New River Blues (24 page)

‘Except he wasn't there.'

‘So it seems.'

‘You still don't want to give him up, huh?'

‘Well, he's just such a natural.'

‘Except he wasn't there,' he said relentlessly. ‘Hang on a sec.' He was gone a minute, came back, and said, ‘Hartford's here. You ready?'

They walked down the hall together and paused outside the open door of the ‘good' interview room, which still had grim overhead lighting and gray walls but at least afforded comfortable armchairs to sit in. Tobin was monitoring the video on the outside.

The steno brought in water and glasses and asked Devon Hartford III if she could bring him anything else. He assured her he was fine, thanks very much. She was solicitous. He was composed. Devon Hartford would no doubt be composed, Sarah decided, in a typhoon at sea. Assessing his neat close haircut, glinting rimless glasses, discreet tie, she muttered in Delaney's ear, ‘This bird's not easy, is he?'

‘Looks like he costs a lot and earns every penny.'

They walked in together. Delaney made introductions. Devon Hartford's handshake was firm, his just-barely smile serene. Delaney seemed equally relaxed, saying in his friendliest manner, ‘Why don't you just go ahead and tell us what you think we need to know? Then if we have questions we'll ask them.'

‘Very good.' Hartford tented his fingers, looked wise. ‘Mr Henderson came to see me yesterday. Very upset, understandably. Told me how he came home and found his wife . . . ahem. Well. And he said, “As if that isn't bad enough, I get the feeling I'm a suspect.” Of course I told him, “Oh, Roger, that's just standard operating procedure, the spouse always gets looked at first.” But he was concerned that maybe Patricia would get the idea that . . . ahem.

‘He said, “Bad enough she lost her mother like that. But then to be the first one there, she saw . . . ” He was quite distraught about what she saw. He said, “And my God, Dev, think how terrible for her if she thought there was any chance that I . . . ”' Hartford's small firm mouth turned down just enough at both ends to convey sadness.
Even his facial muscles don't waste any effort.

‘So I told him, “Roger, you have so much to do. Let me go down and visit with these folks. I'm sure I can clear up any misapprehensions they might be having.” ' His calm gray gaze swept their faces, alert for signs of confusion.

Delaney, stoical as stone, asked, ‘What is it you think we don't understand?'

‘Well, for example, you might be thinking Mr Henderson stands to benefit financially from his wife's death.'
No throat-clearing now.
‘And I want you to understand that actually it's just the opposite. Roger signed a prenuptial agreement stating that all the money that was settled on Eloise when she married would remain hers if they divorced. In the event of her death, if she had children they'd inherit, of course, but until they were twenty-five the estate would be administered by surviving members of Eloise's family. And if she had no issue surviving, the money would all revert to the Della Maggios.'

‘No settlement at all for the spouse? That's pretty restrictive for a prenup, isn't it?' Sarah said.

‘Yes, I believe it is.' He gave a little satisfied nod. Evidently restrictive arrangements were the most fun to make.

‘So Patricia and her brother get all their mother's money? And their father gets nothing?'

‘That's right. Of course Roger Henderson isn't the penniless carpenter he was when they married. He's built up a business with a very large cash flow of his own. I expect you know about Hen-Trax, don't you? The company's been in the news quite a bit lately.

‘I should point out that Roger does lose some flexibility from this. While his wife lived he was entitled to use as much of the income from the estate as she cared to share with him – all of it, in effect, because Eloise was the soul of generosity. Particularly where Roger was concerned! But now that she's dead the income from her estate is off limits to him.'

‘I see. Who'll administer the estate, then? Mrs Henderson's parents?'

‘No, sadly, both parents died in an automobile accident. Just last year, actually. So there's only Eloise's brother left. Teddy. Um, Theodore.'

‘Oh? Nobody mentioned him before. Does he live in Tucson?'

‘No. He visits here occasionally, but his residence is in Florence. Italy, not Arizona.'

‘Indeed. But he's been notified? He's coming for the funeral?'

