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“I know how hard this has to be on you, so we’ll make it as quick as we can,” Rachel said. She could tell that he’d be fine to talk to; already, she could tell that he was the sort that was going to hold it all in as long as he could. And she also knew that meant he’d be as stoic and solid as possible until the moment the funeral was over. When he came back home and realized she was truly gone for good, he’d break. And he’d spent about a week trying to pull himself out of despair. She’d seen it far too many times to count throughout her career.
“You’re fine,” he said as he led them into his den. “You can take as much time as you need. I don’t expect to get much sleep tonight, anyway.”
“Well, for starters,” Rachel said, “I’d like to hear, in your words, what your wife was like…here at home, at work, and maybe even her demeanor over the past few weeks.”
Declan smiled while he plopped himself down into an elegant-looking armchair. The den almost looked like a library, with bookshelves covering the entire back wall, and a cozy reading corner by a small fireplace on the opposite side of the room. There was also a couch in the room, placed on an ornamental rug in the center. Rachel and Sullivan sat on it as Declan Willis began to tell them about his recently deceased wife.
“Emma was obsessed with the idea of working in the anti-aging field ever since I first met her as a freshman in college. And by the time we were both in our senior year, she had hospitals openly competing to have her work with them. Ultimately, she chose the Cleveland Clinic but then pretty quickly moved to Seattle when she found out there were labs actively working on anti-aging techniques. When she called to inquire, they pretty much offered her a job over the phone. And that’s how we ended up in Seattle.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Coming up on about fifteen years.”
“And Emma had been working in that same field ever since then?”
“Yes. Well, at the start, it was sort of part-time. She would do routine hospital work but then also contribute to the work being done in the labs for anti-aging. It wasn’t until the last seven or eight years that the advancements in the field really allowed her to focus on it full-time.”
“I assume she collaborated with lots of different doctors and scientists, right?”
“Oh, for sure. We had Christmas parties right here in this house for two years straight, comprised of only people she had worked with in that year. And this place was packed out.”
“Did she ever have a falling out with anyone she worked with?”
“No. Nothing bad. I mean, she’d tell me about disagreements she had with others, but it was always very professional…heated debates about things, you know?”
“And I wonder…can you recall her ever being the target of any protests? Even if it was just her office and not her directly.”
“There was one moment several years ago when there were protestors outside of the hospital. They were throwing trash at the cars of some of the doctors, not even knowing which doctors they were supposed to be angry at. They were pissed about the stem-cell stuff, of course. But everyone at Emma’s work always did a good job of sort of keeping the inner workings of their office discreet. I don’t think that building itself ever actually saw any protests.”
Out of nowhere, a small sob escaped his mouth and he looked away, as if embarrassed. Rachel waited for him to collect himself before pressing on, though as it turned out, she didn’t need to. As soon as he took a single breath following the sob, he started again.
“And I know where you’re headed with this,” he said. “The cops asked during the initial visit, and Detective Sullivan asked, too: did she have any enemies, anyone who might want her dead. And I’ve thought so much about that, but I just can't come up with anything."
“Was it uncommon for her to be in that apartment, working at such late hours?” Rachel asked.
“God, no. In fact, over the past year or so, it’s been a pretty regular thing. There are some weeks where Belle actually stays there, too. And I just thank God this wasn’t one of those nights.”
Rachel thought back to one of the most basic ideas she'd formed on the case. The killer had known Dr. Willis was going to be in the apartment rather than at home. That, or they'd taken her out, following her and studying her schedule. These details alone led her to believe that the killer was likely not going to be someone who knew the victims intimately. The need to follow and study indicated a lack of basic knowledge concerning the lives of the victims.
“You said you sent your daughter upstairs to finish up discussions on the funeral, correct?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“How is she doing?”
“Quiet. Se’s trying to eb strong…even making the same lame jokes she sometimes makes. But I know what she’s doing…she’s going to do the same thing I’m going to do. She’s going to keep her shit together until the funeral, and then she's going to b…br…”
Declan uttered a curse and turned away, wiping at freshly fallen tears.
“Would you allow me to speak with her?” Rachel asked.
Declan’s tear-streaked eyes shows surprise at the question, but he nodded. “That’s fine…but why?”
“Well, you said yourself that she sometimes stayed with her mother when she was at the apartment. It’s also just always wise to get as many perspectives as possible. How old is Belle?”
“Thirteen.” He got up from the chair as if glad to have an excuse to be moving again. “I’m sure you’ll understand,” he said, “that I’d really rather you not speak with her in private. I just don’t know how she’d react.”
“That’s perfectly fine.”
