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“No, I’m fine.” Liam gathered himself together. He didn’t have time to think of all the what-ifs. A man was dead, and the only thing he could do now was try to help find the murderer. He had general knowledge of police procedures, thanks to the angels, but many of the technical terms the officers used were still foreign to him. It was disconcerting and frustrating to always feel caught between two worlds. Sometimes having partial knowledge was worse than having no knowledge at all.
Liam took in the scene, doing his best to use the investigative skills he’d been given. The sleeve of John Brady’s shirt was torn, and a pool of blood seeped into the hardwood floors around his head. One arm was twisted under him. His thinning gray hair was matted on one side, and there was a marble bust toppled on the floor beside him. An overturned chair lay on its side in the middle of the room, and Margaret’s vase of roses was shattered across the living room carpet. Everything indicated clear signs of a struggle. A blackened metal wastebasket sat in the corner of the room. Two people wearing gloves and masks were sifting through the ashes and broken glass.
“Anything?” Boyd asked the man near the waste bin.
“Nothing yet, sir.”
Boyd turned back to Liam. “It appears the killer used that bust to knock Brady over the head.” He pointed to the red abrasions on the dead man’s neck. “But these marks indicate strangulation. No weapon’s been found.”
“Motive?” Liam asked.
“The safe in the back room is wide-open.”
“Anything stolen?”
Boyd shook his head. “We don’t know yet. We’ll have to ask the wife, wherever she is. We haven’t been able to get a hold of her this morning.”
“She’s outside. I saw her when I came in.” Liam studied the broken glass on the carpet, careful to keep his voice neutral. As good at deception as he was, it had been a long night, and he was dead tired. But that was nothing compared to how Margaret must be feeling. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, almost breaking his carefully controlled facade. He wanted to somehow comfort Margaret, but how could he, when he’d already hurt her? She’d likely see any overture from him as nothing but pity, and knowing Margaret as he did, she wouldn’t want it. Still, he needed to talk to her so they could get their stories straight, but she wasn’t going to be in any frame of mind to think rationally. Not after this. Liam took a determined breath and turned away from the crime scene.
Boyd was watching the people digging in the smoking waste bin with the single-minded focus of a sharpshooter. “Someone needs to get her statement.”
“I’ll go.” Liam strode outside and made his way toward a ghostly pale Margaret who was now leaning against a squad car. Someone had given her tea in a paper cup, which she clutched in her shaking hands. Her bloodshot eyes and haunted expression made her seem more fragile than he’d ever seen her.
“Is it true?” She sounded like a lost little girl. “Is he really...”
Liam briefly closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Margaret.”
“No.” She shook her head wildly, sloshing tea from her cup. “I don’t understand. I just saw him yesterday and he was fine. Who would do something like this? John is a good person.”
Liam started to reach for her, then stopped himself. “Margaret, where were you last night?”
She blinked at him in confusion.
He stepped closer and lowered his voice so no one would overhear. “They’re going to ask you where you were. Why you weren’t home. What do you want to tell them? Surely, you don’t want them to know you were out all night with another man.” She’d have enough to deal with over the next few weeks. The last thing she needed was the added stress of experiencing public ridicule or scrutiny. Liam knew this world was different, and people were more accepting of physical relationships in general, but he was pretty sure marriage still meant something, as did infidelity.
Margaret made an angry, choking sound that withered on the vine before it could bloom into a bitter laugh. “Of course. My husband just died, and you’re worried about yourself.”
He jerked his head back as if she’d slapped him. All the events of the previous night, all the strain and exhaustion, finally caught up with him. He’d told so many lies, and there were so many moving parts to the story, his head ached from it. Margaret had no idea what he’d done to keep her safe. Patience worn thin, he gritted his teeth and said, “Listen to me. Do you want to tell them the truth about us? Because I sure as hell don’t give a damn. It won’t be the first time people have judged me and found me wanting for the things I’ve done. I can weather it. It’s your reputation, and that of your husband, you should consider. But I need to know how you want to do this, so we have our stories straight. Decide now. I’ll back you in whatever you choose.”
The look she gave him was so full of bitterness, he could almost taste it. “Don’t worry, Liam. Your career is safe. I’m not going to reveal our dirty little secret. My husband is a good man. He doesn’t deserve to be touched by a scandal. I’ll say I was at my sister’s house last night. She’ll vouch for me.”
An officer approached with a clipboard to ask Margaret more questions. She turned her back on Liam, wanting nothing more to do with him.
He trudged back up the steps to the house, drained and wishing he could just go home and fall asleep for another hundred years.
Cora arrived on the scene a moment later, gasping in shock when she saw his bruised face. “What happened to you?” She rushed toward him.
He almost smiled. Typical Cora. It was in her nature to care for others, even when she was angry. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Don’t give me that,” she said in annoyance. “Your face looks terrible.”
“As I said, nothing happened.” He gave her a crooked smile, hoping to ease the tension between them.
She eyed his rumpled suit. His messy hair. The unshaven stubble on his face. “You never came home last night. If you don’t tell me what happened—”
“A bar brawl,” Boyd interrupted. “Let it go, Cora. You can have your domestic squabble later. I need you to focus here.”
Liam was relieved when she turned away and fell into her investigator role. Boyd filled her in as Liam watched the officers bag evidence. He was bone weary, but even through the guilt and exhaustion, there was relief. He was sorry John Brady had died, but at least Cora and Margaret would be okay. They might rant and rave for the trouble he’d caused them, but at least they’d be alive to do it.
