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Home. She would have liked to make a run there, but without a car and with the roads still covered in snow, and the hospital wanting her to stay till tomorrow, she was kind of trapped for the moment. She tried to think of a friend to call to maybe pick some things up for her, but she hadn’t made any real friends in the community apart from her sister and Lang. Another pang of grief jabbed her as her thoughts touched on Kristina again. She was going to have to compartmentalize. The same way she did when investigating a case. It was the only way to manage her grief.
Exhaling, she placed a call to Lang’s cell, prepared to leave a message as it was Sunday and he didn’t answer calls from coworkers as a rule. If Savvy ever really needed to get hold of him on his days off, she had to call several times and/or text and/or drive over to the house that he shared with his fiancée.
“Savvy? Hello?”
She was surprised he picked up on the first ring, until she realized he must already know about last night somehow. “Hey, there,” she said, suddenly damn near tears again. Hormones mixed with grief. A lethal combination.
“How’s Kristina? Burghsmith said something went down at one of the Bancroft construction projects and she was injured. He met up with Bancroft at Ocean Park when your sister was in surgery.”
“St. Cloud,” Savvy corrected automatically, giving herself a moment to get her emotions under control.
“Right. St. Cloud. His mother was a Bancroft.”
“Kristina is . . . she didn’t . . .” Her inhaled breath was shaky.
When she couldn’t go on, he said, “Savannah,” in a strangled voice. He knew. “My God. Are you all right? Are you still in Portland? Do you want someone to come get you?”
He didn’t know about the baby. He didn’t know about last night. She had tried to call him but hadn’t gotten through.
“Lang, I’ve got a lot to tell you,” she said shakily.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“I’m at Ocean Park Hospital. I had the baby last night. Everything’s fine. I’m just kind of overwhelmed, and I could use some things from my house, and I didn’t know who to call. My extra phone charger, some clothes. I don’t know.”
“I’ll get Claire to help me. Got a spare key?”
She told him where to find it, then said, heartfelt, “Thanks, Lang.”
“The TCSD is here to serve and protect,” he said gently. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. . . .”
The detectives from the Seaside PD had seated themselves on two of the dining chairs on one side of the table. Hale sat across from them. He wasn’t certain whether he was annoyed that they were here when he was so tired, or relieved that they were investigating Kristina’s death. A little of both, probably.
The taller detective with the mustache, Hamett, was the one who did the most talking. Evinrud, his partner, was shorter but held himself straight as an arrow, with his chest forward in that way that he’d seen in serious workout aficionados.
Hamett had started out asking a number of questions about the Carmichael job, and Hale had freely told him everything he knew about the site, Ian and Astrid, the construction schedule, the workers, where they were in the permit process with the City of Seaside, and much, much more. He couldn’t explain what had sent Kristina to the house or why she’d climbed inside, however, and he finished answering that question with, “She knew about the Carmichael project, but we didn’t talk about my work all that much. Kristina never showed much interest.”
“What did you and your wife generally talk about?” Hamett asked.
“Personal stuff. We were having a baby. . . .” He thought of his son at the hospital and Savannah and felt a growing anxiety.
“With a surrogate?” Hamett asked, prodding when he trailed off.
“Yes. Kristina’s sister, Savannah. She’s a detective with the TCSD.”
“Uh-huh,” Hamett said. He and Evinrud stared straight ahead at him, and Hale got the feeling they were trying hard not to look at each other.
“What?” Hale demanded. He was leaning toward being annoyed over relieved.
Evinrud finally spoke up. “Where were you last night, at the time of your wife’s death?”
“Since I don’t know the time, I can’t answer exactly,” Hale responded with an edge. “I was at my office till about five, and then I went to the Bridgeport Bistro for a drink before I went home.”
“You were working on Saturday.” This from Hamett.
“Construction isn’t always Monday through Friday.”
“Your wife didn’t have a job?” Evinrud asked. He’d eased himself back in his chair, but he was as alert as a watchdog.
