Alice shook her head. “I don’t know. I had one of my volunteers drop a note off at her place last night, but it’s up to her whether or not she comes.”
“At her place?” I repeated.
“She’s moved into her own apartment. Phoenix House is only a temporary shelter, Detective Beaumont. We encourage our clients to get into their own places as soon as possible.”
We were making some progress. At least Alice Fields had dropped the phony pretense that she didn’t know LeAnn Nielsen from a hole in the wall.
“I see,” I responded.
“Do you?” Alice Fields asked, looking at me with sharp penetrating eyes. “The women we deal with have already been dreadfully victimized. I’m here to make sure she isn’t further violated by you, the system, or anybody else. Is that clear?”
It was clear all right. I shifted uncomfortably under the leaden weight of her gaze. “So you didn’t talk to her in person,” I said, clearing my throat. “You didn’t tell her what has happened?”
“No,” Alice Fields said. “But I did see the article in the paper this morning. I hope and pray she didn’t. It would be terrible if she found out that way.”
A waitress appeared and placed another mismatched cup and saucer in front of Alice. “Here’s your coffee,” she said. “Are you having breakfast this morning, or just coffee?”
“Coffee and a roll, please. How about you, Detective Beaumont? The rolls are delicious here.”
“The same,” I said.
The waitress started away. Alice Fields stopped her. “How’s it going, Diane?”
Diane turned back to us. Looking for a name tag, I saw none and wondered how Alice Fields knew her.
“All right,” Diane answered. “I’m plugging away.” With that, she left us.
I must have looked puzzled. Alice Fields smiled. “One of our alumnae,” she explained. “Our job is to help women get back on their feet. Many of them have never held jobs outside the home before, and they don’t have any training. The owner here has been a big help in hiring some of our people and giving them a place to start.”
Diane was back almost instantly, carrying two of the biggest, gooiest cinnamon rolls I had ever seen. They were still hot from the oven.
Miss Manners and Emily Post notwithstanding, there is only one way to eat a hot cinnamon roll properly-tear it apart, layer by layer, and butter each bite as you go. I was well into the process when a second woman stepped through the doorway and stopped beside Alice Fields.
She was thirty-five or so, with doelike eyes and fawn-colored hair. She was small and delicate and scared to death. There was a huge purple bruise under her left eye.
“Why, hello, LeAnn,” Alice Fields said, ignoring the ugly bruise. “I’m glad you could come. This is Detective Beaumont, the person who needs to talk with you.”
I stood up, attempting to wipe the sugary goo off my fingers. They were so sticky the paper napkin shredded completely. “I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Nielsen, won’t you sit down?”
LeAnn sat, but almost without seeing or acknowledging me. She was concentrating on Alice Fields.
“I got your note,” LeAnn said. “Is something wrong?”
Alice glanced at me, one eyebrow arched in question. I nodded. It would be better if the words came from someone LeAnn knew rather than from a total stranger.
“Have you read the paper this morning?” Alice asked.
LeAnn shook her head. “No. Why?”
“Detective Beaumont has been trying to reach you since yesterday,” Alice Fields said.
“Something terrible has happened, LeAnn. Your husband is dead.”
For several long seconds we sat there quietly at the table with Alice Fields’ words lingering in the air. The only sound was the clatter of dishes in the kitchen on the other side of the wall.
“You’re kidding,” LeAnn said at last.
Alice shook her head. “Ask Detective Beaumont,” she said.
LeAnn Nielsen turned to me. “Is it true?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Nielsen,” I answered. “I’m afraid it is. He was murdered in his office sometime over the weekend.”
LeAnn began shaking her head, moving it slowly from side to side. “It can’t be. It can’t be,” she repeated over and over.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She put one hand to her mouth as if to stifle a sob, but the wail that escaped her lips wasn’t a cry so much as it was a laugh, a strangled, hyenalike, hysterical laugh.
The very sound of it made my blood run cold.
CHAPTER 10
LeAnn Nielsen’s reaction was anything but typical. In all the years I’d been doing next-of-kin notifications, no one had ever laughed before. I waited, unsure of what to do or say, while Alice Fields took LeAnn in her arms and held her in a fiercely protective hug. She was there to backstop LeAnn every step of the way.
Gradually LeAnn’s strange laughter evolved into something different, into something that approximated genuine weeping. At one point I started to say something, but Alice leveled a forbidding look in my direction and gave a slight shake of her head that told me to shut up, take a number, and get in line. I’d talk to LeAnn Nielsen when Alice Fields was damned good and ready and not a moment before.
Eventually LeAnn quieted some. Alice Fields patted her comfortingly. “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, LeAnn,” Alice said. “Do you understand that? I wanted you to meet him here so you could be officially notified, that’s all.”
LeAnn Nielsen nodded numbly.
“And you don’t have to answer any questions without having an attorney present, is that clear? You might say things that could be held against you later.”
It wasn’t exactly an official reading of LeAnn’s rights, but it was as close as Alice Fields would let me get. If I had tried it, she probably would have packed LeAnn up right then and disappeared with her.
“Why would I need an attorney?” LeAnn asked. Since the question was addressed to Alice Fields, I let her answer it.
“Detective Beaumont told me on the phone that you’re a possible suspect.”
For the first time LeAnn seemed to be aware of my existence. Paling, she turned and looked at me, her brown eyes deep and unsettling. She swallowed hard before she spoke. “Is that true? Am I?” she asked.
I nodded briefly. There was no point in dancing around the issue. Alice Fields wouldn’t have let me get away with that for one minute. “You are a possibility, Mrs. Nielsen. You have to understand, though, it’s still very early in the investigation. We haven’t ruled anyone out yet.”
“A suspect,” she said incredulously, as if saying the word aloud would somehow help her comprehend it. “I had no idea he was dead. How could…” Her voice faded away. She stopped talking and sat looking at her hands. She clenched them tightly and placed them in her lap.
There’s a standard set of questions that relatives usually ask in this kind of situation: How did it happen? When? Where? LeAnn Nielsen asked none of the usual ones. She just sat there, silently staring at her hands. Alice Fields finally broke the long silence.
“What about your children?” she asked, butting in and changing the subject. “Where are they?”
I’m sure Alice Fields got to be executive director of Phoenix House because she was decisive and insightful. She seemed to grasp all the ramifications of what had happened and what would need to be done, but for my money, someone like her is the very last thing a homicide detective needs when he starts to question a suspect.
Alice Fields was the last thing I needed, but there was no way to get rid of her. She was there for the duration.
“I left the kids in a day-care center near the apartment,” LeAnn answered quietly. “I’m supposed to go in this afternoon for a training session at Sea-Tac. I thought it would be good for them to stay at the center all day, to try it out and see how they like it.”
“I’ll call and cancel the training as soon as we finish here,” Alice said firmly. “Then I’ll take you down to pick up the children. You should have someone with you when you tell them.”