Mike knew to wait it out then ride the apology when it came. She fumbled with a sleeve.
‘Sorry, Detective.’ Despite the trauma, her gaze was clear and direct, confident. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’ He took out a notebook and pen and watched her watch him do so.
She swallowed. ‘Why do you say that? That thing: sorry for your loss. That thing?’
‘Honestly?’ Sometimes people asked but didn’t really want to know. Especially when the statement had been directed at them.
‘Naturally.’
He counted off the reasons on his fingers. ‘Well, firstly, we are. Sorry, I mean. We see lots of bereaved people – often we’re delivering the news. So, in many ways, it’s heartfelt. We know precisely what loss is, and what it means, and what it does. So we are sorry.’
He paused to let that sink in. Megan clearly thought it was only a platitude and he could see her eyes mist slightly when he corrected that assumption.
‘However, we’ve also been told to say it and police officers are good at following instructions. We have a command structure for a reason. Thirdly, it’s been picked by smarter minds than mine as politically, psychologically and religiously neutral. It’s sympathetic, without being drawn into your emotional state ourselves. Also, it’s neutral, in case you’re a potential witness. Or a suspect.’
He gave her a significant glance, but she stared back evenly, as if that last sentence were peripheral to her question. ‘Fourthly, there isn’t much anyone can say that makes a blind bit of difference. We’re not really allowed to give hugs or wipe tears, or anything that actually might help. The only way we can help is to find the truth of what happened.’
She went back to picking at the sleeve; an unwound stitch he guessed she’d been worrying at since she put on the sweater. ‘Hmmm. Thank you. Your colleague didn’t say it, by the way. I liked her for that.’
She pushed the plate back.
‘See, I’m struggling with other people’s reactions to my grief. It’s the first time I can remember losing someone close – Dad left when I was three – so I’m finding their behaviour a little weird. Even though I’d be doing the same things if I was them. If you see what I mean.’
‘We see people in all different stages. Believe me, whatever you’re doing is spot on, and no one can say it isn’t. No one knows what to do for you. Even if they somehow went through the same thing themselves, it would’ve been different. They kind of understand. Everyone wants to help you, but most of them in a vague way that doesn’t put them out too much.’
Megan managed a smile then looked up to the ceiling in frustration. ‘Well, frankly, I’d rather be at work. I’d rather be doing something. Probably sounds callous. But work would fill my mind up, I think.’
‘Not the introspective type, huh?’
Her eyes dropped to his suddenly, the sharpness deadened by disappointment. ‘Nope.’
‘In that case,’ he said, opening the notebook, ‘shall we do something by dealing with some questions?’
‘Shoot.’ She bit her lip and raised a hand. ‘Wait, that’s a bad thing to say to a cop, right?’
‘Ah, they teach us early about figurative requests to shoot.’
They shared a grin and Mike saw how easy it was to be beguiled by Megan Cassavette. She was sharp, self-deprecating and had confidence without aggression. Lynch was not, as Mike had previously thought, a middle-aged fool. Lynch had seen a star and reached for it. Possibly overambitious in the final analysis, Mike thought, but it was a justifiable leap into potential oblivion. In Lynch’s eyes, Megan was worth the jump; worth the fall. Mike had the same question in his mind as Dana: how had Lou impressed Megan enough? Assuming he had.
‘So I wanted to ask you about last night and this morning, if that’s all right.’
She crossed her arms as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her forearms and staring at the fireplace. It made her look child-like, lost. Unkempt dark curls drifted across her temple.
‘So, Spencer Lynch arrived at what time?’
She closed her eyes for a second. ‘Ah. Okay.’ She looked up at him. ‘Spoken to Spence?’
‘Twenty minutes ago. So all those cards are on the table.’
‘Damn. No point trying to keep him out of it, then?’
‘He’s front and centre right now. Timescale, please?’
She lifted from her arms, as if to concentrate better. ‘After I’d texted Lou and he’d texted back, I went out and… uh.’
‘Gave the Bat Signal?’
She sat back sharply and rolled her eyes. ‘Jesus, we really became an open book, didn’t we?’
‘Some neighbours read a few pages weeks ago.’ He let her take in the fact that their subterfuge hadn’t survived a couple of nosy citizens. ‘Okay, you did that at what time?’
‘Lemme think. Uh, after eleven but before twelve. Spence arrived just before midnight. The clock in the hall strikes on the hour and we were standing next to it at midnight: made us jump. Um, he left about six, I think. Yeah, maybe a few minutes after.’
So far, so good. Mike recalled the records showed she’d texted Lou at 2330. If she was telling the truth, Lynch wasn’t there at that point. If she was lying, however, she might have bloodlessly texted Lou goodnight from underneath Spencer Lynch. Her reply wasn’t precise enough that it would look like a concocted story; it was merely close enough.
If he believed her, there was no way either could have been at the store to stab Lou. Right now, Lucy was contacting the electric company: analysing the smart meter’s data may alibi both Megan and Lynch. If he didn’t believe her, she or Lynch had time to go to the store and kill Lou and then return. Meanwhile, the other person might try to convince the meter there were two people there.
He couldn’t shake something about Megan. He was suspicious of her motives in choosing Lou as a partner. Maybe Lou had been as together as she seemed to be, but he doubted it. He concurred with Dana that Lou had married up and Megan had settled. Maybe Megan liked being with someone and knowing she was smarter than them. Some people did: it topped up their self-belief every night. His suspicion of her earlier motives for marrying Lou seeped in; something felt off-kilter.
‘You see, from my perspective, Megan, you alibi Spencer, and he’s your alibi.’
She didn’t swallow, look away or bat an eyelid. ‘Yes. Yeah, I can see that. Well, we sure didn’t invite anyone else around. And we both switch off phones… you know, kind of a golden rule. So no, I can’t think of how you’d prove we didn’t go out. No. Can’t help, I’m afraid.’
If she’d mentioned the smart meter, he’d have wondered. Lynch had raised it, and it was a left-field idea: if Megan had also done so, it would have felt forced and conspiratorial. Omitting it gave her credibility. Unless… maybe not mentioning it was a double bluff: a pre-arrangement she’d cooked up with Lynch. Dana had mentioned that her radar had pinged when she spoke to Megan, but she hadn’t known why. Mike had the same sensation now.
Nothing more to gain from the alibi angle, so he switched. ‘You were beginning divorce proceedings?’
Megan rubbed her wedding band, seemingly without irony: something to occupy her hands. ‘Well, depends what you call beginning. Hadn’t filed the papers.’ She paused momentarily. ‘It was tricky to do it right. That’s how Spence and I met.’ She shook her head. ‘You’d worked that bit out already, sorry.’
‘Why so tricky?’
She sat back and stared at the pastry on the plate. ‘Look, I didn’t want to hurt Lou or harm anything he was doing. And what he was doing was trying to run that store, build it up. The revenue the store generated wasn’t enough to secure the loans it needed.’ She looked up. ‘You know: the exact same loans that enabled the shop to generate the revenue? Banks live inside circles like that. Anyway, for us to get the loans in the first place I had to co-guarantee, based on my income with City Mutual.’