"No. He wants more evidence. Apparently there are other issues?" A question.
"Oh, nothing important," Gina said with heavy sarcasm. "Only a three-million-dollar insurance policy, several more millions that he's going to get control over, to say nothing of a possible love affair with his dead wife's sister."
"You're kidding about that last one, right?" Hunt said.
She leveled her gaze at him. "Well, he denied it. And judging from what I've just learned since I got here this morning, that means it must be true."
When Phyllis buzzed into Gina's office and said that her client was out in the lobby, Gina said she'd be right out, but she didn't move right away. For the past quarter of an hour, ever since she'd come down from Hardy's office, she'd been sitting as far down as she could get in her deepest stuffed chair. Like Wes Farrell upstairs, she had no formal desk in her corner office. So she sat with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, trying to come to grips with the veritable tsunami of rage that had unexpectedly enveloped her in the wake of Wyatt Hunt's disclosures about her client and his rapidly deteriorating story.
She looked down at her hands. All of her knuckles were white, her joints stiff as she separated her hands and forced her fingers open. She brought her hands up to her face, pulled down on her cheeks. Finally, taking a deep breath, she whispered, "All right," and pushed herself up from her chair.
Oddly aware of her own crisp and echoing footfalls as she walked down the long hallway to the receptionist's station, Gina got to the lobby and pasted the semblance of a smile onto her face as she approached Stuart with her hand outstretched. "Good morning," she chirruped, falsely bright. "And right on time."
"Aiming to please," he said in his aw-shucks delivery, though it seemed to cost him. Stuart had shaved, combed his hair and put on nicer clothes-slacks and a pullover-but he looked, if anything, more ravaged than he had the day before, bleary-eyed and sallow complected. "The police show up yet?"
"Not for a while. If you want to follow me back this way…"
She wanted to avoid idle chitchat, so she turned and started walking. They reached her office and she preceded him through the door and crossed over to the ergonomic chair by the library table on which she kept her computer. Sitting down, she whirled around to face him. He was standing a couple of steps inside the room, hands in his pockets, reminding her of nothing so much as a dog waiting to be told what to do. She obliged him. "You want to get the door?"
That done, he turned back to the room. "Anywhere?" he asked.
She waved her hand. "Wherever. It doesn't matter."
He chose the couch, perhaps because it was facing her. Sitting back, ankle on opposite knee, he stretched his left arm out along the cushions and leaned back. "So," he said.
"So." Gina wasn't tempted to give him any help, but she waited for a long beat and when nothing came from him, she relented. Whatever he had actually done-and she was furious with him over what that might have been-he was the man she'd been reading last night, who had stirred something in her soul. "You tired?" she asked. "You look tired."
His shoulders heaved as though the question were funny. But there was no humor in the eyes. "I take a week off and sleep around the clock, I might get back to tired. But that's not looking too likely, is it? Not with Inspector Juhle on his way down here."
"Not very, no. You want some coffee?"
He shook his head. "I'm already three cups down. Any more and I'd float away. Anyway, it's nothing coffee would help."
Thinking that this might be an opening of some kind, maybe even a confession, Gina said, "So what is it?"
He exhaled heavily and shook his head, the picture of frustration. "Kym," he said. "My daughter. Our daughter." He met Gina's gaze. "You have kids?"
"No."
"Don't, then."
Gina gave a mirthless chuckle. "It's a little late. In any event, they're not on the agenda; I wouldn't worry. She's taking this pretty hard, is she?"
Stuart pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what to do with her. I don't know what to do." Looking up, he said, "It's knocked her off the rails." Another sigh. "She and Caryn had some issues they hadn't worked out, and now of course they never will. When she left for college it wasn't very pretty between them. That's not making it any easier on her now."
"No, I don't suppose it is. Where is she now?"
"I left her back at the hotel. She cried all night and finally crashed sometime around six this morning, so I thought I'd just let her sleep. She ought to be all right for a few hours anyway." He hesitated. "Debra came by early, just in case, and said she'd stay until Kym woke up and be there for her. But this is killing Kym. I don't know what she's going to do. I don't know what I'm going to do with her."
Gina decided to douse him with a little reality. "Stuart," she said. "Did you tell her that you're under suspicion here?"
He couldn't have looked more startled if she'd slapped him, though he recovered quickly. "After you called me last night, I told her I was meeting you to talk with the cops today. So she knows as far as it goes. Which isn't very far. Today ought to be the end of it, right?"
Gina was tempted to ask him if he was joking with her, but she kept it straight. "Frankly, no, Stuart. I don't think today's going to be the end of it. There have been a few developments."
Ten
"Bethany said she saw me? How could she have seen me?"
"She said she saw your car."
"She saw me pull into my garage?"
"Yes. Then leave a couple of hours later."
"So she saw Caryn's killer come and then go."
"That would be Inspector Juhle's assumption, I believe. And he came in your car."
"No he didn't. Not possible."
Deep inside, Gina was somewhat heartened by the unequivocal denial. Either Stuart was an extraordinarily good liar, or he was telling the truth. "Okay, leaving the car for a minute, let's talk about you and your wife not fighting, specifically about you never having hit her."
"Okay." Forward now on the couch, Stuart's blood was up. "What about 'never' don't you get?"
"I guess the part about the domestic disturbance call to the police last summer."
Stuart grimaced. "They found that already?"
"That's one question. A better one is, what about it? And as for them finding out about it already, I told you yesterday that they're going to find out everything about you, every little thing you've ever done, and they're going to drag it in front of the whole world, so it's way to your advantage to come out with it right up front-anything that's going to look bad when they bring it up later. Like, for example, hitting your wife."
The little tirade found its mark. Stuart shifted defensively back on the couch-legs crossed, arm out along the cushions, stalling for time while he decided what he was going to say. When he made the decision, he kept it simple. "I never hit her."
"She hit you?"
"No."
"But the cops came?"
"My busybody neighbor called them." A pause. "There might have been some noise. I did tell you we'd had some arguments."
"So you had this one time last summer when the police came?"
"And left. They just wanted to make sure nobody was hurt." He shrugged. "Nobody was. They went away. End of story."
Gina stared at him, her face set. "Okay. And that's it?"
"What do you mean?"