Oddly, although Cecelia backed off a bit, Lyle didn’t seem to relax. Or maybe it was just his normal demeanor; as Darien had said after their original contact with him, he was a bit full of being a Gardner. But they shooed Stephen away, and turned on Colin and Darien.
“If you don’t have anything worthwhile to report to us,” Lyle demanded, gesturing rather wildly, “why are you here and not out hunting the person who killed my brother?”
Because we’re here hunting the person who killed your brother, Colin thought, eyeing the man. Something was bothering him about Lyle, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
“Because we have some additional questions to ask.” He turned to Darien, letting his gaze flick from her to Mrs. Gardner and back. She picked up on his cue quickly, and more efficiently than he would have thought possible she had ushered the redoubtable woman away, leaving him with the surviving Gardner brother.
Now he just had to decide where to start, and how far to go.
Darien studied the woman sitting beside her, wondering if she was imagining that she looked older, less intimidating than before. She certainly hadn’t expected it to be so easy to separate her and get her alone.
“I’m sorry this is so difficult,” she said, going on instinct. “It must seem like this process takes forever to you.”
“At least you finally have the killer in custody now,” the woman said, but her critical tone seemed more automatic than truly snappish. As had the order for coffee; Darien doubted, had the woman been herself, that she would be serving one of the cops she held responsible for all the delay.
“We thought we did, but it turns out the evidence proved us wrong and we had to begin again.”
Mrs. Gardner actually looked startled. “Wrong?”
“Yes. He’s still being held on…other charges, but it appears he’s not guilty of murdering your son.”
“Then who is it?”
“We don’t know yet. I’m sorry.”
“It’s my son who’s dead,” she snapped. “First I have to fight to get them to release his body for burial, and now you’re telling me the man you arrested is innocent and you don’t have any idea who killed him?”
“I didn’t say we had no idea. Just nothing I can talk about yet.”
Mrs. Gardner subsided, but not happily. Darien looked at the elderly woman, who looked not stylishly slender just now, but thin and frail. And no matter how she tried she couldn’t picture her killing not just her own son, but anyone.
Except perhaps by slicing them to death with that tongue of hers, she added silently.
“We understand your need to protect your family,” Darien said. “Especially when you’ve already lost a son. But doesn’t that son deserve your total honesty, if it will help find his killer?”
For a long moment Cecelia Gardner looked at her, a steady, assessing gaze that made Darien want to draw back. But she held her place, met the woman’s gaze, and refused to avert her eyes. Finally, as if defeated, Mrs. Gardner broke first and looked away.
She’s hiding something, Darien realized with a little jolt. She knows something, and she’s hiding it.
Her mind began to race. Could she have found out about her son’s little sideline? Was she afraid we’ll also find out, or already know? Or did she know something about her son’s murder that she wasn’t telling? She still couldn’t believe the woman could have done it herself, but neither could she doubt that Cecelia Gardner knew something she wasn’t telling.
By the time she was back in the car with Colin, she wasn’t any closer to figuring it out. So when he asked her what she’d gotten, all she could say was, “She’s hiding something. She knows something, or is afraid we’ll find out something she doesn’t want us to.”
“Protecting someone?”
She considered that. “Possibly.” And then, after a moment, she added, “And I can’t think of all that many people she’d take the risk for.”
“Neither can I.”
“So if we follow this to the logical end…”
“We’ve narrowed our suspect pool considerably,” Colin said, finishing the thought for her. “Especially after Stephen’s comment about his father being big on family loyalty.” The two prime suspects were obviously what was left of Cecelia Gardner’s family. And that made the morass they were treading through even messier.
“And if our suspect is someone important enough for Cecelia Gardner to protect…”
Colin again finished her unspoken thought. “It’s somebody we’re going to have to be very careful with.”
“So now what?”
“Back to the station, I guess. I need to find something, and I may need your help.”
“All right. What is it?”
“A photograph. Probably a society page type of thing.”
“And it’s at the station?”
“No. I’m not even sure it exists, but if it does I figured you could help me find it online.”
“If you need an online search, let’s go to my place. I’ve got a cable connection, and it’ll be a lot faster.”
“All right. Where to?”
She gave him the address of her apartment, and he nodded.
Darien barely noticed the quiet as they drove; she’d found silence with Colin soothing rather than unsettling. Besides, she was sure he was thinking as hard as she was about what they’d learned today. And about what they’d guessed at. What she didn’t know was if he was worrying as much as she was whether those guesses were right. What if she was wrong about Mrs. Gardner, or about Stephen? What kind of instincts did she have, after all?
She suppressed a shiver, and told herself she hadn’t done anything based on her guesses, so it didn’t matter. But it still made her edgy, and she wondered if Colin had ever felt like this.
And wondered if she now had the right to ask.
Darien ’s apartment was small, but Colin immediately felt comfortable in it. It was decorated in bright, warm, cheerful colors that were pleasant after the cold outside. The living room was narrow, containing only a sofa, a chair, coffee table and an entertainment center, but they were arranged cozily and looked comfortable. It felt like a home, unlike his own spartan digs. Or maybe it was just that she made him feel as if he was coming home. The thought stopped his breath, and he was glad when she spoke.
“Coffee? Or something stronger?”
“Coffee,” he said, then added, “with the option for the other later.”
She walked to the small kitchen that was tucked into one corner and divided from the rest of the room by a small island. She filled a coffeemaker that sat on the counter and started it. Then she walked to an alcove that housed a desk and computer that looked much more impressive than the ones at the station, and pushed a button to boot up. It took a moment as things whirred and beeped, and data flashed across the screen. When it was done, she leaned over and made a couple of mouse clicks. She opened a browser, then glanced back at the coffeemaker, which was already dripping the dark brew into the pot.
“I’ll get it,” Colin said. “Cups?”
“Mugs in the cupboard just above. Milk in the fridge, sugar in the green canister.”
He nodded, and she pulled up her desk chair and sat down. “All right,” she asked, “what am I looking for?”
He told her, and while it didn’t make sense to her-they’d just left the real thing, after all-she started the search.
He came over and set a steaming cup beside her. She glanced at it, and saw it was exactly the shade she liked.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He watched for a moment as she clicked on various search results, then let out a low whistle. “Whew. You weren’t kidding about it being faster.”
“I’m spoiled,” she said. “At the station it seems to take forever.”
“I can see why, if this is what you’re used to. I’ve never seen-” He stopped suddenly. “There. That one, with the woman in red. Can you go back to it?” She clicked once and the image reappeared. He studied it for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Sorry.”