"Would you like some water, Ms. Doyle?" the earnest young police officer asked.
I shook my head. I didn't feel like swallowing anything for quite a while. The sight in the Schusters' library was still with me. And the smell. The sickly-sweet smell of blood.
"No, thanks, Officer Sanchez. I'll just sit here until Detective Levitz wants me."
Sanchez nodded solicitously and backed away, giving me space which I appreciated. I glanced across the great room toward the library door. Investigators kept coming and going from the once elegantly appointed room. My brother-in-law, Detective Bill Levitz, was in charge of the investigation. Not because he was related—by marriage to my sister, who died two years ago—but because he was Chief of Detectives for the Fort Collins investigative unit. This was his show.
I watched him directing his men, who were wearing surgical gloves. Another flash went off inside the library. So many pictures. How could people stare at pictures like that for a living? I shuddered. I just hoped I'd be able to forget the images.
Reaching across the end table, I flipped on a table lamp. It was long past dusk, and the great room, where I sat alone, felt chill as well as dark. I needed light. Lots of it. Jumping up from the sofa, I proceeded to turn on every light in the entire room, even the spotlights for the artwork. Somehow I felt better. Bill approached just as I sat down again.
"So, Kate," his deep voice rumbled, familiar and reassuring. "I've read Sanchez's notes, but what do you say we go over all this again. Start at the beginning." He sank into an adjoining sofa.
I stared at my big, shambling brother-in-law, with unkempt, gray hair, suit always wrinkled, tie barely covering a protruding belly—despite my sister's years of trying to help him diet. Perhaps his new wife would be successful.
I exhaled a sigh. "Whatever you say, Bill. I saw Mark this morning, when I brought him the listing contract to sign. He didn't have time to sign the rest of the documents then, because he had a conference call. So I left them and told him I'd stop by late this afternoon and pick them up."
"What time was that?"
"About nine or so. I wasn't here long. I was gone before ten and drove straight to Amanda's."
"Amanda Schuster, his wife. Who's divorcing him, right?" Bill didn't look up, just kept scribbling in his little spiral notepad. It was small, the size that would fit in a shirt pocket. For years, I remember seeing that notepad in Bill's shirt pocket. He always put it carefully on his desk every night when he'd come home. A poignant memory of happier times when my sister was alive flashed through my mind, and I forced it away. Had to stay focused on what Bill was asking.
"Yes, that's right. Amanda lives in the west part of town now. I went there, got her to sign the contract, then left to go home. I had some work on the computer."
"Did she sign the contract willingly?"
"Of course. She wants the house to sell. They're dividing up the assets..." I paused. "Were dividing up the assets."
Bill glanced at me then around the room, taking in all the tasteful display. "Lots of assets, from what I can see," he observed, a shaggy, gray eyebrow arching.
"This is only what you can see. There were lots of assets squirreled away. Cash, stocks. You name it."
"Where'd you learn that, Kate? You been talking to their lawyer?" That eyebrow arched again, in what I recognized as his skeptical observation. One raise, curiosity. Two raises, skepticism.
I hesitated for a moment. "From Amanda. She's been giving me daily updates. This divorce has really hit her hard, Bill."
"I can imagine," he said, surveying the room again. "Giving all this up would be hard."
A prickle ran up my neck. Something in Bill's tone concerned me.
He scribbled, then eyed me again. "Okay. Tell me what you did when you left your home and came here."
"Well, I didn't come directly here. I showed a young couple several houses. That occupied the entire afternoon. It was after four-thirty when I got here."
"So tell me everything you did. Don't leave out any detail. It might be important."
I took a deep breath. "I parked my car out front and walked up to the house. I noticed Mark's Mercedes in the driveway, so I knew he was home. That's why I was surprised when I rang the chimes and there was no answer."
"What'd you do?"
"I let myself in with the keypad and lock box."
"Then what?"
"I called out his name several times as I walked around the foyer. I even called up the stairs. I... I didn't want to go upstairs, in case he was showering. So, I went to the library, thinking he might have left the papers there, and I could just take them and not disturb him. In case he was... uh, showering. You know." I glanced away.
"Or otherwise involved, right?" Bill shot me a knowing look. "It's no secret, Kate. He's been tomcatting around town for years. For all you knew, he might have had someone upstairs."
"The thought did cross my mind."
"So, you went to the library and what?"
"I glanced inside first, and saw him sitting in his chair behind the desk. Well, at least I assumed it was him. The chair was turned away from the door. But I saw the back of his head."
"And?"
I took another deep breath. I really didn't want to picture this again. "I called out his name and asked him why he didn't answer. And when he didn't answer again, I got scared."
