Page 41 of Evidence of Deceit

Claire slid down into the chair. The only comfort she felt was Joe’s warm arm around her shoulders. What a disaster. She couldn’t get rid of Keith in life, and now, she couldn’t get rid of him in death.

The rideto the station the next day was quiet. Sam was driving. Earle sat in the front, and Claire huddled in the corner of the back seat.

Her body was trembling, and bile was having a party in her stomach. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on happy thoughts, like how luscious Joe looked at the house that morning and his warm arms surrounding her—comforting her.

Sam had asked Joe not to come to the station. Claire would have liked him along, but that wasn’t her call. Joe had been with her yesterday afternoon to identify Keith’s body at the morgue, for which she had been grateful.

They arrived at the station and parked in the garage. They walked in the front door in silence. Earle announced to the cop on desk duty who they were and why they were there.

A few minutes later, a detective opened the door and called them in. Sam said she would wait for them in the lobby. Claire and Earle followed the detective through a maze of desks, telephones ringing, yelling, people being led out in handcuffs—a cacophony of noise and the smell of fear and sweat. They got a few curious looks.

The detective led them into a small room with a metal table and four chairs. The prerequisite one-way mirror was opposite them, smeared with fingerprints.Was there someone onthe other side looking in?Bah. What did she care? That was the least of her problems.

He identified himself as Detective Stevens.

“Mrs. Willis, I understand you have identified the deceased as your husband.”

She nodded, closed her eyes and opened them. “Oh my God. I can’t believe Keith is dead.”

“What was his health like? The better question is, why weren’t you in the room with him?” Detective Stevens asked.

Damn. She did not want to go into her personal story with the detective. She opened her mouth to answer, but Earle beat her to it.

“Mrs. Willis is estranged from her husband and is staying with friends.”

The detective lifted an eyebrow. “So, you had no idea why your husband was in Florida?”

Claire let out a heavy sigh. “I knew. He was here to ask me to come back to him.”

“When was this?”

“Two nights ago.”

The detective tapped his fingers on the table, squinted his eyes and sat back.

Silence.

Claire thought this was a police tactic to get criminals to talk, and it was working. “I went to the hotel to tell him I wasn’t ever going back to him and wanted a divorce.”

“He took that well, I guess.” Sarcasm. The detective sat back in his chair. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She ignored it.

“He took it as well as could be expected. He wasn’t happy but said he would sign the papers,” said Claire.

“So, before that, you had no idea that he was in Black Pointe or for how long?”

“No.”

There was that tapping of his fingers against the table again. Silence. Then a knock on the door. An officer poked his head in and handed the detective a piece of paper.

Tap, tap, tap.

If there was a way of torturing a person with just your fingers, Claire thought this was it.

The detective rubbed his forehead, looked at the paper and looked at Claire.

“Mrs. Willis, did you know your husband was allergic to bees?”

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