'No, you go on.'
The woman left and Sara sat on the far end of the couch. Kerney moved to a horizontal window that framed the valley panorama below and perched silently on a low ranch-style bench.
Sara turned to face Lori.
'Thank you for seeing us. I know this must be hard.'
'What do you want to tell me?'
'We have evidence that strongly suggests your husband was with Phyllis Terrell the night she was killed,' Sara said.
Lori Stewart studied Sara unflinchingly.
'What bearing does that have on Randall's death?'
'You're not surprised?'
'From what I've read, her killer was identified by the FBI,' Mrs.
Stewart replied.
'Randall may have been many things, but he was not a murderer.'
'Many things?' Sara echoed.
'I'd rather not go into it.'
'I can understand how you might want to keep family matters private,'
Sara said.
'My parents adored Randall,' Lori said.
'Now that he's gone I see no need for them to feel otherwise.'
'He was with Phyllis the night she was murdered.'
'I'd rather not comment.'
'I know how difficult it can be to talk about personal matters with strangers,' Sara said.
'If you wish, for the sake of your parents and your children, what you tell us doesn't have to be made public.'
Lori reached for her coffee with a shaky hand. She clasped the cup with both hands, took a sip, and said, 'You can promise me that?'
'Yes,' Sara said.
'Please tell me about Phyllis and Randall.'
'I never wanted Randall dead. I only wanted him out of my life. I knew he was sleeping with Phyllis. It wasn't the first time he'd been unfaithful.'
'Tell me how you knew.'
Lori Stewart put the coffee cup down.
'It started six months after Phyllis moved in. We'd met her socially at neighborhood gatherings, and I could see that Randall was drawn to her.
She started calling and asking if she could borrow him to help her with her computer. He liked to think he was something of an expert.
Soon after that it became obvious what was happening.'
'How so?' Sara asked.
'He changed his jogging schedule. Said he thought it would be better to go running later at night, especially during the warm weather. He'd be gone much too long.'
'Did you confront him with your suspicions?' Sara asked.
Lori Stewart shook her head.
'No. I talked to an attorney about divorcing him.
He said I'd be much better off to wait until after our tenth anniversary to do it. The court takes a more favorable view of equitable settlements if the marriage has had longevity.'
'Was that your plan?'
'Yes, I was going to file for divorce in six months.'
'And Randall didn't know about it?' Sara asked.
'No one did. It would've been hard enough to face my parents and the boys when the time came. As far as Randall was concerned, he was happily married with a nearby honey pot to dip into.'
'On the night Phyllis Terrell was murdered, did you know he was with her?'
'Yes. He said he had to stay up late to do some work. I went to bed.
After he thought I was sleeping, he left the house. I saw him cut across the arroyo to the Terrell property. I stayed awake until he came back.
He was gone for an hour.'
'What time was that?'
'He left at a quarter to eleven and got back shortly before midnight.
The next day, when I learned that Phyllis had been murdered, I thought about telling the police. But I was certain in my mind that he couldn't have killed Phyllis. No one who has done something terrible like that can fall asleep so easily.'
'Could he have left the house again after you went to sleep?'
'I would've known it. Randall always wakes me up when he gets out of bed. I'm a very light sleeper.'
'Thank you,' Sara said.
Kerney stood up.
'What size shoe did your husband wear?'
Lori Stewart gave Kerney a bewildered look.
'A size nine. He had very narrow feet. Why do you ask?'
'Just curious,' he said, stepping to the door. The shoe print found at the Terrell residence was a size larger.
'That's all for now. We won't take any more of your time.'
Traffic backed up along the feeder road to the Interstate. Soccer moms cut across lanes, hurrying to get kids to school before the tardy bell rang. Big-rig truckers pulled off on the shoulder of the road at a twenty-four-hour stop-and-rob near the southbound onramp for coffee refills.
'If you're going to become an alley cat, Kerney, tell me now,' Sara said.
Kerney laughed.
'I bet Lori Stewart, on advice of counsel, kept a diary of her husband's late-night visits to Phyllis Terrell.'
'What a good idea,' Sara said brightly.
'I'll have to remember that. I almost choked when she said she didn't want her husband dead.'
'At least she managed to keep the dollar signs from flashing in her eyes.'
'Tidy-looking lives can be so messy,' Sara said.
'Let's not do that,' Kerney said.
'Do what?'
Kerney shrugged.
'Fake it with each other.'
Sara patted Kerney's cheek.
'Not a chance.'
'You don't think it's possible?'
'Ask me in ten years.'
Kerney accelerated south down the Interstate. It was a good four-hour drive to Ramah, where Proctor Straley lived. None of the vehicles behind him looked suspicious. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror anyway.
Sal Molina went to Jake's home, only to be told by his wife that he was up on the mesa for the weekend at the family's ranch feeding cattle.
She gave him directions and Molina drove the all-wheel drive minivan up the unpaved rocky country road, skidding over frozen mud bogs, digging through deep snow-covered slushy ruts, until he reached the old abandoned farming settlement of Ojo de la Vaca. Roofless church and schoolhouse walls still stood along the dirt road and a few dilapidated cabins peppered the valley. Molina drove down a dirt track to a cabin where smoke rose from the chimney and a hay trailer hitched to a pickup truck was parked outside.
An unsmiling Jake waited for him on the front step. Bits of hay clung to his faded sweatshirt and dusted his
