Page 38 of Lawman’s Witness

“You know who did this,” she said, anger making her eyes burn with fresh tears. “Jack Marshall killed him.”

“We might suspect that was the case, but we have no proof.”

“How was he killed?”

“He was stabbed to death and the scene made to look like a robbery.”

Liz let out a bitter laugh. “Like Robert appeared to be a man with a lot of money driving that beat-up old truck, dressing the way he did?”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Tate said. “The murder will continue to be under investigation. I will need a statement from you to take to the chief, but Liz, if you’re right, Marshall will have an alibi. You can count on that.”

“You must have gotten in late,” Christine said to her husband that morning at breakfast.

“Not all that late. Ten thirty. You were already asleep,” Jack said, not meeting her gaze. “I didn’t want to wake you. I had a lot on my mind, so I slept in the guest room.”

She’d heard him come home after 3:00 a.m. She had immediately realized that he’d been drinking. It was the way he’d taken the stairs. She’d turned over, away from his side of the bed, and pretended to be asleep as she’d tried not to be alarmed by how late he’d come dragging in. Whatever was going on with her husband was bad, that much she knew. He’d left their bedroom, stumbling down the hallway to the guest room.

“Is it something you’d like to talk about?” she offered as she poured him a cup of coffee and one for herself.

“Just business. It’s nothing to worry about. Thanks,” he said as he took the coffee and offered her a smile.

“I wish you had woken me last night. I’ve missed you.” She returned his smile and touched his hand. They had sex regularly, she made sure of that. But she realized it had been over two weeks and during that time, she’d hardly seen him because of the late hours he’d been keeping. She worried that the affair hadn’t ended or had ended badly, and he was still dealing with it. Yet she couldn’t ask, could she? It was the hole she’d dug for herself. Sometimes she questioned if Jack was even aware that she knew more about him than he even seemed to know about himself. She found it almost amusing that he thought he was keeping his affairs from her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning his hand to take hers. “I did think about waking you, but you looked like you were sleeping so good, I couldn’t do it.”

She wondered if her smile was convincing as she listened to his lie. “I wish you would have. Maybe come home earlier tonight?”

He nodded and let go of her hand. “Make us a reservation to your favorite restaurant. We’ll make a night of it.”

Christine had barely agreed when she heard the doorbell chime. When she looked out and saw the police car parked out front, she felt her heart drop. She glanced at her husband and glimpsed something she’d never seen in his eyes.

Panic.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Detective Russell Tate,” the police officer said by way of introduction when she opened the door. “Is your husband at home?”

“Yes,” Christine said as she stepped aside to let him enter. “Please come in. Jack and I were just finishing up breakfast.” As she led the way, she asked over her shoulder, “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you. I just need to speak with your husband.”

She saw that Jack was still sitting at the breakfast bar, holding a mug of coffee in both hands probably to keep them from shaking, she thought. “What’s this about, Detective?”

“It would probably be best if I spoke to your husband alone, Mrs. Marshall,” the detective said.

Christine looked to Jack. Their gazes met but only for an instant as he quickly looked away. She noticed, too, that he hadn’t asked the detective what this was about. She feared he already knew. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

“Before you go,” the detective said, “can you tell me what time your husband came home last night?”

She pretended surprise. “It was a little after ten. He’d worked late.”

“He was home the rest of the night?”

“Of course,” she said frowning. “We’re remodeling, and I wanted him to see some of the ideas the designers have come up with that we needed to act on by today.” She noticed that the detective wasn’t looking at her, but at Jack.

“Is that right, Mr. Marshall?” There was an edge to the cop’s voice that she couldn’t ignore. Detective Tate knew it was a lie and probably not the first one her husband had told him.

Jack cleared his voice. He didn’t look at her even though she hadn’t lied, she’d merely repeated what he’d told her. “That’s right.”