By the time a squad car arrived, the Larkins had gone inside. The show was over.
I briefed the officers about my call to Bostwick. They were both young and confused, thinking they had been called out to a crime scene. When Rosie got frustrated, trying to explain the situation, I asked her to wait for me in her vehicle. After a few more go-arounds, they finally understood that all they had to do was watch the house and advise their chief of any activity.
“All night?” one complained. “I go off duty in an hour.”
Was it really necessary to tell him to call for someone to relieve him? Each year, they got younger and seemed to need more guidance. There must have been a time when I was like that. But at that moment, I couldn’t remember back that far.
As the patrolmen drove to a less conspicuous spot, I walked over to Rosie’s truck and got into the passenger’s seat.
“Cops ain’t never been my favorite people,” she explained. “They don’t like me, an’ I don’t have much use for them. Know what I mean?”
“So why do you think Diana was so upset about some lousy furniture an’ carpet? What was that all about?”
I explained everything to her—the murder, the hit-and-run. Not sure how much she knew at that point, I talked her through all of it. When I was finished, she rested her chin on the steering wheel, silently processing all the facts she’d just heard.
“So because the boss saw somethin’ he shouldn’t have, this Larkin character snatched him. An’ I’ll bet the bastard was probably plannin’ on killin’ him so he wouldn’t talk. But he didn’t have nothin’ to talk about, right?”
“At that point, no. But suppose they were both in on it. Then things begin to make sense.”
This time Rosie looked shocked. “Wait a minute! You think that dude in there had his girl-on-the-side snuffed out? On purpose?”
“Not exactly. I’m thinking that somehow he found out what his wife had done and wanted to protect her.”
“Or his reputation.”
* * *
I left the police on surveillance and felt that between the two of them, Mr. and Mrs. Larkin’s whereabouts would be known until Bostwick could bring the couple in for questioning and get a warrant to search the house. Lizzie’s plane was due to arrive at 2:10 the next afternoon. Her assistant, Josh, would pick her up. She wanted to be there when the kids got home from school. It was eleven by the time I sunk into the bed. But I had to use my old test-pattern technique to fall asleep.
The next day, I didn’t know what or who I’d find at the office. When I walked in, things seemed normal; it was back to business as if nothing had ever happened. Polly had her headset on and was talking to someone. She smiled and waved when she saw me. Rosie, with her feet up on her desk, was leafing through something that looked like a catalog. Brock told me E.T. would be in later, and the boss was back in his office.
After getting a cup of coffee, I went to see Nathan.
He seemed to be trying too hard when he greeted me. The smile plastered across his face looked way out of proportion. He fussed with a chair, rolled it around, and ordered me to get comfortable and sit.
“You’ve spent so much time here, Kathy. Too much, in fact. I’m sure you want to get home.” He sat on the edge of his desk as he spoke, then picked up a pen and clicked the top. Click . . . click . . . click . . . click. “Everything’s back to normal now . . .”
While he spoke, I hung up my jacket. After settling into the chair he’d offered, I couldn’t take it anymore and had to ask, “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You think I don’t see the way you’re overcompensating?” I untied the scarf around my neck, giving him a moment to think about what I’d just said.
“Now why would I be doing that?” Clickclickclickclick.
“Because you’re scared, Nathan.”
He scoffed. “I’m fine.” Clickclick. “Really.”
Over the years, I’ve wasted a lot of words and time before learning that when a person’s not ready to listen, there’s no use talking. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”
“And I appreciate your concern.” He spoke to me like I was a business acquaintance, and I didn’t like it. “But it seems to me, from what I’ve been hearing, that I should be concerned about you.” Click . . . click . . . click . . . “So tell me all about your little adventure last night with Rosie.”
Before I could say a word, he lit into me.
“What the hell were you thinking? Going out to that house alone—”
“Rosie was with me.”
He put his pen down and folded his hands in his lap, still smiling.
“Come on, Kathy. Rosie can be a loose cannon. That’s why I try to keep her in the office. And you were both out there, unarmed. There’s no telling what that maniac might do next. Just because he didn’t hurt me doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of murder.” His hands suddenly became animated, chopping at the air the more agitated he became. “What if something would have happened to you . . . or Rosie? What if he grabbed you, and we never saw either one of you again? Did you stop to think about that? Did you?”
Ahh, the real Nathan was back! What I’d thought was indifference when I first came in was concern mixed with a little anger. I’d never seen him angry before.
“I’m waiting.”
I led off with a peace offering. “I hate to admit it, but in this instance, what you say about there being no coincidences in a murder investigation is probably true.”
His pleasure in hearing my words was genuine. “I won’t bother to say I told you so. But . . . I told you so.”
“While you gloat, I’ll tell you how I think the Watson murder, Kerrigan’s death, and your kidnapping are all connected.”
Nathan pulled a chair up and sat next to me. “First, let me tell you my theory.”
“I’m all ears.”
“That day I went out to the Larkin house early and screwed up his timing, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see—or he thought I did.”
“Charlie Kerrigan.”
“Right. He must have just come from burying the Watson woman. He was angry. He wanted his money. Maybe he was even drunk. When he finally got it through that thick head of his that he wasn’t getting paid, anger got the best of him. So while he tracked dirt and blood all over the house, he spilled the beans to Mr. Larkin.”
“But it’s the wife who has all the money.” I couldn’t hold back adding my two cents.
Nathan nodded. “I haven’t got it all figured out, but somehow Kerrigan got roped into helping get rid of the evidence he’d just brought into the house.”
“The Larkins have a complicated relationship. One of those love-hate things,” I said.
“That would explain why, after just finding out that his lover had been murdered, he wanted to protect his wife while he must have been hating her.”
“Or afraid of her.”
“And also afraid I’d seen too much,” Nathan said. “So he promised he’d get Kerrigan his money if he’d do one more job.”
“Bring you back to the house.”
Nathan slid forward in his chair. “And once she put the plan in motion, Mrs. Larkin took off.”
“She thought she was so smart and wouldn’t have to pay Charlie at all. He’d committed murder. He couldn’t just walk into the police station and report her for lack of payment. But . . . he thought he was smarter.”
“And after grabbing me, hanging around the house for a few days, there was no money. Maybe he tried to blackmail them. ‘Pay up or I’m taking the two of you down with me.’”
“So they had to eliminate Charlie,” I said.
“You know, I’ve been wondering why they didn’t kill me,” Nathan said. His smile had now vanished.
“Charlie’s girlfriend must have told him that we were looking for you. I didn’t make a secret of it.”
“Then why would they come back?” Nathan wondered out loud.
“Think about who these people are. Two strong individuals, used to getting their own way either by legal means or with money. They think they have all the bases covered. Diana Larkin was in New York when her husband’s lover was killed. No way the police can arrest her for that. Her husband threw away any incriminating evidence linking either one of them to Carolyn Watson. And with Charlie dead . . .”
“One of them killed him, to shut him up,” Nathan said.
“Did I tell you Ashley Knight drives a blue truck? A scorned woman and all that, maybe she was involved somehow.”
“Well, except for that one detail, I’d say we’ve got this all figured out.” Nathan looked satisfied that he’d finally been able to make sense of everything.
I hated to spoil his mood but asked, “What about the painting? Do you think it’s connected somehow?”
“I really don’t see the importance of it.”
“It’s a loose end and it’s driving me crazy.”
Polly stuck her head in the door. “I hate to bother you guys, but it’s all over the Internet. Mr. Watson, Carolyn’s husband, just confessed to killing her.”