“Cindy’s husband. Mark recently found out she was having an affair with Brian. It’s been the gossip all over town.”
“You never had a suspect for Brian’s murder?” I ask.
“No. The crime scene was meticulous. The stolen jewelry was never pawned, either. Four years later, we still have nothing. I’ll never forget that night when I walked into that home and saw Brian lying on the floor with all those stab wounds, then when I went into the kitchen and found poor Katherine bleeding out. That girl is lucky she’s alive.”
“Did she see or hear anything?”
“She said she couldn’t remember a thing, but that’s because of the traces of Rohypnol that were found in her blood.”
“She had Rohypnol in her system?” I furrow my brows.
“Yeah. She did. But it was strange because Brian was injected with M99. I guess the killer got spooked by something and ran out of the house before he could finish Katherine off. That poor woman.” He shakes his head. “Tragedy seems to follow her wherever she goes.”
“Where can I find this Mark guy?”
Sheriff Strange glances at his watch. “It’s after five. I’m sure he’s drinking at Rutger’s Bar up the road. It’s been his thing since he found out about Cindy’s affair.”
“Thanks. I’ll go see if he’s there.” I stand up and extend my hand. “It was nice talking to you, Lucas.”
“Same, Paige. You know where to find me if you have any more questions.”
I climb into my car and drive up the road until I see the bright flashing sign that displays Rutger’s Bar & Tavern. I walk into the dimly lit bar with faded wooden floors and walls decorated with vintage signs advertising local lobster and beer. A long, polished bar stretches across one side of the room, lined with stools and shelves of liquor bottles. Only one man is sitting at the bar, and I bet his name is Mark.
I take a seat on the stool next to him.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
“Whiskey. Straight. Top shelf.”
“Here you go, pretty lady.” He sets a glass down and pours some whiskey into it.
“Thanks. Excuse me? Is your name Mark?” I ask the man sitting beside me.
He turns his head and holds my gaze. “Yeah. Who’s asking?”
“Detective Paige Walker with the NYPD.” I extend my hand.
He stares at my hand for a moment, lifts his, and places it in mine. “Mark Rutkowski.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mark. You know Katherine Tate, I mean Grisham, correct?”
“Yeah. I know Katherine. Why?”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“A few weeks ago, when I flew to New York.”
“You spoke to her recently?” My brows furrowed.
“Yeah. I needed to tell her about Brian’s affair with my wife.” He tips his glass to his lips and sucks down the last of his bourbon. “Greer, pour me another.”
“How did she act when you told her?”
“I guess, like anyone who finds out their husband was cheating on them. She was upset, shaken.”
“So, she didn’t know about the affair before the murder took place?”
“Nope.” He shook his head.
