She crossed her arms across her chest. “I read about that in the paper. But I can assure you my car had nothing to do with it.”
“You were here that night? Alone?”
“Yes, I was, with the children, and we have an au pair living here, too. They’re all out getting a pizza right now, but you can ask them when they return. Nothing happened to the Crown Victoria that night. In fact, it’s been in the garage for almost a month. We have a third car-an Explorer. That’s what I drive this time of year. We use the Crown Victoria for long trips in the summer. It’s a good highway car.”
“Yeah. Mine, too,” Willy muttered.
“Could we take a look at it?” I asked, fearful he’d start building up steam.
“Of course.” She crossed the room toward the distant kitchen. “The garage is right through here. It’s heated, so you won’t need your coat.”
Willy headed back to the front door. “I’ll get the stuff. Meet you there.”
Laura Reynolds hesitated, momentarily confused.
I pulled an envelope from my pocket and handed it to her. “This is a search warrant for the car, just to keep things aboveboard. In case we find anything.”
She took it as if I’d handed her a dead squirrel and dropped it on the nearest counter. Her voice showed its first quiver of strain. “I’m sure you won’t.”
Now it was my turn to be well mannered, bowing slightly and indicating the door. “Please. Lead the way.”
The garage was an immaculate four-car unit, as big as a home, cleaner than a morgue. Its size was emphasized by there being only one vehicle in its midst-the gleaming dark sedan of interest. Willy pounded on a side door with his foot and I let him in, noticing as I did so that it was locked from the inside with a deadbolt. Willy was lugging one of J.P.’s evidence-collecting kits, which he deposited with a reverberating crash on the smooth concrete floor.
“And you’re sure you haven’t driven the car since the night in question?” I asked Laura Reynolds, who was staring at Willy, seemingly transfixed.
Her voice sounded small and frail in the sterile room. “No. I already told you. It’s a summer car.”
Willy snapped on a single latex glove with his teeth-moving as smoothly as if he’d been born with one arm-opened the kit and the car doors in turn, and set to work.
“What is he looking for?” she finally asked after a minute of silence.
“Anything helpful,” I answered. “Blood, hair, clothing fibers.”
Her hand touched her smooth forehead for an instant, as if making sure it was still there. I noticed she was shivering slightly. “You know,” she said, “this is just beginning to sink in. You actually believe we might have had something to do with this man’s death, don’t you?”
“Not necessarily.” I took her elbow and steered her back toward the main part of the house. “Why don’t we go back inside? It’s not all that warm in here, and Detective Kunkle will be a while.”
She complied without a word.
Back inside the house, she paused between the kitchen and the living room, seemingly at a loss. I kept quiet, wondering what might be building up inside her.
She finally turned to me and asked, almost shyly, “What does all this mean?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
A furrow appeared between her eyes, as if I’d said something totally off-color. “No. I mean, what does this mean for us-Jim and me?”
I purposefully played dumb. “If we find something?”
Her face tightened. “You won’t.”
“I’m sure you hope that, Mrs. Reynolds. But you may not know where that car’s been lately.”
“Of course I do,” she answered angrily. “I told you that. It’s been in that garage for weeks. It couldn’t have been anywhere else. The doors lock automatically, the garage is alarmed, and one or the other of us has been here most of the time anyhow.”
I just looked at her.
Her eyes widened slightly at the unstated possibility. “Jim? You can’t be serious. You people are out of your minds. This must be a political thing. That’s what it is. Some stupid story concocted by his enemies. It’s incredible-like something out of Kafka.”
I gestured to her to continue into the living room and take a seat. “Mrs. Reynolds, we don’t know what this is yet. We were told by several witnesses that your car was seen at the tracks and it’s our job to check that out. There’s no conspiracy on our part here. That’s not how we work. I would like you to tell me a few things, though.”
“Like what? I told you all I know.”
I sat opposite her, my elbows on my knees, trying to look as solicitous as possible. “This isn’t the only event that’s struck you as odd lately, is it? Like the recent break-in at your husband’s office.”
She looked confused. “A break-in? Jim told me it was teenagers trying to jimmy the door. They didn’t actually break in, did they?”
“When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Reynolds?”
“Last weekend. He has an apartment in Montpelier. At the start of the session, he can only get away on weekends. Why?”
“It was a break-in. He claims nothing was stolen, but we think his files were tampered with. It makes me wonder what else he might be shielding you from. I mean, he must work under a lot of pressure, given his two jobs. Is he pretty protective of you and the kids?”
Her eyes were darting between my face, my hands, the furniture, the distant window. Throwing her several loaded messages at once seemed to have generated some doubts.
“I don’t know. I suppose so.”
“Why do you think he didn’t tell you about the break-in? He got the call about the back door being forced open here at home, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice had lost most of its perfect hostess lilt.
“I heard he was pretty upset.”
“He was. Very.”
“This is an important time for him, isn’t it? With this new bill?”
“Yes.”
“He been tense? Preoccupied?”
“Of course.”
“Mrs. Reynolds, do you ever worry about him? Some of the clients he’s had over the years, some of the people he has to deal with to get things done in Montpelier?”
“There have been a few unpleasant ones…” She stopped, seemed to clear her head, and then spoke again more forcefully. “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. Jim is a good man, who’s doing the best he can to help this state out. He’s risking a lot with this bill, and he’s doing it for people like you. I don’t know what this is all about, but I know Jim isn’t a part of it.”
I got up and moved to the window. The light from the house lay dimly on the driveway. Beyond, the darkness of the trees made it feel as if we were floating in outer space.
I spoke to my own reflection. “Mrs. Reynolds, I want to be perfectly honest with you. I like your husband. I voted for him, the woman I live with campaigned for him, and even though he’s a defense attorney, we have a lot of respect for him at the police department. He fights hard but fair.”
I turned toward her. “So don’t think I’m going after him because we’re political opposites. If anything, I’d like to lend him a hand. But I have to do my job, and what he’s been up to lately has raised some questions.”
“What do you think he has been up to?” she asked, her face coloring. “All I’ve heard is something about his office being broken into and our car being somewhere it wasn’t. This is crazy.”
I held up a finger. “He hired a private investigator to look into the break-in, and we have several witnesses to the car.”
Her mouth opened slightly. “A private investigator?”
“Yes. Winthrop Johnston. Good man. Very discreet.”
There was a long pause before she asked, “What are you saying?”
“Only that your husband has a lot of irons in the fire, that he hasn’t been entirely straight with you, for whatever reasons, and that I have some concerns about what may be going on.”