26

DePetro pressed a button and started the digital recorder. “It’s Wednesday, October twenty-eighth, nine seventeen A.M., and I’m beginning my second interview with Katherine Deere. Also in the room is Mrs. Deere’s attorney, Raymond Lawless.” He looked up, opened a folder and took a pen out of his inner coat pocket.

Kit nodded to him pleasantly, folded her hands. She refused to look at Ray, who’d made his opinion clear: She shouldn’t be here. She knew the questions would be tough and tricky. She would simply have to get through it. She’d instructed Ray to let the conversation play out, not to object or shut it down. This was her last chance to spin the situation to her advantage.

“Mrs. Deere,” said DePetro. “I’d like you to walk me through last Sunday. You said you were home all morning, as were your children, Booker and Chloe.”

“That’s right,” she said, her voice creamy and soft.

“You’ve also said that Tommy Prior was home, as was your assistant, Beverly Elliot. And that Archibald Van Arnam arrived later. Shortly after ten. Is that correct?”

She nodded.

“Please respond with a yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you talked to your husband?”

“Saturday morning. Beverly and I had just flown up from New Orleans, where I’d been starring in a play. He came on board right after we landed to welcome us home.”

“And it was during that welcome home that he asked you for a divorce.”

Knowing that DePetro had talked with Joji Mura yesterday, Kit felt there was no use keeping up her act. “Yes, that’s correct.”

DePetro clicked the top of his pen. “Your husband was gay, is that correct?”

“May I assume this is information you won’t release to the press?”

He paused. “No, I won’t release it. For the moment.”

“And that you’ll let me or Ray know before you do release this information?”

“Agreed.”

Kit felt she’d won an important concession. “Then, yes. My husband was gay.”

“You knew he was gay when you married him?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you marry?”

“I loved him.” By the expression on DePetro’s face, Kit could tell it wasn’t the answer he’d expected.

“He and Tommy Prior were … together for many years.”

“Yes.”

“Tommy spent time at your house.”

“He did.”

“And you knew he and Jordan were … lovers.”

“Not right away, but eventually. Within the first year.”

“Did your children know their father was a gay man?”

“Not then.”

“But they do now?”

“Yes.”

“Was it a recent revelation?”

“It was.”

“How recent?”

“Last week.”

“Why, Mrs. Deere? Why tell them now?”

“My husband said he thought it was time.”

“And you agreed?”

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Did that make you angry?”

She tugged at one of her earrings. “No, of course not. It was always his decision.”

“It must have come as quite a shock to your kids.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“How did they feel about Jordan coming out of the closet? About the world knowing that the two of you had lived a lie all these years?”

“Our love for each other was never a lie. As for how the children feel, it’s not my place to speak for them.”

“All right. Back to Sunday morning. You said you hadn’t talked to Jordan since he asked you for the divorce on Saturday. I’m in possession of cell phone records that show Jordan placed a call to you at six twenty-seven on Sunday morning. You talked for approximately four minutes. Do you deny that?”

Kit glanced over at Ray, unable to escape the shock in his eyes. “No, I don’t deny it.”

“You lied when you said you hadn’t talked to him since Saturday.”

“I, ah … yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Habit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I lie about my relationship with Jordan out of habit. Surely you can understand.”

“What did you and Jordan talk about on Sunday morning?”

“He wanted to know if I was okay. He knew he’d dropped a bomb on me about the divorce and said he was sorry, that he would always love me, but that he stood by his decision. He apologized for leaving the way he did on Saturday night, not being there when I returned home.”

“Did he tell you where he went?”

“No. And I didn’t ask.”

DePetro slipped his pen back into his shirt pocket. “Go on.”

“I told him we needed to talk, and he said we would. Later that day. He’d called a family meeting for ten o’clock. He asked if everyone was still planning to be there. I said they were.”

“By family meeting, who do you mean?”

“Myself, Chloe and Booker, my oldest friend Beverly, Tommy, and Archibald.”

“That’s your family?”

“It is.”

“And at this family meeting, Jordan was going to break the news about the divorce.”

“I imagine.”

“Your children would have been pretty upset by all this.”

“They’re adults. They would have coped.”

“But you had the most to lose.”

“Jordan had the most to lose,” said Kit.

