British accent.
“What happened to Denise is bloody awful,” John Culley said after Chacon introduced himself. “I don’t know what I will do without her.”
Major Mielke hadn’t said anything about John Culley being British. Matt wondered what else Mielke might have forgotten or failed to mention. “I understand your parents are visiting from Buffalo,” he said.
“My partner’s parents, not mine,” Culley replied with a wave of his hand. “My dear widowed mother, who is safely ensconced in her Tunbridge Wells cottage, thankfully has no desire to venture forth to visit me in the new world. Have you ever been to Buffalo? No? Regardless what the time of year might be, I cannot recommend it in any season.”
Matt loved the way Brits talked. It wasn’t just the accent he enjoyed hearing; he liked the way they used the language and seemed so comfortable making conversation.
Culley was just one of a number of Brits living in Santa Fe, including prominent artists, successful business owners, scientists who worked at the national laboratory in nearby Los Alamos, and some who were simply filthy rich and hobnobbed with the area’s other wealthy residents at charity events, the opera, and art openings. Members of British nobility—Matt couldn’t remember their names or titles—owned a large, secluded estate outside the city and were occasionally mentioned in the local newspaper.
The Brits composed one part of a rather extensive community of western European expatriates who lived in Santa Fe. Some of the Brits were full-time residents and others part-timers who either regularly returned to Europe or wintered in Florida.
Aside from illegal Mexican workers who’d been coming to Santa Fe forever, the ranks of foreign migrants living in the city had recently swelled, as more and more Middle Eastern businessmen had moved in and opened retail stores that catered to the tourist trade.
“I take it Tunbridge Wells is in England,” Matt said.
“Indeed, it is,” Culley replied. “In Kent, actually. Lovely castles and gardens. Have you been?”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t get a chance to travel that much.”
“Pity,” Culley said. “There is so much to see in the world.”
“What can you tell me about Denise’s personal life?” Matt asked.
“Shall we sit?” Culley asked as he stepped to his desk and settled into a chair.
Matt pulled up a side chair and joined Culley at his desk, which was modern, European-looking, and shaped somewhat like an unshelled peanut. On it was a laptop, a cordless phone, a leather desk pad, and a matching leather letter and pen holder. The other desk in the office was of the same design but smaller. Denise Riley’s nameplate was prominently displayed on an otherwise empty desktop. There were framed Southwestern landscape prints on the walls, and a large, freestanding clear plastic rack of randomly arranged boxes that was abstract in design and positioned near the entrance. It served as a display case for various insurance company brochures. A bank of two-drawer black file cabinets lined the wall behind Denise’s desk, and behind Culley’s desk stood a credenza that held several membership certificates from local civic organizations and the photograph of a good- looking man Matt took to be Culley’s partner.
“How long did Denise work for you?” Matt asked.
“I hired her soon after I started the business. I was renting a small one-room office on St. Francis Drive at the time and had placed an advertisement in the paper for a receptionist. Denise was the first to respond and I hired her immediately.”
Matt took a notebook out of his coat pocket and flipped to a blank page. “When was that?”
“I started the business seven years ago this spring.”
“So you knew Denise before she married Tim Riley?”
Culley smiled. “Yes, indeed. I witnessed the entire courtship. It was quite a whirlwind romance. They made a splendid couple.”
“Did the romance last?” Matt asked.
“Well, I suppose the honeymoon phase ended as it always does, but they were very loving to each other as far as I could tell. Telephone calls back and forth, occasional luncheon dates when Tim had days off during the workweek—that sort of thing.”
“Would you say Denise was a faithful wife?”
Culley raised his eyebrows. “What an astonishing question. Denise was an extremely attractive woman, and a number of my male clients were very flirtatious with her both on the telephone and when they came into the office. She always handled it with aplomb and never acted inappropriately. But to answer you more directly, I never had an occasion to think of her as the unfaithful type.”
Matt wrote down an abbreviated version of Culley’s remarks in his notebook. “Did you know that she was almost three months pregnant at the time of her death?”
Culley shook his head. “Now you have me totally flummoxed. According to Denise, her husband was unable to give her a child. I suppose that’s why you asked if I thought she might be unfaithful. Could it be that she might have sought out a sperm donor?”
“It’s possible,” Matt said. “Did she talk to you about a desire to have children?”
“We didn’t have that kind of a relationship,” Culley replied. “We got along well as employer and employee, but we were not close personal friends.”
“Are you saying that she didn’t share much of her personal life with you?”
Culley smiled. “Exactly so. Nor did I share much of mine with her. I think both of us liked it that way.”
“Professional relationships at work are always best.” Matt glanced at Denise’s nearby vacant desk. “Still, you worked together in close proximity. I’m sure you took telephone messages for her, greeted friends and family who occasionally dropped by to see her when she was out of the office, overheard snatches of her phone conversations.”
“Yes, of course,” Culley said before Matt could continue, “and I’ve been trying to think of a person, a man perhaps, she might have particularly favored. But no one comes to mind, other than Tim, her sisters, and her brother. They were the ones most likely to call or stop by.”
“If you think of someone, let me know.” Matt closed the notebook and handed Culley a business card. “I’d like to review Denise’s employee file.”
Culley looked slighted embarrassed. “I’m afraid there is no employee file other than salary and income tax information that my accountant maintains.” He wrote down the accountant’s name and phone number on a telephone message slip and handed it to Chacon.
“You didn’t get a resume, verify her past employment, and check her references before you hired her?” Matt asked.
“I saw no need to, and my intuition about Denise was spot-on. She worked out perfectly.”
Matt glanced at the empty desk again. “Did Denise do her work on a computer?”
“Yes, a desktop model. I tried to use it yesterday and it froze and crashed. Fortunately, I have all my records and files backed up and I can access them from my laptop.”
“Where is the desktop computer now?”
Culley waved his hand. “For all I care, it’s in transit to a computer graveyard in India to be salvaged. The technician who services my computers came out and told me it wasn’t worth the trouble or expense to fix it. I had him take it away. He’s building a new one for me, and I’ve ordered a larger monitor and a faster printer to go with it.”
Matt asked for and got the name of the company Culley used to service his computers. He tore a fresh piece of paper from his notepad and put it in front of the Englishman. “I need your written permission allowing me to take custody of your old computer. Please sign and date the authorization.”
Culley picked up a pen. “Yes, of course, but whatever for?”
“I can’t talk about what we do in ongoing investigations.”
“Of course you can’t.” Culley scribbled his consent and handed it to Matt, signed and dated.
“Have you had any recent break-ins or burglaries?”
“No, not a one.”
“Who else besides you, Denise Riley, and your clients have access to the office?”
“The leasing agent has a key, as does the cleaning lady I employ to tidy up my house and the office.”
“I may need to speak with both of those people,” Matt said.
