The Blue Journal (11 page)

As he stopped moving, so did I, except that my chest continued to heave and my groans of delight were replaced with sobs. I uttered these sounds of joy as I fell forward and let him hold me to him, my body continuing to quiver in his arms for what must have seemed to him a long time after he was spent.

My performance complete, I told him that he was incredible, having already done my best to demonstrate that. I said I was embarrassed by my tears at the end, but the pleasure was like nothing I had ever known. Could this be only the first time we made love together? Could it ever be any better than this? Could he imagine how wonderful it might become the next time and the time after that?

Walker finished and leaned back in the chair. “You've had a look at the other files?”

“Just a few, then I figured I better get this over here for you to see.”

“The others are all like this?”

“Pretty much,” Blasko said. “Some with women, some with other men, some just about sex in general.”

Walker had him open a couple of other files and they quickly scanned them. Just as Blasko said, the partners were different, but Elizabeth Knoebel's subject matter remained the same.

“You know I trust you Teddy, but you've really got to keep this to yourself.”

“Understood.”

“I'm sorry to even have to say it.”

“No offense taken, Anthony.”

Walker looked back at the screen. He took a deep breath, then said, “Wow.”

“No kidding.”

“Mrs. Knoebel was certainly making the rounds. Now we have to find out who her playmates were.”

“Might help if I can decipher the file names. The code appears to be relatively simple.”

“Can you figure it out?”

“Cake,” Blasko said. “Give me till tomorrow.”

“Any chance someone other than Elizabeth Knoebel got in here and deleted things? Like her husband, for instance.”

“There are hard disk imprints, we can recover them.”

“How do you check that?”

Teddy responded with a look that said, “Please don't waste my time having me explain something like this to someone like you.”

Walker got it. “All right,” he said. Then he turned from Blasko to Kovacevic. “Time for me to visit the good Doctor Knoebel.” He stared back at the computer screen. “I wonder how much he knows about this.”

CHAPTER 11

That evening, Walker arrived at the Knoebel home ten minutes early. He drove the long stretch of gravel driveway slowly, his car window down, the crunching sound of the rocks beneath his tires. He wondered how they plowed across all of this loose rock after a heavy snowstorm—wouldn't it kick up all the stones? Then he realized it was a question only a city kid would ask.

The morning newspaper, still in its filmy blue plastic cover, was lying on the ground. He considered bringing it to the door, then thought better of it and drove on.

The approach to the house ended in a circular sweep around a tiled fountain, a dramatic effect enhanced by outdoor lights that bathed the trees and stonework in a soft glow. This was Walker's second visit here, and he thought the place was even more impressive at night. He decided to have another look around before visiting with Dr. Knoebel.

The main house was faced in stone, two stories high, with arched windows and wood trim capped off by a gently sloping roof of slate tiles. The front entrance featured a large oak door, lighted on either side by brass sconces. He took a quick inventory of the other means of ingress—the kitchen door on the side of the house, French doors leading from the living room to a stone patio, another set of French doors leading from the spacious dining room to the stone terrace, and a single door from the family room to the backyard area. There were also a number of ground-level windows.
A burglar's paradise
, Walker noted. Like many of these homes, there were alarm systems that went unused; doors left unlocked for children, servants, or visitors; and windows an intruder could easily step through. Walker wondered if Elizabeth Knoebel's murderer might have simply used one of these, or if she had left the front door open for someone.

He wandered down the sloping lawn to the right, toward a stone swimming pool and bathhouse. The evening was growing colder and he stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, his right hand absently playing with his car keys. A mist rose from the surface of the heated water to meet the cool air of the autumn evening.

“You might have come to the front door,” a voice behind him suggested with a touch of impatience.

Walker turned to face a man he assumed to be Dr. Knoebel. “I knew how concerned you were about your daughter. I was a few minutes early and didn't want to disturb you.”

The doctor responded with a short nod, his neck and back remaining so rigid that it seemed a formal bow. “That was considerate of you.”

Knoebel was almost a head taller than Walker. He was trim, stood perfectly erect, and appeared fit enough to run a marathon, if it became immediately necessary. He had a large forehead, owed partly to a hairline that had retreated long ago, and partly to an intellectual look Walker figured he must have had since he was a kid. His lips were even thinner than his long, angular nose, and his pale blue eyes seemed like they could bore a hole through a steel plate, not to mention a police detective. All in all, Walker thought Stanley Knoebel looked just about as friendly as advertised.

“We haven't been introduced. I'm Detective Anthony Walker.” He held out his hand. “I'm very sorry about the circumstances.”

Knoebel's grip was firm and warm, even in the cold night air. “Shall we go to my study?” His Eastern European accent was sharper than Gill had described.