Leaning back in his chair, DePetro studied her for a few seconds. “We were able to track your cell phone on Sunday morning. Assuming you had it with you, you left the house around seven and didn’t return until close to nine. Is that true?”

“I—”

“You don’t have to answer that,” said Ray.

“I’m happy to answer. I have nothing to hide.” She rearranged her sweater, retied the belt. “I did leave. I thought I’d spend some quiet time in the sanctuary at my church before mass began at nine. But when I got there, I saw that there must have been an early mass scheduled, so I left and drove around.”

“You drove to Bayview Park.”

“No, I did not.”

“We have records of your cell phone pinging off a cell phone tower not two miles from there.”

“Our house isn’t more than four miles from the park. I wanted to be alone, to have some time to think, so I drove out to Bay Point Ridge, high above the park, and sat watching the waves.”

“At the very least, you cannot state unequivocally that nobody in your family left your house that morning if you weren’t even home.”

“I can state that,” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “I know because nobody in my family murdered Jordan. It’s not possible.”

“It’s not possible because you murdered him.”

The words felt like darts hitting her skin. “I didn’t.”

DePetro allowed himself a small smile. Paging through the papers in front of him, he stopped when he found the one he was looking for. “Mrs. Deere, I wonder if you could tell me if you know any of these people. First, Dr. Daniel Woodson.”

“Never heard of him. Who is he?”

“Charles A. Nash.”

Kit was momentarily thrown. “Yes,” she said carefully. “I know him.”

“In what capacity.”

“He was a friend. Many years ago.”

“A lover?”

“That’s right. Jordan and I, for obvious reasons, didn’t have an exclusive relationship.”

DePetro returned to the page. “Samuel L. Burke?”

“Another friend.”

“And lover?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Donald P. Greer. Arturo Young. John D. Flemming. William Timothy Hudson. Alvin Bates. Kyle Todd.” He looked up. “All men you slept with?”

The smug look on his face caused her throat to tighten. “Yes.”

“Shall I go on?”

“What’s your point?” asked Ray, his tone a mixture of disgust and impatience. “As Kit just said, she wasn’t in a monogamous relationship with Jordan Deere. Nor was Jordan with her.”

“Tell me who Myron Oliver is,” said DePetro, his voice uncharacteristically mild.

Kit bristled. “Another man I slept with.”

“Where did you meet?”

“New Orleans.”

“So this man was a recent … admirer.”

“I suppose. Yes.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“Could you be more specific?” asked Ray.

“Mrs. Deere, did you ever tell Mr. Oliver that you were so angry at your husband that the only solution left to you was murder?”

“Absolutely not,” said Kit, sitting up straight. “I never said that.”

“What did you say?”

“That I was angry, sure. Maybe I said something like, ‘I’m so furious I could kill him.’”

“And the difference between those two statements is?”

“You have to understand the context. I was at Myron’s house. It was late and we’d been drinking. I was confiding my feelings to him, telling him about my frustrations with Jordan. It’s just … something people say when they’re angry, when they’ve had too much to drink. I didn’t mean that I was planning to murder Jordan. That’s just crazy.”

“And Myron never said to you that he could help. All you had to do was say the word.”

Kit blinked. “He didn’t mean that, any more than I meant what I said.”

“You didn’t tell him that you’d think about it?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“And you never lie, Mrs. Deere, so we can rely on your word.”

The room began to tilt.

“During our search of your house on Sunday afternoon,” continued DePetro, abruptly changing topics, “we found your husband’s laptop. We took it with us and had some of our technicians examine it. It seems the laptop is missing its hard drive. Care to comment on why that is?”

Her eyes jittered into focus. “I have no idea. You’d have to ask my husband about that.”

“Which we obviously can’t do.”

“No,” she agreed.

“Was there something on that laptop that you, or someone in your family, didn’t want us to know about?”

“Now you’re fishing,” interjected Ray. “Kit, don’t answer that.”

“You lie so easily and so often that you wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” said DePetro.

“That’s it,” said Ray. “Unless you’re arresting my client—”

DePetro closed his file folder.

Kit held her breath.

“No, I’m not arresting her. Not yet. But cooperation goes a long way,” he said, directing the comment to Kit. “Sometimes lawyers don’t help you, they hurt you.”

“Kit,” said Ray, rising from his chair. “We’re done.”