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“Yes.”
“Your housekeeper-cook, Mrs. uh—”
“Dobbins.”
“Right. She said she leaves at six o’clock.”
“As soon as dinner is prepared. I can’t imagine why there would have been a change in that schedule. Have you questioned Mrs. Dobbins about last night?”
“She put a roasted chicken in the warming tray and left at six. She said Manuelo Ruiz was here when she left. She’s sure of that because she told him she was leaving. So it’s assumed he was here.”
“I’m certain he was. He wouldn’t have left Foster alone,” she repeated. “Never.”
Rodarte walked over to the area in front of the desk where the rug was bunched up. He squatted down as though to study the dark stains on it. “Much as I hate to, we need to talk about the actual slaying.”
“Must we? You were so descriptive last night. It sounded very…horrible.”
“It was. That’s why I advised you against looking at your husband’s body. It was nothing you wanted to see, believe me. He was still in his wheelchair with a letter opener sticking out the side of his neck.”
She hugged her elbows tightly against her torso. “I’m certain by your description that it was Foster’s letter opener. It was a replica of Excalibur. I gave it to him for Christmas because he loved the Arthurian legend. It stayed on his desk there.”
“Mrs. Dobbins confirmed that. But once I get it from the ME, I’ll have you identify it so there’ll be absolutely no doubt.”
Something else to dread, she thought.
Rodarte said, “What it looks like is, the killer pushed it in to the hilt, then tried to pull it out. But the blade had severed the artery, so when he tried to remove the weapon from your husband’s neck, the wound started gushing blood. I guess he panicked and decided to leave it.”
“And my husband bled to death.”
“Right.” Rodarte stood up. “We found two blood types on the rug. One was your husband’s.”
“Two?” She looked at the bloodstains, then at Carter, finally back at Rodarte.
He shrugged. “We don’t know who the second type belongs to. Could be Manuelo Ruiz’s, but we have nothing to match it with. Except for the DMV, Ruiz isn’t in any database we’ve run him through. He has a current Texas driver’s license. That’s it.”
“He drove Foster in a customized van.”
“Did Ruiz have papers?”
“Immigration papers? I assume so.”
“He didn’t.”
Her temper sparked. “If you knew that, why did you ask?”
He gave her what he probably mistook for a disarming grin. “Habit. Always trying to trap somebody in a lie. Hazard of my job.”
“I’ll tell you the truth, Detective.”
His face brightened. “Will you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tell me about you and Griff Burkett.”
She hadn’t seen that coming. A wave of dizziness assailed her.
Noticing her instability, Rodarte motioned her toward a sofa. “This may take awhile. Want to rethink sitting down?”
