"Of course. Follow me."
Wayne went up the stairs without a second glance. She could see in his back that being in control meant a great deal to him. Outside in the gym, his wife's body was" being photographed, videotaped, examined by someone from the medical examiner's office, and slowly prepared for removal. He had given up trying to see her in situ. He was moving on. At the top of the marble stairs he entered an octagonal room filled with books. The sun streamed in from a leaded bay window that completed three of the eight sides. It was noon.
April felt the power of the room with its unusual bright orange Oriental carpet, unusual windows, leather desk, armchairs, and computer hooked up to a large-screen "TV. Wayne sat down in his desk chair and leaned forward.
"She was only thirty-four, a beautiful, wonderful woman. A terrific mother to our boys," he said heatedly, riding up the roller coaster of emotion again.
April nodded. Of course she was. The dead were either saints or devils. She was beginning to think Maddy had to have been a saint to put up with him. Or maybe a devil for wanting him in the first place, but it wasn't her call and it didn't matter one. way or the other.
"This is why I asked you up here. I want to get this over and done with right now. Get everything on the table," Wayne said, ignoring the fact that it had been April's idea to find a private place to talk.
April wished she had a tape recorder with her. She had a feeling this was going to be a good one. Wayne's expression was open. She knew his type. He was a liar who deeply believed he told only the truth.
"I'm a man. Once in a while I fucked other women. It didn't mean anything. Maddy was my wife, the woman I loved." He looked to her for the reactions he was used to getting: understanding, applause for the performance, pity. Whatever.
"I'll need their names," April replied stoutly. Out came the notebook. Wayne stared at her as she wrote
player.
"What?" He sounded startled.
April brushed her fingers against the buttery leather on the back of the closest club chair. "The names of your girlfriends," she prompted.
"Wait a minute. They're not
girlfriends.
You're not listening to anything I said. I thought we were friends. Don't go cop on me," he said in an injured tone.
"Mr. Wilson, just give me a moment to tell you how this works. And then we'll have everything squared away."
"Just a minute—"
"I know this is very painful for you, but friendship doesn't enter into police work,' ' April said firmly, cutting him off. "It's the same for everybody. What's going to happen here is this. You better look for another place to stay for a few days. We'11 be going through this house, looking at your wife's things, her notes, her telephone calls, her appointment list. Her friends, her employees—all the people who knew and worked with her will be interviewed. In addition, we'll put everyone in this household under a microscope. It's not optional."
He shook his head. "But this isn't necessary. I can tell you everything you need to know."
"Well, maybe, but maybe not. Did she know everything about you? Did she know about your girlfriends?"
His face hardened. "That's not the point."
"We're going to catch her killer. Trust me on that. You can help us by letting us do our job."
"Well, that's exactly what I'm trying to do," he said benignly. "Help you do your job."
"Good, then we'll get along fine. By the way, all the officers you see here are a team. Sergeant Minnow is in charge, so why don't you tell him what you just told me."
Nine
April found Mike sitting on a stone bench at the back of the garden still wearing his Tyvek suit. As captain of the precinct, he should have been gone a long time ago. He was on his cell phone and gestured for her to come over. Then he abruptly ended the call.
"What do you have?" he asked.
"You first," she said.
"Fish's boys found knives in the babysitter's knapsack. They were wrapped in today's newspaper."
"Oh, gee. Which one?" April asked to lighten the mood.
"The
Times,
does it matter?" He lifted an eyebrow. "What do you think of her?"
April cocked her head to one side. As she considered her answer, she caught sight of a large gas grill in an outdoor kitchen. It was quite a patio out there, a nice leafy bower surrounded by ten-foot brick walls topped with a cap of iron spikes. She wondered who else had the code to the garage door, if anyone could have come over the walls. Who had brought the iris into the gym? She had a lot of questions.
"Where was the knapsack?" she asked first.
"On her bed."
On her bed, right where anybody could find it. Humph. This was how people jumped to conclusions and convicted the wrong suspect. "Well, she goes to cooking school. They use their own knives," April told him.
Mike's eyes narrowed. "Did you see her picture?" '
She knew whom he meant. "Mrs. Wilson? Yeah, she was a beauty." And she happened to have a husband who cheated on her. Maybe with the nanny to whom he'd promised a job he hadn't delivered.
"What does the presence of the knives mean to you?" Mike was still on the knives.
"Oh, please. Don't jump to conclusions. For a cook, they're tools, like drills and hammers are for carpenters. She paused, then continued. "It's a guy kind of crime. All that violence and lack of control—male."
He made a face at the gender putdown. "She had opportunity, and it took organization to clean up. That's a girl thing."
"Well, sure. But I'm thinking it was a man," April insisted. "The knife only proves it was spur-of-the-moment. The killer grabbed whatever came to hand—"
"How could a knife come to hand in the gym?" Mike interrupted.
"I don't know. Maybe it was scissors. Did you see the flower? Maybe Maddy brought the knife or the scissors in herself to cut flowers."
"Could be." Mike looked doubtful, though. "The killer was definitely in the shower with her. Maybe
she
turned on the water to wash herself off, not the victim."
"I don't see the killer as a woman," April insisted, knowing what that meant for Remy.
"It had to be someone with access to the knives, to the gym, someone who was angry enough to keep stabbing after she was dead—"
"Like a lover, or a husband," April said softly.
"Or a jealous babysitter. Someone who knew how to clean. She's the maid."
"Oh, I see. You've been talking to Fish. Okay, my turn. Remy told me Wayne promised her a job at Soleil, and she was only supposed to work here until it opened. She still seems to think he'll give it to her eventually. We know she didn't get the job, but 1 wouldn't call that a motive." April spoke passionately. She didn't want a lynching.
"Maddy had a trainer, name of Derek Meke, who was with her after Remy and Wayne took the kids to play school. After they dropped the kids off, Remy went to Wayne's restaurant to look at an oven, then walked home from there. We'll have to get confirmation on that. She said that after she got back, Derek did not come into the house, that he never came into the house."
"You know where to find him?"
"I can find him. One more thing." April had kept the best for last. "Wayne told me he fooled around."
"Ay caramba." Mike sighed. "That's too bad. 1 liked him. Do you have a name?"
April shook her head. "Apparently it was more than one woman. He didn't want to name names."
"Well, if it was the babysitter, there's your motive." Mike stood up. "I have to get going."
"Me, too. What do you want me to do, chico April said, rising from the bench. " I have a bunch of people waiting for me in my shop. Avise has another job for me. If you think Remy did it, tell Fish to go for it. It's your call."