скачать книгу бесплатно
“He wouldn’t do that,” Liz told her old friend.
“Your old lover might not do it, but you never can tell about the sheriff. Since they’re one and the same, I’d rather not take any chances.” Powell tucked a finger under her chin. “You doing okay?”
“I’ve had better days,” she said truthfully.
“I can imagine. Tell me what happened,” the attorney said. “Beginning to end.”
“That could take a long time. I’m not sure how patient Walker Ames is likely to be.”
“He’ll wait,” Powell said confidently. “He doesn’t have any choice.”
Even so, Liz gave him the condensed version of her marriage. She wasn’t surprised to see the shock that registered on Powell’s face. She and Larry had done a great job of covering the chasm in their relationship, particularly in Richmond.
“It all came to a head this week.” She repeated what she’d told Tucker about the fight they’d had, about her retreat to Swan Ridge, about spending the day on her boat, and about going home to find Larry’s body. Powell took copious notes, nodding occasionally but otherwise keeping his expression bland and his own comments to a minimum.
“I didn’t do it,” she said, because she felt she had to get it on the record with him.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said at once. “They’re not likely to come up with anything more than circumstantial evidence. We can beat it.”
Liz felt a shudder of revulsion. “You’re not listening to me, Powell—I…did…not…do…it. If you don’t believe that, then I don’t want you to represent me.”
His gaze shot up then and clashed with hers. Eventually, he nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s make sure that nobody thinks otherwise for a single second. There’s a lot of media out front. I’ll get them around here.”
“Before I’ve talked to the police?”
“Preemptive strike,” he said succinctly. “We get our message out before they do.”
That little chill of dismay ran through her again. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”
“It’s a challenge, a battle of wits,” he conceded with a disturbing glint of anticipation in his eyes.
“Same thing. I don’t like it.”
“Sweetcakes, when you’re in this kind of a jam, you need somebody on your side who understands the rules. You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. You just have to let me do my job. I am very, very good at it.”
A part of Liz knew he was right. The law and politics had a lot in common. Much of the game was about perception. If she was forthcoming with the public, through the media, she could win the first round. She hated it, but it was a fact of life. And the last few years had taught her to be a pragmatist.
But, she vowed, once this was over, she would never again compromise her own beliefs for the sake of expediency. She was going to find the decent, caring woman she’d once been and fit back inside that skin.
Powell regarded her expectantly. “What’s it going to be?”
“Get the reporters,” she said quietly. “But before you ask, you can forget the fake tears for the benefit of the cameras.”
“You’ll have more credibility if you come across as a grieving widow.”
“I’ll have more credibility if I tell the truth,” she said adamantly.
“Fine. Do it your way. But leave out the stuff about the affairs. That needs to come from somebody else. It’ll make you look more sympathetic.”
Liz glanced toward the house and spotted Tucker watching her from inside. He was going to be furious about this impromptu news conference Powell was about to call. For a moment, the prospect of his disapproval was almost enough to make her call it off, but she was paying Powell for his expertise. And Tucker himself was the one who’d suggested she call him. Surely he knew what a barracuda Powell was. She had to follow the attorney’s advice, even if the next few minutes tore her apart inside.
“I know what to do,” she said tightly. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Powell nodded, punched in a number on his cell phone and spoke to someone in a low voice. Within minutes, an entire herd of reporters rounded the side of the house. Tucker had clearly spotted them, because he came charging out the door with a man who had to be Walker Ames right on his heels. Before they could get close enough, Powell had gestured for quiet and began making a statement.
“This is a very sad occasion for this county, the entire Northern Neck of Virginia and the state,” Powell intoned solemnly. “We have just learned that Delegate Lawrence Chandler has been found dead in his home, the apparent victim of foul play. As I’m sure you can imagine, his wife is in shock, but I have persuaded her to say a few words. There will be no questions at this time, though I am sure that the investigating officer from the sheriff’s office will speak to you when we’re through and fill you in on what they have so far.”
Liz risked a glance at Walker Ames, saw the barely restrained fury on his face. She could just imagine what he’d have to say when she was finished. She didn’t dare look at Tucker.
