“My key ring is by the door, my cuff links on the nightstand.My psychology textbooks have been shelved where only art and history and reference books lived before.My houseplants take up space where he used to keep his easel and painting supplies.I tell you this because no two people will have the exact same opinions on home décor, and living together forces compromise, no matter how small.”
“Totally.”
“Now that we know this DB is not the homeowner,” Larkin continued, “would you like to give another go at establishing the psychology of place.”
“Is this a trick?Am I supposed to say I don’t know?”
“You may certainly say as much,” Larkin answered.“But I’ve already given you a clue to hit the ground running.”
Steps echoed on the basement stairs, and Larkin recognized the pace and footfall as Doyle’s.When he appeared in the open doorway, Doyle said, “I didn’t find the cat.And the dishes in the kitchen don’t look to have been used by an animal for a while.But you know what I did find?A knife block with an incomplete set.”
Larkin straightened his posture.
“There’s a meat cleaver missing, for sure,” Doyle concluded.
To Millett, Larkin asked, “After you’re done here, will you inspect the bathroom for blood.”
“The bathroom?”
“Please.”
Millett looked between him and Doyle before shrugging.“Sure.”
Larkin returned his attention to Hackett.“Twenty-eight days ago, we met the homeowner’s alleged wife.”
Hackett looked surprised.“I’d have never guessed two people lived here.”
“Why.”
“Well, it’s like you said, when two people live together, compromises are made.But the home feels very, uh, uniform, I guess.”
“And.”
“And I didn’t notice any wedding photos.”
“Not everyone hangs those.”
“Everyone I know who’s married does,” Hackett countered.
“I was married for four years,” Larkin said.“My ex-husband and I never hung up our wedding photos.You may use generalities as guidelines and statistics to narrow down likelihoods, but you must not allow your own life experience to color a hypothesis.”
Hackett was silent for one, two, three seconds.Then he asked, “So you… don’t think the homeowner is married?”
Larkin answered, “Tell me why I think that.”
“Wait a minute,” Doyle interrupted.“Stephanie and Phyllisaren’tmarried?”
Larkin held a hand up for silence.
Hackett said, slow and thoughtful, like he was feeling the concept out, “When my ex moved out, my place looked… not messy, but I suddenly had all these empty nooks and crannies.Places that he’d—” Hackett faltered, looked over his shoulder at Doyle, to Millett on his right, but continued when the use of that particular pronoun failed to garner a reaction.“—that he’d had his belongings.It kinda looked like I’d been robbed, but of only one personality.”
“Interesting description.Continue.”
Hackett pointed up, indicating the ground floor of the home.“The upstairs doesn’t have that empty look, like someone recently walked out of a shared life only a month ago.Of course, the homeowner could have moved fast to erase all evidence of another person, but I don’t think most people mourn the ending of a relationship like that, even more so a marriage.There’s no evidence of a compromise once existing between two people.”He shrugged before asking, “How’d I do?”
“You did quite well,” Larkin said.
Hackett blinked a few times.He tugged his mask down.“Really?”
