She switched her attention to Morgan. “Where do things stand with your investigation?”
“At the moment we’re processing evidence. Lab work is underway. We’re gathering video files from private and municipal security cameras in the area. Officers are canvassing nearby residents. Everything possible is being done, and we hope—”
She cut him off. “In other words, right now you know nothing.”
Morgan looked embarrassed. “Lorinda, everything is being done that can—”
“How about you, Detective Gurney? Any input?”
“Just questions.”
“Ask them.” Her fingers began to tap quietly on the arm of her chair.
“In the period leading up to the attack, were there—”
“The murder.”
He raised a curious eyebrow.
“I prefer clarity. It wasn’t just an attack.”
“Okay. The murder. Were you aware of any conflicts in your husband’s business or personal life that could be connected to what happened here?”
She uttered a sharp sound that could have been a cough or a laugh. “Angus’s life was nothing but conflict. He was a warrior. His most endearing trait. But it creates enemies.”
“Any that might be willing to kill him?”
“I’m sure quite a few.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“If you mean anyone that leaps to mind immediately, that would be our wretched neighbor, Chandler Aspern. But I’d be more concerned about the ones that don’t come to mind, wouldn’t you?”
“Aspern comes to mind because of the lease disagreement?”
“That, and because he and Angus hated each other. Quite openly. If it was Chandler who’d been murdered, Angus would be everyone’s favorite suspect. I went through all of this with Detective Slovak yesterday. You should read his report.” She looked with some annoyance at Morgan, then back at Gurney. “Let me ask you something. How much danger do you think I’m in?”
“The killer was in the bedroom next to yours. If you were a target, you’d be dead.”
“So you think I’m safe?”
“Probably.”
“But I shouldn’t bet my life on it?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Her fingers stopped tapping. She was regarding Gurney now as if he were a mystery to be solved. “There’s something bothering you. What is it?”
“I find it interesting that you have no security cameras, no alarms.”
“That’s being rectified. I was on the phone this morning arranging for the installation of a state-of-the-art system.”
“Good idea.”
“Are you being sarcastic—implying it would have been a good idea before Angus was murdered?”
“It certainly would have been a good idea,” said Gurney blandly. “But I’m guessing it was never seriously considered. What I’ve been told about Angus makes me think of someone I knew a long time ago—a powerful man with a lot of enemies and no alarm system. He regarded an alarm as a sign of fear, and fear was an emotion he’d never acknowledge in himself. Fear was the emotion he inspired in others.”
She was looking at him with real interest. “What happened?”
“He underestimated one of his enemies.”
She smiled but said nothing.
Gurney switched gears. “When was the last time Billy Tate was in your house?”
“Four years ago, not long before he was incarcerated. But he wasn’t actually in the house. He was at the front door, demanding payment for some job Angus had hired him to do, but which he didn’t do very well. Angus refused to pay him. That’s what led to the threats and the assault conviction that put him in prison.”
“When was he released?”
She looked at Morgan.
“A year and four months ago.”
Gurney asked her if she’d seen Tate since his release.
She said she hadn’t.
He decided to switch gears again. “Did Angus have a regular time each night when he got up to go to the bathroom?”
“I have no idea.”
“His being up, moving around in the bathroom, that wouldn’t wake you?”
“No.”
“You’re a sound sleeper?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if he was in the habit of getting up more than once?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, considering his age.” Looking suddenly bored, she picked up her phone from the coffee table and glanced at the time. “I have calls to make. Is there anything else you need from me right now?”
“One last thing,” said Gurney, standing up from the couch. “It would be helpful if you could put together a list of people who might welcome your husband’s death.”
“Detective Slovak already asked for that, and I’ll tell you what I told him. If you mean people who’d be glad Angus is dead, the list is endless. If you mean people getting a significant financial benefit from his death, the list is short.”
“Okay. Start with the short list.”
“Hilda Russell. Chandler Aspern. And Angus’s conniving, gold-digging wife.”
Morgan stared at her, his expression frozen.
Gurney asked, “Are those the words people use to describe you?”
“Those, and a lot worse.” She brushed a hair back from her perfect face. There was a combative glint in her dark eyes.
As they were heading back along the path to the main house, there was a jittery edge to Morgan’s chronic anxiety. “What did you think of that?”
Gurney didn’t answer right away. He was unsettled as much by the attitude of the new widow as by his active involvement in a meeting he had intended to simply observe.
“You mean, what did I think of her short list?”
“I mean, what did you think of Lorinda herself?”
Gurney waited for the woodpecker in the forest to conclude a long series of ratatatats before answering. “Conniving and gold-digging might be close to the truth. Also, controlling and smart. But I have the feeling there’s another quality in her, something I can’t put my finger on. How much do you know about her?”
“Larchfield is as gossipy as any small town. People like Angus and Lorinda figure in a lot of stories. People say she was a wild teenager, brought up in a crazy family over in Bastenburg. There’s a unified school district here, so she went to the same high school as the Larchfield kids. The rumor was that there was an inappropriate relationship between her and the school principal, Hanley Bullock, when she was fifteen. She never said anything publicly about it, nothing was ever proven, and it never became a police matter. But in the end Bullock resigned, his wife divorced him, and he moved out of the area.”
“And Lorinda?”
“When she graduated and turned eighteen, she married Angus, who was sixty-eight at the time and had recently dumped his third wife. That was ten years ago, and people are still talking about it.”
Morgan stumbled forward on a rough spot in the path, just managing to catch his balance. He didn’t speak again until they emerged onto the lawn in front of the conservatory. “We’re going to meet with Helen Stone over in the carriage house.”
“Okay.”
“What about the other two names on her cui bono list?” asked Morgan, as they proceeded across the lawn. “Any thoughts?”
“I’m not sure what I think. What can you tell me about Hilda Russell?”
“Not much more than I told you on our drive over here. She’s Angus’s younger sister, the Episcopal rector of St. Giles on the village square. She and Lorinda are as different as two human beings can be. Except for willfulness. They both have a ton of it.”