"Well, answers I don't believe would be a step forward. Because right now what I don't believe is that you saw your wife alive yesterday."
Quentin shook his head. "When you watched all those old Columbo episodes, didn't you notice that he always had a dead body before he started the murder investigation?"
"I didn't say murder," said Bolt.
"You said you didn't think I saw my wife alive yesterday. And I tell you she was as alive as she ever was."
Bolt kept opening cupboards until they were all open. Then he hitched himself up to sit on one of the grimy counters. "This is where I had my first kiss. This room. I was sitting on this counter."
"The cook?" asked Quentin.
"The owner's daughter. Rowena Tyler."
"How old?" asked Quentin.
"Who?" He must have startled the chief out of a reverie.
"Rowena. You."
"I was twenty-two. And don't ask why it was my first kiss at that age."
"My first kiss came later than that, Chief," said Quentin.
"She was fifteen."
"So were you her first kiss too?"
"I didn't ask. Judging from the chasteness of the kiss, I'd say yes. And thanks for not saying some smart remark about robbing the cradle."
"I was just thinking that it's sort of a young-adult version of Lady Chatterley's Lover."
"Never read it. Sounded boring compared to the True Confessions magazines my friends and I snuck over and read in the pharmacy when we were twelve."
"So this room is full of memories for you."
"Rowena's about your age now, wherever she is."
"Never met her, I'm afraid."
"She married and left before she was twenty. I think Mrs. Tyler knew that something had passed between us, because for the first couple of years she didn't ever mention Rowena in front of me. And then one day she did, and I didn't flinch, and then she kept me posted about her. She had a child, a daughter, in 1984. She's going to turn twelve this year."
"The woman I married was older than that."
"But younger than Rowena."
"Definitely."
"Help me with this, Mr. Fears."
"See, here's where we're running into our conflict, Chief. You seem to think I understand what happened here, and that I'm just not telling you."
"Aren't these your footprints?"
"I'm willing to bet they are."
"And your buttprint on the floor?"
"Wouldn't be surprised."
"That stairway is pitch black, day or night, when the power's off."
"If you say so."
"But your prints are surefooted."
"Flashlight?"
"And the driver says that when he dropped you and your wife off out in front, the lights were on and a servant was waiting to take Mrs. Fears's bags."
"Odd what details will stick in a person's mind."
"And the servant knew her. Called her by name."
"No, he got it wrong," said Quentin. "He called her by her maiden name, Cryer."
"Tyler."
"Cryer."
"That's what he said, too. Amazing, don't you think?"
"I hoped maybe he'd remember."
"Lights on all over the house," said Bolt.
"Well, not all over. A few windows."
"Not possible," said Bolt.
"What a liar that driver is."
"Did you get to him first?"
"And bribe him to tell you a story that is so obviously false? Boy am I dumb!"
Bolt shook his head. "This family matters to me, and you're doing something here and I really, really want to know what it is because even though the old lady is about as alert as a lawn these days, I owe her. More than that—I like her. She's a friend. And when she dies, this house will go to Rowena. And her I more than liked. Even if I couldn't give her what she wanted most."
"What was that?"
"A way out of Mixinack."
Quentin nodded. "Small-town blues."
"Yeah, well, I'm a small-town guy. Small-town dreams. I told her I'd go to the city with her but she said, 'And do what?' and I didn't have an answer for her."
"They have cops down there, too."
"Yeah, but the cops down there work for a living. And I wasn't a cop then, remember? I was a gardener's assistant."
"Starcrossed lovers."
"My point, Mr. Fears, is that you look like some kind of computer nerd and I'm a really strong guy and unless I know that you aren't going to hurt these people with your millions of dollars and your private investigators and your lawyers, well, I'm going to beat the shit out of you right here in this kitchen."
"Actually, I was kind of hoping you could protect me from them."
"These are good people, you rich lying asshole."
"Chief, I know you won't believe the truth if I tell you, and you obviously won't accept my silence, so you just tell me the lie that you'll believe and I'll say it. Whatever it takes to keep from getting beaten up."
"You think I won't do it? You think just because I know you'll come down on me afterward with every lawyer in the known world, I won't do it?"
"Oh, sure, maybe you'll do it, maybe you won't. If you decide to do it, I'll just stand here until you knock me down. I won't raise a hand against you because you're an officer of the law and besides, I've never raised my hand in violence against another person in my life."
"What are you, a Quaker?"
"A wimp," said Quentin. "Come on, Chief Bolt, I like you and you like me. I understand why you're threatening me but I'm not going to tell you stuff that I know will just make you madder. I'll accept how mad you are right now. I think if you beat me up when you're only this mad, I'll live through it without needing serious surgery."
The chief slid off the counter and took a step toward Quentin. He didn't flinch, though the chief's threats did scare him. Quentin had never been beaten up. He had, however, seen the Rodney King tape.
But Chief Bolt didn't hit him. Instead he slammed all the cupboard doors shut and kicked the fridge. Then he stood with his forehead pressing against the door of the freezer compartment.
"Chief," said Quentin, "thanks for not hitting me."
"You're welcome," said Chief Bolt. "It's not you I'm angry at."
"I figured that, since I'm such a nice guy."
"This place really screwed up my life. I should be happy. I've got a good job, a good wife, and some good kids. But I come back in here and it all comes pouring back over me. And I want to hurt somebody."
"I know the feeling."
"Do you? No, the real question—did you?"
"Chief Bolt, I don't know for sure who Madeleine is. But I do know that when I came here the other night, a servant met us outside in the drive, and the lights were on. Mad and I came down to this kitchen and sat at the table. I was at the head of the table, and she was beside me on the right."
"Housekeeper's chair."
"And we made sandwiches. My second trip to the fridge was for pickles."
Bolt reached down and snapped the lock open—it hadn't been fully engaged, apparently. He yanked open the refrigerator door. "Show me the pickles, Mr. Fears!"
The refrigerator didn't even have shelves.
"They tasted very good," said Quentin. "But the next day, after my wife disappeared, I was as hungry as if I had come down in the dark, sat on the floor, and eaten nothing but my imagination."
Bolt shook his head.
"Chief, after my wife left me, I saw this house as you see it right now. Not the kitchen, of course. The stairs were too dark to get down without a flashlight, and I didn't have one. But while she was with me, there were lights. There was food. Furniture. Everything clean and elegant. We sat down to breakfast—even though it was lunchtime—we ate in the library. No broken window. And eight of us at table. Grandmother—that's all that Madeleine ever called her—and... let's see if I can remember... me and Mad, of course, and then Uncle Stephen, Aunt Athena—no, her real name was Minerva—and Simon and Cousin Jude and Uncle Paul."