CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

 

“What’s our strategy?” I asked.

“You start with your questions about the house and the mug and I’ll pick it up from there.”

“Deal.”

Rafferty’s realty, Executive Homes, was a short ten-minute drive across town. Slade greeted us warmly and asked us to have a seat in the two upholstered beige chairs that faced his modern teak wood desk. He was an average looking man with trimmed silver hair parted at the side. He was wearing a stylish grey suit, a thick silver watch and pearl-laced glasses, highlighting his brilliantly bright blue eyes.

He sat down in his beige, tweed executive’s chair and leaned forward. “I appreciate you taking an interest in my wife’s” -his breath seemed to catch in his throat. He composed himself then said, “I’ve read about you and your husband many times in the newspaper and I’m glad you’ve come to see me. May I ask who sent you?”

“As of right now, Mr. Rafferty,” I answered. “We aren’t at liberty to say.”

Slade nodded and retrieved a pen from his desk, making a note as I continued.

“I don’t know whether you’re aware of this, but I was the first to arrive on the scene. I came to deliver your flowers, found the door open, and called the police, so I feel like I have a vested interest in your case.”

“The flowers,” he said fondly. “You were the one delivering the flowers. I had completely forgotten about that.” He took a deep breath and said, “Paige loved flowers. She would spend hours out in her garden. She had just finished planting for the season.” His eyes drifted away.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, giving him a moment to collect himself.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Would it be okay if we started with some personal questions?”

He hesitated for just a second then said, “Go ahead.”

His brief hesitation was just long enough for me to feel a bit of distance between us. Marco shifted back in his seat, clearly feeling it, too.

I pulled out my iPad and took the lead. “First of all, are you able to get back into your house?”

“I will be tomorrow.”

“That has to be a relief,” I said.

“Yes and no,” he replied. Considering what he was going home to, no further explanation was needed.

“Where were you on Monday at six p.m.?” I asked.

“Normally I would have been leaving work at six, but I received a phone call from a potential client asking me to take a look at a new home site. If I had said no” –his voice broke on the last word. He took a deep breath and said, “I waited for about thirty minutes, but the client never showed up at the property.”

“Can this client vouch for your whereabouts?” I asked.

“That’s where things get a little sticky,” he answered. “This potential client said his name was Mr. Smith, but I have never met the man nor do I have any record of him in our system.”

“Which means you have no alibi,” I confirmed.

“My secretary relayed the phone call. She’s my only alibi. We voluntarily offered to take lie detector tests, by the way, but Detective Arno said they weren’t necessary. I’m meeting with my lawyers this afternoon and we are considering filing a lawsuit against him and the police department.”

“Good for you,” I said.

Marco nudged my knee with his. I wasn’t supposed to take sides.

“Thinking back to Monday morning,” I asked, “did you have coffee before you left for work?”

“Yes, at breakfast with my wife, as I do - did - every day.” He stopped to look toward the window, pressing his lips into a hard line as though struggling to keep a professional face. I could tell by Marco’s quick glance toward me that he seemed to be wavering on the sincerity of Slade’s demeanor.

“Do you put your coffee cup in the dishwasher when you’re finished?” I asked, drawing Slade’s gaze back to me.

His eyes were watery but his composure was back. “No. It was Paige’s habit to wash our dishes immediately and put them away.”

I showed him the photo of the mug stand. “As you can see two cups are missing. One was still on the kitchen table beside your wife when the police arrived. I’m trying to account for the whereabouts of the second mug because I believe Paige was having coffee with someone before I got there. Do you know where Paige might have put the second mug?”

“I’m not sure.”

I rephrased the question, “Could she have put the cup in the dishwasher?”

“Yes, possibly,” he said.

“Would you check the dishwasher when you get back into your house and let me know what you find?” I asked. “If the mug is there, use a tissue or napkin to put it in a plastic bag and we’ll come get it.”

“Of course,” he said and made a note.

“Again, going back to Monday,” Marco added, “did your wife mention that she was expecting company, or is there anyone you can think of that might have dropped by to see her? A friend or a neighbor?”

“She didn’t mention anything to me, but it’s possible,” Slade answered. “Our neighbor, Darlene Cutler, she comes by quite often and they may have been having coffee. She lives across the street from us.”

I made a note as he relayed the address and highlighted the name Darlene Cutler.

“Did the detectives inform you that it appears someone set up your house to look like a break-in?”

“Detective Arno made it a point by accusing me of doing it,” Slade replied bitterly, “killing my wife on our first anniversary no less. He said he had proof that I’d just gotten her to take out a huge life insurance policy.”

“Did she?” Marco asked.

“If she did I was not aware,” Slade replied. “I told Arno that I wanted proof and he quickly changed the subject.”

I gritted my teeth. That sounded like the way Dutch worked. He would lie to convict his own grandmother if it would close a case. I quickly typed insurance policy as Slade continued.

“Then I asked for my lawyer and that ended the questions.”

“Have you checked your wife’s account to see if her charge cards were used?” Marco asked.

“Yes. It’s a joint account, by the way, and nothing has been charged on it since Sunday when I took her to Chicago to buy her an anniversary gift.”

He looked toward the window, his thoughts spinning off as he said wistfully, “She picked out a diamond watch and a crystal cell phone case from Nordstrom’s.” This time he swiveled his chair completely away and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

I leaned close to Marco to whisper, “I think we’ve put him through enough for one session.”

“Not yet, Abby. Trust me on this.”

“Then let’s give him a minute. He’s doing all he can to keep his composure.”

At Marco’s nod, I busied myself by pulling out my phone to check messages.