‘Oh, I'm sure. As soon as they, um, find him. He travels a good deal – he seems to have a wide circle of, um,' a thoughtful pause, ‘rather oddly assorted friends.' He shrugged minimally in a cleaned-up, lawyerly version of, ‘Whaddya gonna do?'

The officers waited a few moments to hear more about the peripatetic habits of Patricia's uncle. When no more details were forthcoming, Delaney turned to look at Sarah. His red face inquired silently,
You still feel sure about the husband's guilt?

Sarah watched her visitor turn a page in his notes. She was picking up a different vibe. ‘Why do I get the feeling there's something more?'

‘Well –' Hartford shifted in his chair – ‘now I'm in the awkward position of divulging information to you that hasn't been made public yet. But I feel I owe it to you to share this now, so you'll understand Eloise's state of mind in the last weeks of her life. Because the circumstances of her death . . . ah . . . in view of, um, the way she was found.'

‘In bed with another man, you mean,' Sarah said. Delaney looked at her in alarm, but she refused to meet his eye. Somebody had to say it, or they could sit here all day, clearing their throats and dancing around the truth.

An electric silence buzzed in the room while Hartford recrossed his legs. His chair creaked as he tented his hands again and looked at the ceiling. Sarah prodded again. ‘Are you saying we shouldn't jump to the conclusion that the couple were estranged?'

‘That's exactly what I'm saying, Detective.' He met her eyes and nodded approvingly. He seemed to be giving her points for clearing up confusion.

‘All right,' Sarah said, feeling herself sink deeper in the weeds. ‘How would you characterize their relationship?'

‘They were a middle-aged couple working through some vexing problems. As so many couples do. And before I tell you what Eloise had decided to do about it, I must point out that until yesterday Roger knew nothing about her decision.'

‘Her decision to what?'

‘To cancel the prenup. She came to me about a month ago and said, “It's not right. I'm Roger's beneficiary but he's not mine.” She said, “Daddy set it up when we married and I didn't object because I was just a girl, what did I know? But now Roger and I are equal partners – ” she very much wanted to believe that, she said it several times – “Roger and I are equals and I want it fixed.”'

‘Why now?'

‘I asked her that and she was quite evasive at first. But finally . . . she said she felt that they had been “growing apart.” She talked like that sometimes, like the pop-psychology column in a women's magazine.' Hartford shuddered delicately. ‘Poor Eloise had every advantage, in some ways, but her parents traveled a good deal when she was a child and took her along, so she never really got much education.' He cleared his throat again, deliberated, and finally said, ‘Actually, there seems to have been a bit of a learning disability as well.'

Sarah, hearing her motive for murder come back, didn't really want to ask the next question. But Hartford had made the claim on which everything hinged and she knew she had to verify it now. ‘You're sure she never told her husband?'

‘Absolutely! She expressly forbade my saying a word to anyone. Their twentieth wedding anniversary was coming up soon, and she was determined this would be her surprise gift to him. And Roger . . . when I told him, yesterday, he was so touched . . . he all but broke down again.' Hartford's eyes took on a shine. ‘Roger Henderson's an exceptionally fine man, as I suppose you've realized by now.'

Delaney murmured something vague. Sarah watched the lawyer, thinking,
And now he's your major client, isn't he?
‘How far did you get with changing the prenup?'

‘It was all done but the signing. And we could have had that out of the way if Eloise hadn't wanted to save it for their anniversary. It's no big deal to change a prenuptial agreement if both sides agree to it. Eloise's father was the only one who might have raised any objection, and he was gone.'

‘The brother—'

‘He got his initial share when he married . . . ahem . . . the first time. Five or six years before Eloise got hers. And the siblings split the balance of the estate, minus a few bequests, last year when their parents passed. He isn't entitled to any more.'

‘But if the prenup hasn't been finalized, he'll be in charge of the money now, won't he?'

‘Well. Yes and no. The deceased's intentions were perfectly clear, and since he's already been well taken care of there's no reason for him not to do the right thing and honor her last request.'

‘Except people find reasons when money's involved.'

‘Sad but true. But no, I can't believe . . . he's already been given plenty of money. No reason for Teddy to make any trouble.'

