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“The bartender’s name is Minnie, and she called one of the customers Jimbo. They both talked to me.”
“Okay.” Hamett put his notebook away.
“I did not kill my wife,” Hale stated flatly.
“No one said you did. We’re just gathering evidence. Doing our job.” Evinrud tried on a smile, but it looked false.
“You’re certain it wasn’t just an accident?” Hale asked. He knew better. He knew. But he couldn’t help himself.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Hamett said. They got up from the table and Evinrud gathered up his notes. Hamett regarded Hale soberly and added, “Someone smashed your wife’s head with a chunk of a four-by-four beam. Could it have just fallen from the upstairs floor? Possibly. Unlikely. There are footprints in the construction dust. Maybe from the workmen. Maybe not. When we check your wife’s cell phone, we may have more answers.”
“You have Kristina’s cell phone?” Hale wished it were in his possession. He wanted to know whom she’d called.
“Her purse was on scene, and her cell phone was in her purse,” Hamett said. “That all right with you that we have it?”
If he objected, it would only make him seem more guilty, so Hale answered, “Whatever it takes to find out what happened.”
“Do you own a white truck?” Evinrud asked.
Hale frowned. “Not personally. The Bancroft Development trucks are white. Why?”
“A witness described a white truck parked down the street last night around seven p.m.,” Evinrud answered.
It was all Hale could do to keep from blurting that he owned a black TrailBlazer, like they didn’t know already, like that would save him from further scrutiny. Instead, he said, “Maybe she changed her mind about coming home because she was meeting someone there.”
“Any particular reason you think that?” Hamett asked.
“Just the note she left.”
“You don’t have anyone in mind? Anyone you can think of?” Hamett asked.
Hale slowly shook his head. He had no idea what his wife did in her spare time, he realized.
Do you believe in sorcery? What had she meant by that? Did it have anything to do with this? “Most of our conversations were about the baby,” was all he said.
Soon after, the detectives gathered up their things and headed toward the door. Relieved, Hale followed after them, unable to keep from asking, “You’ll let me know if you find something in her phone?”
“We’ll keep you informed, Mr. St. Cloud,” Evinrud assured him, but something about his tone didn’t inspire Hale with confidence.
As they reached the porch, Hale’s cell rang. He glanced back toward the kitchen, where he’d left it, but he just wanted to get the detectives out of his house.
“You wanna get that?” Evinrud asked when it was clear Hale was ignoring the ringing. The detective’s expression was bland, but he had a knack for making Hale feel like he was deliberately subverting the law. Man, he was getting tired of him!
“I can call ’em back,” Hale said.
Evinrud nodded, and he and Hamett stepped off the porch and trudged back through the thick snow. They got into either side of a dark blue Ford Explorer and backed down Hale’s driveway, snow crunching beneath the tires.
Hale locked the front door behind them and was heading to his phone when it rang again. Scooping it up, he saw it was his grandfather calling. Hale tried to keep the exhaustion out of his voice as he said, “I was just going to call you. I’ve got a lot of things to tell you.”
Declan said, “I think someone’s been in the house. Can you come by? I don’t know what’s going on.”
He sounded rattled, and Hale exhaled his breath, looked at the clock and said, “It might be better if I saw you in person, anyway. I’ll be there soon. . . .”
Savannah was standing in her hospital room, wondering if she could leave today, rather than tomorrow, but she’d tied herself to the baby with the breast-feeding. She realized belatedly that she hadn’t thought that through, unusual for her, but then what was usual about the events of the past twenty-four hours?
She’d learned that Hale had left the hospital, and it had left her feeling slightly untethered. She wanted a shower—her own shower—and her own clothes, and something other than hospital food. She could go down to the cafeteria and pick something of her own choosing; she had her wallet. She knew she was running on empty sleep-wise, but she did not feel tired.
“Hey,” a voice said behind her. She turned to find Lang standing in the doorway with a brown grocery bag. “Claire helped me, but we didn’t see a bag, so . . .” He placed the grocery bag on her bed a bit apologetically. “Claire headed to work. They’re short-staffed because of the weather, but she’s chained up.”
