Tassi shook her head, bewildered. “Search? Where? Here? Why? Whatever are you looking for?”
“Your husband left a letter implying that he was involved in some financial impropriety,” Luka explained. “We need to secure any documents, electronics—”
“Spence would never!” Tassi exclaimed, bolting to her feet so quickly it caught Luka off guard. She pointed a finger at the door. “I want you out of my house. Now!”
Luka waited a beat, expecting Matthew to calm his client, but instead he gave Luka a challenging look. “Surely this can wait, Detective. You can see how traumatized Mrs. Standish is.”
“I’m afraid it can’t wait.” Luka kept his voice low and gentle. “We’ll try to expedite things to minimize any inconvenience, Mrs. Standish.”
“But, I don’t understand—I don’t know anything.”
“I’d like to start with your husband’s cell phone. Do you have any idea where it is?”
Tassi’s arm, still pointing past Luka, began to tremble. She dropped it to her side. “Phone? At the river, in the water… No. None of this makes sense. None of it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and she still faced the door, speaking to the air past Luka’s head.
“Can you explain that to me, Mrs. Standish?” he tried to coax her. “Why were you expecting to find your husband at the river?”
More tears. She covered her face with her palms and collapsed back onto the loveseat beside Matthew. In any other circumstances, Luka would attempt to provide whatever comfort possible, but given that Tassi had chosen to call her spiritual counselor to attend to her, he nodded to Matthew to take over. Matthew folded his hands around Tassi’s and whispered something. She looked up and they bent their heads in prayer, lips moving in unison.
Luka’s phone buzzed. He crossed the massive room until he reached the hallway leading to the rear of the house. Matthew and Tassi were still in sight—across a basketball court’s length of hardwood floor, plush rugs, and antique furniture. Luka still found it strange that there was only a single wedding photo framed above the fireplace. He answered his cell. It was Commander Ahearn, head of the Investigative Division.
“Is it true?” Ahearn began without greeting. “Spencer Standish killed himself?”
“Maybe.” Luka explained about the suicide note and confession. “The wife is a bit scattered, can’t really get anything from her right now, so I’m headed to his offices to take a look.”
“Your eyes only for now. Spencer worked with a lot of highly placed men. Pillars of the community. We don’t need their names dragged through the muck, not when we’re not even certain what happened.”
“The wife mentioned some kind of cancer—”
“There you go, man wasn’t in his right mind.”
“Yes,” Luka replied, “but the firefighters said the carbon monoxide levels weren’t very high when they arrived at the scene.”
“You’re not sure it was a suicide?” Ahearn asked, sounding thoughtful, weighing the political ramifications of each possibility, deciding which would be more advantageous. “That could open a can of worms best left buried. You’d best be certain of your facts. I want you to report everything directly to me. We need to stay in front of this.” As usual Ahearn didn’t bother digging very deep into the treasure trove of clichés he loved to mix and match.
“I could use more people.” Luka’s gaze drifted down the end of the long hallway, doorways situated on both sides. It might take days to complete even a cursory search of the mansion and grounds.
“Pull in whoever you need, I’ll authorize the overtime.” Authorize and overtime—two words seldom heard in the same sentence when coming from Ahearn. “Whatever you need to speed this up—and keep it quiet. I’m headed to the house. I want Mrs. Standish to understand how seriously we take this, give her the department’s condolences in person. And I’ll handle any press when the time comes.”
Fine with Luka. “Thank you, sir. I’ll have Ray Acevedo and Scott Krichek meet you here. They can be trusted with the search of the home, with minimal disruption for the widow.” Ray was Luka’s second-in-command, more street-ready rough-and-tumble than Ahearn probably would like, but Luka trusted Ray to get the job done right. While the less experienced but more polished Krichek could hone his natural kiss-ass tendencies with Ahearn and the widow.
Luka called Ray and Krichek to fill them in and spoil what was supposed to be their Sunday off, then returned to Tassi and the reverend. “My team will be over to conduct the search of the house,” he told her. “Until then, I’ll be leaving an officer to stay with you.”
Tassi barely managed a nod of understanding. And yet there were no more tears. He couldn’t be certain how much of her reaction was true grief and how much was embellishment. It would be interesting to talk to more people who knew her, get a better feel for her personality. Since he couldn’t interview her immediately, the least he could do was to be prepared for when Matthew, as her attorney, allowed him to speak with her.
“Where are you going?” Matthew asked as Luka headed to the door.
“Spencer’s offices.” Luka didn’t really need a key; the warrant would allow him to pick the lock or call a locksmith to make entry.
“Then I’m going with you to observe.” Matthew rose, Tassi’s hand dropping from his arm to the loveseat in a languid motion that felt rehearsed. “That would be best, save you from worry, right, Tassi?”
“If you say so, Matthew. I can ask Larry to come over.”
Larry as in Larry Hansen, the neighbor who found Spencer’s body. Luka had had a feeling he’d been holding something back during their conversation—were he and Tassi closer than mere tennis partners? He’d let Ray know to