‘Did you notify him of the change?'

‘No. I'll have to when the time comes, since he's the other person affected, but for the present I'm sworn to secrecy. It probably doesn't matter . . . I have the feeling he only reads a fraction of what I send him anyway. I sent him a letter about some stock changes a couple of months ago, really quite important, but typically, he never answered.' A small, rueful grimace.

‘He doesn't answer his mail?'

‘His father used to say, “Teddy has no head for details, I'm afraid.” Fabian Della Maggio was a paterfamilias of the old school, domineering and very protective. He worked himself and his employees hard, but he enjoyed indulging his wife and children.'

Sarah took another deep breath and asked him, ‘Did you help Roger Henderson cut his wife off at the bank last January?'

‘Well . . .' he recrossed his legs, looked at his hands a few seconds, ‘yes. That is . . . we didn't cut her off. You don't cut a Della Maggio off from her own money, not in this town. But Roger and I persuaded her that she needed to control her overspending. And help with the fact that she could never deny her brother anything. So yes, I helped him get the bank to agree that her checks had to be signed by both of them, and the debit cards would have reasonable limits. I sympathized with his desire to save some of Eloise's money for their children.'

Delaney's cell phone vibrated. He looked, said, ‘Excuse me,' and answered it. He listened briefly, raised his head and told the attorney, ‘Well, here's a coincidence. The man on the door says Mr Henderson is downstairs and he's looking for you.'

‘Why on earth would Roger . . . well, do you mind letting him come up? I'll just find out what he needs and then probably he'll be on his way.'

‘No problem.' Delaney spoke into the phone and closed it.

Sarah asked him, ‘You weren't expecting to see him today?'

‘No. And I can't imagine why he'd come looking for me here.'

There was an abrupt little knock. The door opened halfway, and a handsome blond head, very young, appeared in the opening.

‘Ah, there you are,' the boy said, speaking exclusively to Hartford, ignoring the two detectives. He came all the way in, looking pleased to have found his man, not concerned at all about whatever conversation he might be interrupting.

‘Adam,' Hartford said, ‘Roger said you weren't due until tomorrow.'

‘Well, I've always said he doesn't know everything.'

His physical resemblance to his sister was striking. He had the same high blond coloring, Delft-blue eyes, and strong, confident bearing. He brought an entirely different vibe into the room, though. An extra touch of arrogance, Sarah thought, and a little tweak of – was it anxiety? Something goading him.

Then his eyes slid past her, just slightly out of focus and with that characteristic shine, and she knew what she was looking at.
Patricia Henderson on speed.

‘I called your office,' Adam told the lawyer. ‘They said you'd come down here and I thought, well, OK, I'll go there and get all the news at once.'

‘Yes, um,' Hartford said. ‘How'd you get here, Adam?'

Must be some kid.
For the first time since she'd met him, Hartford looked uneasy.

‘I flew. There's this device now, Devon, called an airplane . . .'

‘I meant from the airport. Is Patricia with you, did she pick you up?'

‘No. no, I rented a car.'

‘Rented a . . . you have your license now?'

‘Of course.' He pretended to be offended by the question, but his bright eyes slid away from Hartford in a way that made Sarah wish she could see the card.

‘We could have sent someone to fetch you. Or Roger's secretary would have.'

‘Have to have wheels anyway.' His impatient little shrug said,
Why are we discussing this?

‘Well. Um . . . Adam, this is Sergeant Delaney.'

Only half turned toward Delaney, he reached a hand out and they shook. Adam mumbled something that might have been, ‘Pleasure.'

‘And Detective Sarah Burke,' Hartford said. Adam nodded brightly at a point behind her shoulder. Practiced in the art of refusing to be blown off, Sarah gave him the small, correct smile of the officer on duty and extended her hand. He scrutinized it for two heartbeats as if it was some strange artifact of dubious interest before giving it the briefest possible shake – a touch, quickly withdrawn. His eyes grazed her left earlobe and returned to his attorney. ‘How soon will you be done here? I need to talk to you.'