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“If Joshie was out with girlfriends, then she wasn’t home killing Ray. If Bobby didn’t do it, then someone else did. She had to have an accomplice, so it’s a conspiracy.”
“Unless she was able to leave the club long enough to do it herself,” I said.
“We need to talk to the dancer she was with,” Newman said.
“Wait a minute,” Leduc said. “I’ll believe what I heard on the video, so she’s involved, but she couldn’t have done that to Ray. Human hands and fingernails could not have done that.”
“Duke is right,” Newman said.
“We need to see the body and the crime scene,” Edward said.
“We need to find a murder weapon that would explain the wounds,” I said.
“If I’d used something to commit murder, I’d have dumped it by now,” Newman said.
“What do you need to help Bobby?” Duke asked.
“We need a smoking gun, and we need it soon,” Newman said.
“I’ll chase the money,” Duke said.
“We’ll talk to Helen Grimes,” I said.
Olaf said, “Could she be the accomplice?”
“We’ll find out,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “we will.”
And then he smiled, an anticipatory, predatory smile. He was hoping that we’d get to hurt the cook to make her tell the truth. A few minutes ago, I’d have been certain that I’d never help him torture another person, but if it was a choice between terrorizing a woman I’d never met or having to kill Bobby, then I knew what my choice would be. I hate that sometimes the path to hell really is paved with good intentions.
56
THE MARCHANDS’ COOK, Helen Grimes, was sitting behind the table in the small interrogation room. She was a little heavy—not like she was built that way, but like she was eating more of her own food than maybe was good for her. The lines in her face seemed harsh, with sagging skin, but I didn’t hold that against her. Grief will do that to people of all ages. On a normal day she might have looked ten years younger, but today was not a normal day. In fact, she looked so shaky that Olaf put himself in a corner as far from her as possible without being asked. Edward took another corner, leaving Newman and me closest to her.
Helen huddled over the glass of water that someone had gotten her; she had a crumpled tissue in her hand. “I caught Bobby at Jocelyn’s door one night. He made some excuse, but it didn’t feel right. That was the first hint I had that there was something wrong between the two of them.”
“What were you doing there so late, Helen?” Newman asked.
“Mr. Ray was out of town on business, and he asked me to stay over in case the kids needed anything.”
“I thought Carmichael was the live-in handyman,” Newman said.
She made a derisive sound. “Carmichael is spending most of his nights with his new girlfriend. I’d started staying over in one of the guest rooms off and on, but Mr. Ray made a special request of it when he was out of town last time. I think he’d started to suspect that something was wrong.” Her voice broke at the end, shoulders hunching forward even more as if she was collapsing over the water glass.
“Would you like some coffee?” I asked. Maybe a little caffeine would help revive her. It always helped me.
She shook her head but gave me a weak smile. Her eyes were red rimmed with all the crying she’d done. “Thank you, but caffeine makes me jittery nowadays, and my nerves are bad enough right now.”
“How about something a little stronger?” Edward asked from his corner.
Helen looked at him, and the smile got a little firmer. “I wouldn’t turn down a little sip of something.”
Edward gave her his best Ted smile, all bright and reassuring. She looked a little calmer from that alone. He asked, “Any preferences, little lady?”
She laughed, and I almost jumped, because her reaction startled me. “No one’s called me little lady in quite a while.”
Edward just grinned at her, putting all his good-ol’-boy charm into it. Color crept back into her face; her eyes were bright enough that I noticed they were hazel with so much dark green mixed in with the brown that she probably could have put either on her driver’s license. She damn near giggled at Edward, and her expression didn’t look silly. It was like a glimpse of a younger woman, back in the day when she might have matched the history behind her first name more. Helen, the beauty whose kidnapping started the Trojan War, always seemed like a lot to live up to, but suddenly there was a sparkle in Helen Grimes. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of being younger, but of being happier.
