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“Johnny left town after Nate died, went into seclusion for several weeks. I have no idea where he went. I never asked, and he never told me. Again, he didn’t discuss anything about Nate’s death with me.
“Agent Savich, like most people, Johnny wasn’t all good or all bad, and he worked tirelessly for his constituents during his years in Congress, as well as the years before when he was mayor of Clairemont. He was no murderer.”
Savich said, “You and Nate Elderby were friends as well, I’m sure, for many years until his death, despite his questionable ethics, correct?”
“We all spent time together, of course, mostly with Nate and his first wife, Lorna. Yes, we were all close, even after Nate divorced Lorna and married a woman young enough to be his daughter. Miranda, a ridiculously dramatic name. I do not remember her maiden name.”
Savich heard it clearly, cold dislike when she’d said Miranda’s name. “Would Mr. Elderby’s second wife know any more particulars about her husband’s death, ma’am? And his relationship to your husband at that time?”
She huffed out a breath. “Miranda, know something important about anything? She was about as smart as a head of lettuce, a silly, vain young woman of questionable moral character. She wasn’t his equal, in either intellect or interests. She married Nate for his money, no doubt in my mind. If he hadn’t died, he would have divorced her within months. You know the type, flaunted herself in front of him, treated him like the king of the world, and Nate, being a man, fell for it.” She seemed to realize her voice had gotten louder, faster, so she paused, collected herself, and said in a calm voice, “Now, I still fail to see the importance of any possible disagreement between my husband and his friend for your purposes, Agent Savich. And what are your purposes, may I ask?”
“You’re being very helpful, and I appreciate it. We were talking about Mr. Elderby’s wife?”
She must have realized how her diatribe against Nate’s young wife had sounded, but she couldn’t take the words back. “They were married only six months before he died. After his funeral, she cashed out, sold the house, his cars, his boat, and left. I heard she moved to Maryland, married a dentist.” She gave a world-weary laugh. “It goes to show her sort always lands on her feet, always flourishes.”
Time to push. Savich asked, “Why all the venom toward the young wife?”
“Venom? The fact is, Miranda was a disaster. She ruined Nate’s life. If she hadn’t trotted out such a good alibi, I bet the police would have arrested her for Nate’s murder. Who knows?”
Jealousy, rock-hard jealousy, and it still burned. Savich asked, “Nate had no children?”
A contemptuous laugh. “No, although Lorna wanted a child.” She added, as if she couldn’t help herself, “As for Miranda, if Nate hadn’t died, I doubt she would have ever agreed to a pregnancy. She wouldn’t have wanted to ruin her figure.”
She was silent for several moments, then said in an emotionless voice, “It’s been too long even to remember clearly what one felt, what one believed. If someone murdered Nate, it wasn’t Johnny. I have no idea who it would have been.” She gave a short laugh. “I remember thinking if Johnny and Nate were gay, it would have been perfect for both of them. They were that close. You must excuse me now, Agent Savich. I’m needed in a meeting.” And without another word, she punched off.
Savich leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and thought. Was she telling the truth? Or did she not remember the events that clearly anymore? He’d bet his last dollar she remembered every detail of her own fourth birthday party. She was a fascinating woman, a woman still carrying a trail of bitterness after so many years. At her husband? He’d give that a yes. And Miranda. It was obvious to him she disliked Rebekah as well. Why? Was it again a case of simple jealousy because her husband loved his granddaughter so much? Maybe more than his wife? There had to be more. There was always more. He’d have to speak to Rebekah.
Savich looked up to see Denny Roper at his office door, grinning and holding another large brown paper–wrapped box. “Here you go, Agent Savich—just as you predicted.”
Savich led Denny and the agents who’d followed him to the CAU into the conference room. They gathered around the conference table, every eye on Savich as he cut off the wrapping paper, pulled out the third red box, and poured out the puzzle pieces. A couple of minutes later the new puzzle section was complete. Savich fitted the three sections together, and they stared down at an older big-bellied man wearing a purple Grateful Dead T-shirt and hanging out a window. Above him was a sign that read ALWORTH HOTEL. Flames were pouring out of the window, surrounding him, enveloping him. He was screaming.
