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As they moved to the living room, Emma fished through the pocket of her robe, found an elastic, and unsteadily tied her hair into a ponytail. She and the two detectives took seats, while the patrolman remained standing by the entrance to the hall, like a bouncer at the front door of a nightclub.
“Please,” Emma asked, nearly pleading this time. “What’s happened?”
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, Ms. Hawke,” Lennox said, “but it appears your husband was killed tonight in New York City.”
His words seemed to hover in the air like a drone at eye level, vibrating slightly.
“Killed?” she finally said. “How?”
“He was shot twice in the torso. The location was a small alley on Greene Street in SoHo. Probably between nine thirty and ten thirty. It looks like it might have been an attempted robbery, but we don’t know for certain yet.”
She stared at Lennox, at the long, thin mouth that cut across the lower half of his face like a slit in a piece of cloth.
“It... it can’t be him. Derrick’s in the city tonight but at a conference. He’s staying in Midtown.”
“Unfortunately, we’re fairly certain it was Mr. Rand. Can you please describe him for us?”
“Uh, about six feet tall, well built. Short brown hair... brown eyes.”
Lennox nodded grimly. “Though the victim’s wallet and phone were missing, we found a ticket in his pants pocket for a BMW parked in a nearby garage on Friday morning and registered in your husband’s name. There was also a small leather case with business cards in the other pocket.”
Reaching into his own pocket, Lennox withdrew a business card and leaned forward for Emma to take a look. It was Derrick’s.
“Oh my god.”
It was true then. Her thirty-seven-year-old husband was dead, was gone forever, was never going to come home from work, step into this room, and stretch his legs across the pale gray ottoman across from her. Ever again. She began to tremble, her arms and legs doing a crazy kind of twitch.
“Let’s get you some water,” Detective Martinez said gently. “Your kitchen is—?”
Emma flung an arm in the general direction. The detective was gone and back in less than a minute, and after offering Emma the glass, Martinez picked up a wool throw from the back of one of the armchairs and draped it around her shoulders.
It took both hands for Emma to grasp the glass, and she managed only a tiny sip from it before setting it down on the side table.
“Where is he now?” Emma asked, the shaking subsiding. “In—in the hospital? The ER?”
“He was declared dead at the scene, so he was taken directly to the city morgue,” Lennox said. “On First Avenue and Twenty-Sixth Street.”
Against her will, Emma saw it in her mind’s eye—Derrick lying in one of those steel drawers they show on crime shows, his body zipped into a long black bag. His flesh already starting to decay.
She gulped. “Do I need to go there? To identify him?”
“Not tonight.” Lennox unbuttoned his coat but didn’t remove it. “That can be done in the morning when you might be feeling a bit stronger. But I do have a few questions for now. You mentioned your husband was at a conference. Can you tell us the nature of the conference and where it was being held?”
“It was an off-site management conference at the, um, Cole Hotel, for Alta, his employer. Like the card says, he’s their head of financial planning.”
“And where did you spend the evening?”
“Where? Uh, here at the house. Spouses and partners weren’t invited.”
“And you weren’t alarmed when your husband didn’t return home this evening?” There was nothing exactly challenging in his tone, but it seemed more deliberate than a moment before. She suddenly noticed that Martinez was jotting notes on a small pad.
“No—it’s a weekend event, and it’s not over until noon on Sunday. Well, today.”
“And he decided to spend the nights in the city instead of coming back here? It’s not that long of a drive.”
“The sessions start early and there are dinners at night.... And he’s part of management. He’s—he was supposed to be present almost twenty-four seven.... Did anyone see anything? Anything at all?”
“We’re still canvassing the area and hope to find out,” Lennox said. “Can you tell us the last time you spoke to your husband?”