Liz stepped forward, determined that what she would say now would be only the truth, even if only half the truth. She would not be the one to tarnish her husband’s reputation. She summoned her memories of Larry’s best qualities.
“The people have lost an ardent champion today,” she began softly. “My husband was a dedicated public servant who believed fervently in his ideals. He was a great delegate. He would have made a wonderful governor. This is a senseless tragedy, and I assure all of you that I will not rest until the person responsible has been brought to justice.”
She allowed her gaze to meet Walker’s, to hold it without blinking. “I am confident that Deputy Ames, who is handling the case, will bring it to a rapid conclusion, for Larry’s sake and for the sake of all of us who loved him.”
She turned then and walked directly to the deputy. “I’ll answer your questions now.”
“You’d better believe it,” he said tersely. “Inside.”
“You don’t want to make a statement to the media first?” she asked, surprised that he would let the opportunity to counteract her statement pass by.
He gave her a wry look. “I think the reporters have plenty to chew on for the moment. That was a nice performance. I imagine your lawyer put you up to it.”
“I make my own decisions, Deputy.”
Something that might have been respect flickered in his eyes for just an instant. “I’m glad to see that you believe in being accountable for your actions.”
“Always.”
He gestured toward a chair at her kitchen table. It was the first time in years Liz had sat there. Larry had frowned on sitting down to eat in the kitchen. He’d said it was common. In so doing, he’d managed to deprive Liz of a habit begun in childhood, when she’d eaten with the housekeeper more evenings than not. She’d been happier in this room than anywhere else in the drafty old house. It had reminded her of the Spencers’ home, where the family tended to congregate in the kitchen, both while Mrs. Spencer was alive and after, when Daisy had been struggling to make everything seem exactly the same despite their terrible loss.
Liz had been accepted as a part of the family back then. Tucker had seen to that. Even Daisy had liked her, had treated her like a sister.
Remembering all that, Liz felt sadder, but stronger somehow. She sat at the scarred oak table, then met Deputy Ames’s gaze. “Whenever you’re ready,” she told him just as Powell came charging through the door. Before he could speak, she waved him to a seat in the background. “It’s okay. We’re just getting started.”
“Okay, Mrs. Chandler, let’s make it simple. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened here yesterday?”
For the third time, Liz described the events that had led up to the discovery of her husband’s body. She tried to read the deputy’s expression as she spoke, but he would have been an excellent poker player. His face gave nothing away.
“And after you found him, what did you do?”
“I panicked,” she said. “I knew what people would think, so I went looking for Tucker. I knew he’d know how to handle it.”
“Why didn’t you just call him?”
The memory of the moment when she’d realized that Larry had been shot, that he was indeed dead, came flooding back over her. Tears stung her eyes at the senseless waste of a life.
“I…” She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stay here. Not for another minute.”
“Because?”
She scowled at his lack of sensitivity. “Because my husband was dead, Deputy Ames. He’d been murdered. I couldn’t bear seeing him like that. And for all I knew the person who’d done it was still around here somewhere.”
“So you still had feelings for him, even though you intended to divorce him?”
“Of course I did. I had loved Larry Chandler with all my heart. Just because our marriage hadn’t worked didn’t mean that I wanted him dead or even that I didn’t still care about him. In many ways, he was a wonderful man. He just wasn’t a very good husband.”
“Meaning?”
She glanced at Powell and saw his nod. “Meaning that he was unfaithful.”
“He had an affair?”
“There were affairs,” she confirmed. “I lost count.”
“Did they end badly?”
“You’d have to ask the women that.”
“Names?”
“I can give you those I knew about,” she said wearily. “I’ll make a list. I can’t swear it’ll be complete.”
“What about political enemies? Did he have them?”
“Of course.”
“Business problems?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Is there anyone you can think of who would have reason to want your husband dead?”
She told him about the veiled, anonymous threats. “I believe the notes and answering machine tapes with the messages are in the safe. I can get them for you.”
Walker nodded. “Let’s do that, then.”
