sweet tooth. There are four different flavors of Dairy Airs ice cream in the freezer, dozens of packages of cookies and cakes stashed in the pantry, and a wide assortment of candies in the cupboards.
Hurley, who followed me to the kitchen but stopped in the doorway, is leaning with one shoulder against the doorjamb, his hands in his pockets, his eyes watching my every move. I’m not sure if his close scrutiny is because he’s worried I might somehow contaminate the crime scene or if he’s reflecting on the moment we had on the porch.
I finish examining the kitchen and head for the bedroom, but Hurley won’t step aside to let me by. I stop inches in front of him and we look at each other for several seconds before his face breaks into a smile.
“What?” I ask.
