33
“Mr. Huntington, if I could just have a few minutes of your time . . .”
Detective Joe Foley saw the look Roger Huntington exchanged with his assistant when he came through the front door of his gallery. The young man—he’d said his name was Karl—shrunk back against the glare of his employer. Roger seemed extremely perturbed that Karl had allowed the detective to wait here for him. The assistant sat there with a remorseful look.
“Detective,” Roger said, turning his attention to Foley, “I’m preparing for an opening here in a few days . . . I’m incredibly busy.”
“I promise it will only take a few minutes,” Foley replied.
“I don’t have a few minutes.”
“It would really help me in the investigation I’m doing.”
“Oh, all right,” Roger said, sighing and giving in. “Karl, hold all my calls. I’ll take the detective into the lounge.”
“Yes, sir,” Karl said. Foley figured the kid was going to get a lecture for not finding a way to get rid of the nosy policeman. But Foley knew the power of flashing that badge of his. It made most people very cooperative.
Most people. Not everyone. Foley’s badge didn’t seem to have any effect on Roger Huntington, who made it very clear he resented this intrusion into his day. Once they were settled in the lounge, the door closed against any eavesdroppers, Roger gestured for Foley to sit down.
“Would you like some coffee?” Roger asked. “Tea?”
“No, thank you. I promised you this would be quick.”
“All right then. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about your sister-in-law.”
“Liz? What’s Liz done to draw your interest?”
“No, not that sister-in-law. Your late sister-in-law.” He paused for just a second. “Dominique.”
“Dominique?”
“Yes. According to the inquest notes, you saw her on the day of the accident.”
“Why are you asking about Dominique? I thought you were investigating the deaths of Audra and Jamison.”
“Oh, I am.”
Roger laughed derisively. “Are you suggesting there’s a connection between two barbarous murders and Dominique’s accidental drowning on her yacht?”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting anything. Just asking questions. Is it true you saw Dominique shortly before she went out that day?”
Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes. I told everything I knew at the inquest. If you’ve read it, you have all the information. Ask your chief. It was Chief Davis, working for the D.A.’s office, who conducted the inquest.”
“Oh, yes, I remember that well. The chief did it as a special favor for the D.A.”
“Yes, so all the information I have is already down in that report.”
Foley scratched his chin as he stared at Roger. “It’s just that there are a few inconsistencies in the report. I’ve been reading it over.”
“What kind of inconsistencies?” Roger acted as if he didn’t believe him.
“Well, the report of Captain Hogarth, for example. The man your brother and his wife regularly employed to captain the yacht.”
Roger sniffed. “Hogarth? He’s a drunk. Chief Davis noted that. He discredited Hogarth’s testimony.”
“Yes, I know, but it’s just peculiar. Hogarth at first testified he didn’t take the yacht out that day. But later he backtracked and said, yes, he was at the helm, taking Mrs. Huntington out on the water . . .”
“I’m well aware of the change in his testimony. He was clearly angling to try and pull some kind of shakedown of my brother. It was an attempt to get money. Extortion. The guy should be locked up. Ask Chief Davis. He discredited Hogarth’s second testimony.”
“But I’m confused. What kind of shakedown of your brother could Hogarth engineer by changing his testimony?”
Roger shrugged. “I have no idea. Ask the chief. Ask my brother.”
“The official inquest determination was that Mrs. Huntington took the yacht out on her own that day, that she was alone on board when the accident occurred. So that means she was fully capable of steering the yacht on her own?”
“There wasn’t much Dominique wasn’t capable of doing,” Roger said.
“So I take that as a yes? She could captain the yacht on her own?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw her that day, just about an hour before she went out?”
“Yes.”
“And she told you she was going out on her own? That she was not asking Hogarth to take her out?”
Roger hesitated. “I gave my statement to the inquest.”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Huntington, I’m asking you to give it to me again.”
“Yes!” Roger snapped. “She said she was going out alone.”
Foley nodded. “That’s all. Thank you for your time.”
Roger stood. Foley started to do the same, then sat back down. He loved pulling this little trick.
“Oh, wait,” he said. “There was one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you aware of the actual statements Hogarth made in his second, discredited testimony?”
Roger glared down at him, a version of the same angry look he had given his assistant earlier. “All I know is that he said he did take Dominique out that day.”
“Why would he say such a thing, do you think? It left him open for possible accusations of negligent homicide, that he steered the yacht out into stormy seas and then couldn’t manage it, resulting in Mrs. Huntington’s death?”
“I have no idea. He’s a drunk and a crook. You’ll have to ask him if you want to know.”
“I intend to.”
Roger stared down at him. “Does Chief Davis know you’re reopening the inquiry into Dominique’s death?”
“Oh, I’m not reopening it. Just asking questions.”
“Well, are you through with me now?”
Foley finally stood so he could look Roger straight in the eye. “I will be, once I tell you what Hogarth actually said in his second testimony, since you say you don’t know the details.”
Roger said nothing, just continued to meet Foley’s gaze.
“He said that he thought he was taking Mrs. Huntington out alone, but once they were out at sea, he realized a man was on board. He heard voices. Angry voices. A great deal of shouting. He looked down and he saw a man on deck—a man he identified as your brother. But he didn’t see Dominique anywhere. All at once, Hogarth reported, a storm came on—he’d never seen waves so high—and he had to concentrate on keeping the yacht steady. So he never had a chance to speak to your brother. The storm only got worse, and eventually Captain Hogarth lost control—the yacht was capsized. He grabbed a life jacket and made it back to shore safely. But as far as he knew at the time, both Mr. and Mrs. Huntington had been lost with the ship.”
“Well, that’s absurd, isn’t it?” Roger asked. “Because David was very much alive back at Huntington House when the Coast Guard reported finding the capsized yacht.”
“They never found its lifeboat.”
“They never found half the things that were on the yacht, including Dominique’s body. Are you trying to imply that David threw his wife overboard, then made it home in a furious storm in a lifeboat?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m just asking questions.”
Roger laughed. “Hogarth’s story is ridiculous! Now that I know the details, it was clear he was trying to get some money out of David. Everyone back at Huntington House could, and probably did, attest for his whereabouts that day. I’m sure that’s why Chief Davis discounted Hogarth’s second testimony. In my opinion, he should have arrested him for attempted extortion.” He sneered. “Really, Foley. You should have spoken to your chief before coming to talk to me. He’d be able to answer you better than I can.”
“I plan to speak to the chief.” Foley smiled. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Huntington. Good luck with your upcoming opening. Quite an eccentric collection of art, if I might say so. I got a peek on my way through.”
“Naomi Collins is a very hot artist at the moment,” Roger said, opening the door and striding back out into the gallery. “At least she is considered so among those with an appreciation and understanding of art.”
“I’m just a country boy, so what do I know?” He followed Roger out of the lounge. “I imagine your brother and his wife will be here.”
“I’ve invited them,” Roger said, not turning around. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Detective, I really am very busy . . .”
“Of course,” Foley said. “I can show myself out.”
Roger disappeared down a hallway without another word.
Foley gazed at one of the paintings on the wall. A girl with no arms staring at him with enormous purple eyes.
Yes, indeed, eccentric. Who’d ever buy such a thing? Where would you possibly hang it? Over your couch? In your dining room?
Foley shuddered.