He followed her into the library, watched as she pressed a button and a panel of bookshelves swung away from the wall. Behind it was a safe originally installed by her grandfather. She turned the lock, then stepped aside.
Donning gloves, Walker drew out jewelry boxes, packets of papers, then a box that contained the letters and tapes. He took that, placed it into an evidence bag, then returned everything else.
“Have you had a chance to look around?” he asked. “Did you notice if anything is missing?”
“I only came through the foyer and into this room last night. I went out the same way.”
“Then let’s take a look around. Are there other valuables beyond what’s in the safe?”
“I keep a few pieces of jewelry in my room. There’s silver that’s kept in the pantry.”
Liz led the way upstairs. She knew it would be evident when they walked into her room that she hadn’t shared it with Larry. There were no masculine belongings, just antique perfume bottles and cosmetics on the dressing table, gowns in one closet, her suits and casual clothes in another. The carpet and iron bed were white, the comforter white with sprigs of violets. Gauzy white curtains billowed at the open windows. It was a very feminine room and not nearly as large as the master suite down the hall. It had suited her as a girl, and she had retreated to it when she no longer wanted to share a bed with her unfaithful husband.
Walker surveyed the room without comment, waiting while she checked her jewelry box.
“Everything is here,” she said when she’d counted the few pieces of antique jewelry that had sentimental value to her. The far more expensive treasures, the ones Larry had lavished on her after each affair, were in the safe downstairs. Those, too, had been accounted for—not that she’d cared.
“Let’s see if the silver’s where it’s supposed to be,” Walker said.
“It’ll be closer if we take the back stairway,” Liz told him. It was the way she’d slipped downstairs in the middle of the night for cookies as a girl, the way she’d sneaked outside to meet Tucker as a teenager. Even now she almost expected to find him waiting for her just outside the kitchen door.
He wasn’t.
Every piece of silver, much of it from famed English silvermakers of the eighteenth century and earlier, was exactly where it belonged, gleaming on the padded shelves of a special silver closet in the pantry. As a girl, Liz had been awed by the display. She’d even liked the rainy afternoons when she’d sat at the table helping the housekeeper polish every piece. She’d loved imagining tea being poured from this very service by some distant ancestor in London hundreds of years before. She’d read every book in her grandfather’s library about the gracious way of life from which she was descended.
Dreaming about a bygone era was a far cry, however, from wanting to live in it. She had balked at the old-fashioned constraints her grandfather had placed on her, stolen every opportunity to break free so that she could follow Tucker on his adventures. He had given her back the childhood that the tragic death of her parents had stolen.
Tucker would have given her the world if she’d let him. But Larry had come along with his charm and his prospects. Her grandfather, one of Larry’s staunchest political supporters, had encouraged the two of them to spend time together. He’d believed they shared the same ideals. After several lengthy conversations, Liz had come to believe it, too.
For her, those talks had been intellectually stimulating, nothing more. Spending time with Larry had been the first thing she’d ever done of which her grandfather had totally approved.
Later that had been a huge incentive to say yes when Larry had proposed, that and the promise of the fairy-tale wedding of which every girl dreamed.
“Mrs. Chandler?”
She snapped her attention back to Walker Ames.
“Is all of the silver here?”
She nodded.
“Okay, then, unless you discover something missing, I think we can safely rule out robbery as a motive. I’d appreciate that list of names as soon as possible.”
“I’ll do it this afternoon,” she said.
“Good. Where can I pick it up?”
She was startled by the question. “I can’t stay here?”
“Not for the time being,” he said. “Once we’re sure all the evidence had been gathered, we’ll release it, and you can move back in.”
“Will I be able to take a few of my things?”
“Of course. I’ll wait while you get them, then I can drive you wherever you’d like to go.”
“I came with Tucker. I’m sure he can take me…someplace.”
The deputy looked as though he disapproved, but he said only, “I’ll check with him while you pack. I can have one of the deputies go up with you.”
“That’s not necessary,” she began, but then she saw the look on his face and sighed. “That will be fine.”
