Oh, really?
“Well, good. Because it isn’t working. What are you trying to do, then?”
“I’m trying to solve the murder of Victoria Harkness, since no one else seems to be doing that.”
Jane’s face darkens, and I think maybe I’ve gone too far. But my frustration level is just below critical. It doesn’t help that it’s mostly my own fault.
“Jane, I’m sorry. But maybe it’s time to pool our resources. What have you got?”
She doesn’t answer, tapping her fingers against the hood of the car. Then she motions sharply. “Get in.”
I get in.
I think she’s going to take me to the station, but we pull out of the parking lot and head south instead of north. She circles the roundabout and follows the highway along the north shore of Youngs Bay.
“Where are we going?”
“You want to know how the investigation is going. Well, I can tell you, it’s not.”
“Oh?”
Detective Candide gives me a fierce glance. “If you ever say anything to Steve, if you mention to anyone that I told you about an ongoing investigation, I will break you in this town.”
“Got it.” So tired of threats.
She heaves a sigh. “When North’s call came in, Steve told me to follow it up. He wanted me to deliver a message. He wants you to stop your investigation. If you don’t, he’ll make sure that everyone knows about your breakdown. Your mental state. He’ll do it, too. You know what gossip is like in a small town.”
I’ve had a taste of it already. “So, you’re delivering his message.”
Jane nods. “Yes. But frankly, I’m concerned that we didn’t get further in the investigation. I talked to church members, all Harkness’s known associates, and got nothing. Her mother is breathing down our necks, and she’s a real piece of work. But there’s no evidence, no motive. I’ve heard more about petty jealousies and squabbles in the congregation than you would believe. I’ve heard about Daniel’s philandering. But I can’t identify any motive, any reason to kill the pastor.”
“What about forensics?”
“Nothing conclusive. We don’t know where she went into the water. Someone left a tip about the Holiday Inn, but that didn’t pan out. There was nothing on her body — the water destroyed anything there might have been. Her apartment was clean, nothing missing or that shouldn’t have been there.”
Except the money.
I’m not bringing that up.
“Harkness’s death has been ruled an accident. I can’t continue investigating a non-case. And neither should you.”
We ride in silence for a little while. The road unspools before us, houses and commercial properties on the left, the ruffled waters of Youngs Bay on the right.
Finally, I say, “You don’t think it was an accident.” That’s been the subtext to everything she’s said.
“Audrey, Steve would kill me if he knew I was asking you for help. But I am. We’ve got nothing — and honestly, we’re not very experienced when it comes to investigating homicides. If it’s not the result of a bar brawl or domestic violence, some close associate that can’t keep their mouth shut, we don’t have the expertise or the manpower to get much further. So if you know something, if there’s something we’ve overlooked, please tell me. Help us get to the bottom of this crime.”
She talks a good game, don’t you think?
Zoe’s right. I’m moved by Detective Candide’s plea. It can’t have been easy for her to ask for help, to go behind her boss’s back and admit that they were stumped, but I respect her more for it. She’s been more open with me than I have been with her. I feel the imbalance of obligation between us. But there’s no way she’ll believe I had a psychic vision of the murder, or if she did, there’s no way she’ll treat it seriously.
“Okay, Jane…I know this isn’t going to sound very convincing, but I know that Eric North is involved in Victoria’s death. I can’t tell you how I know,” I raise a hand as Jane starts to question me, “but I do. That’s why I was at his studio. Trying to shake something loose. It didn’t work, but I can tell you he didn’t react like an innocent bystander. He didn’t admit anything, but his responses were off.”
“What do you mean?”
I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve been a homicide detective for a long time. Questioned a lot of people. You just get a feeling for when someone is concealing something, or holding something back.”
She nods slowly, eyes glued to the road ahead.
“Plus, he threatened me. He grabbed my coat, said he’d kill me if I kept harassing him.”
“Well, from his point of view, you were.”
“This was more than just testosterone posturing. He was angry. Enraged. If you hadn’t arrived just then, I don’t know what he would have done. He let me go when we heard your siren, and I still drew my weapon. He was that intimidating.”
“What? You pulled a gun on someone? Audrey —” She takes a turn too wide, and has to swerve away from an oncoming truck. Its horn blares a warning.
I’m squeezing the armrest as my seatbelt presses against my chest. “Jane, listen. I was afraid for my life. You would have been too, if you’d seen the rage in his eyes. It’s him. I know it.” I take out my phone and play back the recording.
When it’s finished, she says, “Jesus Christ.”
“I know, right?”
“You think he’s the arsonist?”
“I know he had access to a welding torch.” I tell her about my interview with Jason. “Plus, he uses paint thinners and other possible accelerants. Those piles we saw? Maybe rags from his studio. We both saw some in the fellowship hall.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I press my case. “He’s already shown disregard for human life, Detective. He knew we were there.”
“What I heard on your recording was him expressing dismay at the thought of someone being killed.”
“It was the way he looked at me when he said it. And his tone.” But my heart sinks.
Jane drives
