But. Other things to think about.
“Detective, there’s one other thing.” She rolls her eyes, but I continue. “You’ve arrested Claire Chandler for her husband’s death.”
“Yeah, so?”
I take a deep breath, committing myself. “So, I think she’s innocent. I think Eric North is responsible for both murders.”
Jane rests her head briefly on the steering wheel. “Audrey, just stop. We have evidence. Her fingerprints were all over the crime scene. She has ready access to the church and has no alibi for the time of death. Opportunity. Chandler was having an affair. Had a history of cheating. Motive. There’s a life insurance policy for him that lists her as the beneficiary. More motive. You know yourself the surviving spouse is usually the perp in cases like these.”
“You guys didn’t get a crime scene team in there for days. She called me from his office the day after they’d taken the body away. She was actually on the computer. I told her to get out of there, but that explains the fingerprints. Plus, they were married. It’s not unlikely her prints would be on anything of his.”
“She called you? What for?”
“Because she’d found evidence of financial fraud on Daniel’s computer. She thought he was selling the church assets — the artwork — and doing something else with the money. Jane, just look at the accounting records. It’s additional motive.”
“Yeah, for her. It sounds like Daniel was going to wreck their lives.”
Shit. “You’ve got it wrong, Detective. She didn’t know until after he’d been killed. She was nosing around, trying to figure it out. Her call to me proves it.”
“So she says. It could all be staged to make her look better.”
“And the Earth could be flat.” I unbuckle my seat belt. “I’m trying to help you. The evidence is only circumstantial at best. If your case isn’t completely watertight, you’re going to be accused of implicit bias.”
Candide scoffs. “Because she’s Black, I suppose?”
“Yes. Because she’s Black, and a woman, and because she’s innocent. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to her.”
“Audrey, just get out, all right? Out of my car, out of this investigation, out of the whole damn business.”
“I’m going, but Jane — don’t trash your career a second time.”
She peels away as soon as I’ve shut the door and I watch her drive away. Despite my appeal, it’s all too likely that Claire will be convicted. There’s no other suspect. I’d be suspicious of her too, if I didn’t know about Eric North.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE NEXT DAY I decide to visit Claire Chandler. My coat still reeks of smoke, so I pull on a sweater and fleece vest before setting out.
I’m surprised to learn the jail — the ‘corrections center’ — is right downtown behind the first Baptist Church. It’s a brutalist concrete affair, and it’s difficult to find the entry. The maple tree in a concrete planter is just beginning to bud, and some joker has put a ‘no vacancy’ sign in one of the windows.
So, jail.
I wish I could say I didn’t know what to expect, but that’s not true. There’s no glossing over what is an essentially grim experience. Still, I discover that the visiting process is casual as far as these things go. But of course, Claire hasn’t been convicted yet. She’s being held pending her bail hearing; apparently, she’s a flight risk. Because, you know, murder. Capital crime. Oregon has a death penalty, although it’s been in abeyance for a while; it’s still on the books.
Be calm. That’s the best way I can help her.
Soon I’m in a big conference room sitting at a white plastic table, and a female guard who looks like she missed her calling as a linebacker for the Broncos escorts Claire inside. She’s wearing a polo-style shirt and baggy pants in broad black and white stripes. Her expression is stern and angry. The lines around her eyes have taken on a new depth, and look as though they are etched down to her skull.
As she sits at the table, she says, “Audrey. Get me the hell out of here.”
I feel at fault somehow, as though I am to blame for her current condition. If I had caught Victoria’s killer. If I had caught Daniel’s killer. If.
But. This is not about me.
They don’t allow us to touch, so I put my hands together. “I’m trying. I’m positive I know who killed Victoria. I just need evidence.”
“I don’t really care about that now. What about Daniel?” Her eyes sheen with unshed tears. “Find out who killed him. That’s the only thing that will help me.”
“I think it’s the same person.”
“Who?”
Do I tell her? Without evidence, it’s outright slander. She doesn’t need that. I explain why I’m withholding my suspicions for now.
She grits her teeth. “I don’t give a shit for all your legal niceties. Get me out. Find out who did this. Have they processed the scene? Who else was there?”
“Claire, I’ve got some bad news. The scene has been demolished. Someone tried to burn down the church Tuesday night.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?”
“I was there at the time. With Detective Candide.”
“Oh my God. Who would do such a thing?” She shakes her head, and her expression becomes bleak. “So many haters. Did you see who it was?”
“No. We were inside Daniel’s office at the time. But logic says it’s the killer.”
I wait while she moans a little to herself, then mutters, then slaps the table. A guard at the wall jolts to attention, then settles back down when I raise a palm.
Claire puts her face in her hands. “I’ve lost everything. My husband. My freedom. My church. What’s happening to me? What’s going on? Why is my life being ruined?” She looks up, to the industrial light fixtures and perhaps beyond. “Why?”
She closes her eyes.
“Claire, I’m
