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Delta drew a breath, then told him about her discovery of Tanner collapsed on the floor, the knife, the myriad of wounds, the blood . . . She answered most of his questions monosyllabically, the color receding further from her face as she relived the scene.
McCrae stepped in and said, “We want to get a picture of Tanner’s life before the attack, get an idea what the last few weeks have been like, how things have been going in his life, your marriage, like that.”
She nodded, taking another swallow. She looked scared. McCrae didn’t blame her. It was scary to be in a police interview. He just hoped it wasn’t from something more serious.
“My husband and I love each other,” she began, “but we’ve hit a rough spot in our marriage. Since Tanner took over his father’s clinic, it’s taken a lot of work to stay . . . happy. But let me say this clearly: I did not attack my husband. I found him lying on the floor with all that blood.” She shook her head. “My hand touched the knife, and I got a cut.” She lifted her palm. “But it was on the floor already. I don’t know who would do this to him. I mean, why? I just don’t understand.”
McCrae glanced at Quin, who was watching Delta closely. McCrae couldn’t tell if he was moved by her words, as his face hadn’t changed expression in the slightest.
“That’s what we aim to find out,” McCrae told her.
Quin asked, “Is there anything else, say over the last year or so . . . anything you can remember that maybe stood out? Something that seemed off?”
Delta deliberated, then slowly shook her head, before remembering another party that she and Tanner had attended about six months prior. Tanner and another man had had some words about the way their cars were parked, how Tanner had pulled into a parking spot too fast and punched his car into the pickup across from him. Minor damage to the pickup, although Tanner’s hood had lifted and buckled and the radiator had needed replacing. “They tossed some insults back and forth, but it didn’t last long.”
Quin moved on, but then circled back and seemed to ask further questions that really covered the same ground they’d already gone over. It was all McCrae could do to remain silent.
Finally, they were wrapping up, and Delta had scooted her chair back, when Quin asked, “Where were you just prior to going to the clinic to ostensibly meet your husband?”
“Ostensibly? I was meeting my husband. That’s why I was at the clinic.” She looked slightly perturbed. “Before that I was at a fund-raiser for Englewood Academy.”
“At the Bengal Room?”
“Well . . . uh . . . yes, it started out as a tea and sort of continued,” Delta answered, flustered.
McCrae gave Quin a long look. Who’d been feeding him information today?
“And you saw Dean Sutton there?”
Delta regarded him in confusion. “Coach Sutton? No. I . . . was he there? At the Bengal Room?”
“You’ve talked to Sutton?” McCrae asked Quin, a little surprised he’d kept it from him.
“He called into the department and said he’d seen Mrs. Stahd at the Bengal Room last night with some people.”
“We all just went to have a drink,” Delta said a bit dazedly. “Seems longer ago than just last night.”
“Agreed,” McCrae said. He was running on fumes after a night of no sleep, and Tanner’s stabbing felt as if it was days ago.
Meanwhile, Delta had grown paler, if that was possible, and had shrunk into her chair. Something was up there.
“What did Sutton have to say?” McCrae asked Quin.
“Maybe Delta could tell us,” Quin suggested.
“I didn’t see him. I wasn’t there long. I had to meet Tanner and relieve my mother from babysitting.” She licked her lips. “I had a drink, maybe two, and then I left. I wish Coach would’ve talked to me.”
“He said you were busy.” Quin was sober.
What the hell? McCrae was feeling tense. He hated being left in the dark, and he really hated seeing Delta look so guilty. He was going to have to talk to Dean Sutton himself.
“I spoke with your receptionist and an assistant who worked at the clinic,” Quin switched subjects when Delta didn’t respond. “Tia Marvin and Amy Panterra.”
“Yes,” said Delta.
“You’ve been on the phone a lot today,” McCrae observed to Quin.
“They said your marriage is over,” Quin went on, ignoring McCrae, “and that your husband has made advances toward them.”