"Scared?"
"I don't know, Bill. I felt a chill go over me, or something. I can't remember. But I knew I had to find out why he wasn't answering me. So, I walked around the desk... and..." I closed my eyes. "That's when I saw him. Sitting there in his chair with... with that knife-thing sticking out of his throat." I shuddered involuntarily. "Good Lord, Bill. It was awful. I've never seen anything like that before. And I hope I never do again."
"That's okay, Kate. It's a normal response to seeing a murder victim. Not a pretty sight. I wish you hadn't been the one to find him."
"So do I."
Bill tapped the end of his pen against the notepad. "That's when you called nine-one-one?"
"Yes. I flew out of that room. Then I sat here and waited for you."
He sank a little lower into the soft sofa cushions. "So, this has been a pretty bitter divorce, hasn't it?"
I hesitated, feeling disloyal somehow to Amanda. "Yes, it has been."
The tapping began again. "Amanda Schuster was pretty angry, you think?"
Narrowing my gaze, I peered at my brother-in-law. "What are you getting at, Bill? You can't seriously suspect Amanda of committing murder, can you?"
"I can't rule out any possibility, Kate. You know that." He flipped the notepad shut with one movement, then shoved it in his shirt pocket. "We have to notify her. Do you think she'll be home now?"
I glanced at my watch: 7:00 p.m. "Probably. Should I go over there with you?"
"Naw. That's not necessary. Besides, I want you to go to your office with Sanchez and give him copies of all the contracts Mark and Amanda Schuster signed with you. And any other documents you may have relating to this sale. Everything. Okay?" Slowly, he pulled himself out of the soft sofa.
I nodded, then rose and grabbed my briefcase, eager to be allowed to leave this scene of death.
Bill motioned Sanchez over and spoke, while I drifted toward the front door, anxious. Men were still milling around inside the library. What more could they find?
"Okay, Kate, go on. Sanchez will follow you there." Bill ran his hand through his already-mussed hair. "Afterwards, he'll escort you home, if you want."
"That won't be necessary, but thanks anyway."
Sanchez held the door open and I headed for it, then paused. Turning back to Bill I called, "Go easy on Amanda, Bill. She's been through a lot already, and this will hit her pretty hard."
Both brows shot up this time. "Not as hard as Schuster," he said dryly.
* * *
Luckily there were others still working, so I didn't have to unlock a darkened office. Shamrock Realty's modest building was located in a central area of Fort Collins, right on the main north-south thoroughfare, College Avenue, the same street that ran past the university a few blocks north.
Waving at an associate who was bent over his computer, I hastened to my office. Sanchez followed right behind. I closed the door; otherwise someone might stroll by and notice a uniformed officer. I did not feel like making explanations tonight. I simply wanted to go home and unwind, Sam at my feet.
"Sit down, Officer Sanchez; it'll only take a minute to make copies of those files for you." I tossed my purse and briefcase on the paper-strewn desk. As I plopped in my chair, I noticed the blinking red light on my phone. Messages. Out of habit, I punched the button and pushed speakerphone, so I could listen while I searched the files. "Mind if I check my messages while I'm getting this?" I glanced up at Sanchez.
"No, ma'am. Not at all," he said as he lowered himself to a nearby cushioned chair.
The messages whirred backwards and began to recite. First, the young couple from that afternoon. They'd already thought about it enough. Please come over tomorrow and write the offer on the last house they saw. I felt a little flutter of pleasure waking up inside. Life's routines were a salvation.
Another message was a cancellation of a broker's appointment, and a change of time for another. I made notes in my Day-Timer, then retrieved the Schuster file from my desk drawer. I was about to head for the copier, when Amanda Schuster's voice came on the phone—tight and full of fury. The sound of it stopped me cold.
"Kate? This is Amanda. You'll never believe what the bastard has done now. He's sold the house in Rist Canyon. He waited until we closed it up, then he put it on the market without telling me. Damn his soul to hell! He knew how much I loved that place. It was my sanctuary." Her voice sank to a harsh whisper. "He's stolen everything from me, Kate. I can't take any more of it. I didn't think I could get any angrier, but I'm so mad now I could kill the son-of-a-bitch!"
The abrupt sound of the phone being slammed down ended the message. I stood frozen on the spot.
Officer Sanchez slowly rose from the chair and drew closer. "Ma'am, was that message from Mrs. Schuster? Mrs. Amanda Schuster?" He peered at me expectantly.
I swallowed to make sure I could speak. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, it was." And I sank back into my chair. Now I really felt sick to my stomach.