The first was from Jillian: Pilates. Tonight. 7pm.

The other was from Grace: Paige’s sister will be home this evening if you want to talk to her. You have her number. She’ll be expecting your call.

I showed Grace’s text to Marco and he gave me a thumbs-up. Things were moving quickly, thank goodness, but not quickly enough for my stomach. It growled loudly and I glowered at my husband.

After a few moments, Slade used a tissue to wipe his nose then turned back to us. “I’m sorry. I’m still in a state of shock. Nothing about this makes sense to me.”

“Were you told that your wife’s ring is missing?” Marco asked, jumping right back in.

“Yes,” Slade said.

“Does she always wear her ring?” I asked.

“Always, even when she’s gardening. She never takes it off. Excuse me. She never took it off.”

“Do you have a photo of the ring, a close up if possible?”

“The detectives confiscated my cell phone,” he said, “but I can pull up a photo online and show it to you.” Just as he had turned to his desk computer, Slade’s office phone rang, which seemed to startle him. He quickly punched a button that hung up the call automatically.

I pulled out my phone and snapped photos as Slade scrolled through engagement photos on his computer. The main diamond was extravagant, with two smaller diamonds on either side.

Marco continued his questioning, “Does anyone besides you and your wife have a key to your house?”

“Only two people – Paige’s sister, Susan, and Darlene Cutler. Susan had a spare for emergencies and Darlene always watered our plants when we went down to our Florida home in the winter.”

“How long has Darlene had a key?” Marco asked.

“Since we bought our place five years ago,” Slade replied. “Why?”

“We think someone got into the house either without alarming your wife or without your wife knowing,” Marco said. “Do you have any reason to suspect Darlene Cutler would want to hurt Paige?”

“Not at all,” Slade replied easily. “They were very close. Paige would bring over vegetables from the garden and Darlene would bring cakes and pies. She was a good neighbor, except…” he trailed off for a moment.

“Except what, Mr. Rafferty?” Marco asked.

“Darlene’s son,” he continued. “He was trouble.”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Dylan,” Slade said and then made another note before looking back up at us. “Dylan Cutler had been living with his mom when we first moved into our home. The police would be at their house quite often and there were break-ins all over the neighborhood. He was arrested for drug possession soon after we moved in.”

“How does that pertain to this case?” Marco asked.

“Dylan was released from prison last month,” Slade said, his eyes were looking in our direction but his focus was far away. “That’s when the break-ins started happening again. Paige would give him odd jobs around the house to help him out. I told her I didn’t trust the kid, but Paige was so kind.” He looked toward the window, his thoughts spinning off again as he said to himself, “I told her not to help him.”

“Do you believe Dylan Cutler could have located the key his mother kept for your house and used it to gain entry?” Marco asked.

“I’m sure he could have.”

“And do you believe Dylan would have had coffee with Paige and then stage a robbery?”

“He was a drug addict,” Slade bellowed, his fists balling up on his desk. “I’m sure he was capable of anything.”

Dylan Cutler was now number one on my suspects list, but Marco seemed to have a different idea. “Can you think of anyone else who might’ve wanted to hurt your wife?”

Slade stood up and walked around, rubbing his forehead. “Why would anyone want to hurt Paige?” he asked. “She was the kindest woman I have ever met, not an enemy in the world. She helped out everyone in need, couldn’t say no to anyone.” With that thought, Slade stopped pacing. He turned and said, “Luke Hurst.”

I quickly jumped back to my iPad as he continued.

“Luke is Paige’s ex-husband. About six months after we were married, he started calling and texting her about being fired, playing on her sympathies to get loans from her, which of course were never paid back. After I overheard one of his calls, Paige finally admitted she’d been helping him, so I told her to stop before his demands escalated.

“Things were quiet until about two months ago when he started harassing her with text messages, begging her for more money and threatening to kill himself. I asked Paige to save the texts and then had her file a restraining order against him. The texts will be on Paige’s phone if it’s ever located.”

“Did you tell the detectives about Luke?” Marco asked.

“No,” Slade replied. “Everything happened so fast. But I will now.”

After making another note, Slade continued. “In all honesty, I don’t have a good alibi and Arno knows it. He wanted a confession from me, not a theory on who actually might have wanted to harm Paige. Thank goodness my lawyer was able to get there quickly and put an end to Arno’s bully tactics.”

Those were my thoughts exactly, but my anger was momentarily overwhelmed by my rumbling stomach. I nudged Marco and then glanced at my watch to let him know I had to get back to the shop before my lunch hour was over. He gave me a nod back.

“Is there anything else you can tell us about Luke Hurst?” Marco asked. “Where he lives? Where he’s working now?”

Slade shook his head. “Once the calls and texts stopped, Paige and I didn’t talk about Luke anymore.”

Marco and I rose. “Thank you for your time,” Marco said, shaking his hand. He gave Slade a business card. “If you think of anything else, please call.”

“You never told me who you were working for,” Slade said as we were leaving.

Marco and I both paused and looked at him, his demeanor strikingly different from just seconds earlier. “You’ve already asked my wife that, Mr. Rafferty,” Marco said politely. “We are not at liberty to say.”

“I see. I see,” Slade said. “Oh, Abby. I almost forgot to ask, when I ordered the tulip arrangement, I gave Grace an anniversary card to put in the box. Do you know what happened to it?”

“I still have the arrangement,” I told him.

He heaved a sigh of relief. “Inside the card you’ll find two cruise tickets. I’ll need those returned, please.”

“I’ll get it to you right away,” I said. “And don’t forget to check for that mug.”