“If your daughter is home, I'm comfortable right here. Might make it easier.”

“Fine,” the doctor replied. Then he looked away, as if searching for something in the distance. “I was told the remains will be released tomorrow morning.”

“So I understand.”

“We are anxious to be done with that part of this tragedy. Once Elizabeth has been laid to rest, I believe Kara can begin to heal.”

“Laid to rest, doctor? I thought Mrs. Knoebel was going to be cremated.”

“She is, yes.” He returned his gaze to Walker. “It's a figure of speech, Detective. I was referring to her soul.”

“I see.” Walker waited for Knoebel to go on. His basic interview technique was to encourage as much voluntary information as a witness might offer, not unlike his attempts to elicit information from Randi Conway early that morning. As unsuccessful as he had been with the psychologist, it appeared using that approach with Knoebel might end up a duet in pantomime. “Nice swimming pool,” Walker said.

“Did you have something you wanted to ask me, Detective?”

“Just a few routine questions.”

“I understand routine,” he allowed in his imperious manner. “Please proceed.”

Walker began to take out his note pad, then thought better of it. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “You didn't come home the night of your wife's death.”

“Correct.”

“You were in surgery that day.”

“Correct.”

“You keep an apartment in New York.”

“Correct.”

“And you stayed at your apartment that night.”

“Forgive me, Detective Walker, but thus far you haven't asked me a question. You seem to be repeating statements I've already made to your chief.”

“I apologize, Doctor, but I'm in charge of this investigation. I need to corroborate all of the facts myself.”

“Very well.” Knoebel turned away again, giving his attention to the stillness of the swimming pool and the haze that floated just above the surface.

Walker joined him in silently admiring the view, noting that the pool was kept heated, even at this time of year. He could not help wondering about the cost, not to mention that it must be one hell of a chilly walk from the pool to the bathhouse after a nighttime swim.

Knoebel finally said, “I had a full slate of surgery and rounds on Tuesday. I was due in the OR early yesterday. My custom is to stay in the city on those nights.” He looked at Walker. “That is one of the reasons we bought the apartment in New York, in case you need an explanation for that.”

“Do you recall what time you left the hospital Tuesday?”

“I was in and out all afternoon.” He made an attempt to smile, but the effort seemed painful for him. “Are you asking for my alibi, detective?”

“Yes,” Walker said simply. “An alibi would be helpful.”

“My last procedure was done by two. I had rounds in the late afternoon. I was all over the hospital that day. I also went out to the park for some air.”

“Central Park?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Alone.”

“And that evening?”

“What about it?”

“Were you alone?”

Knoebel thought that one over. “I had drinks with two of my colleagues. That was around seven o'clock. They can verify the time, although I'd prefer not to have them troubled with this. I'm sure you can understand.”

Walker ignored Knoebel's irritation as he asked for and received the names of the two doctors. He finally took out his small pad and made some notes. “And then you went to your apartment?”

“I did.”

“Alone?”

“I see that tact is no concern of yours, Detective.” This time he made no attempt to smile.

“Tact has no place in my line of work, Doctor.”

“Very well, then. I was alone.”

“Do you recall what time you returned to your apartment?”

“Not exactly. Incidentally, when am I read my legal rights and asked if I want to consult with an attorney?”

“Would you like to consult an attorney?”

“Should I?”

“It's not really for me to say. At the moment you're not the target of this investigation. If you'd feel more comfortable with a lawyer present . . .”

“No, that's quite all right. Although I would be more comfortable if we sat down.” He led Walker around the far end of the pool to the lawn chairs that sat on the flagstone deck.

“Are you sure it's not too cool for you?” Walker asked.

Knoebel was wearing a plaid shirt, open at the neck, and a tweed sport coat. Walker had on his suede jacket, zipped up tight.

Knoebel said, “I quite enjoy the fresh air after a day in the hospital. Have a seat.”

Walker perched on the end of a chaise and crossed his arms, the notepad back in his pocket, his hands secure and warm against his chest.

Knoebel sat on the lounge chair beside him, sliding all the way back and putting his feet up, reclining with his hands behind his head, as relaxed as a man lying out in the sun. “It's getting dark much earlier now.”

“Yes, it is,” Walker agreed.

“Where were we?”

“I was asking what time you got home that night. To your apartment in New York.”

“I don't recall exactly. Nine, nine-thirty.”

“Did you call your wife that evening?”

“I don't recall. I don't think so.”

“Was that unusual?”

Knoebel was staring up at the dark sky. “Not really. I told Elizabeth I would be staying in town that night. She always had my schedule in advance. At least as much in advance as I have it.”

“What if you had called her that night? What if you called and got no answer? Would that have been unusual? Is it something you'd be likely to remember?”

“Not particularly. We often communicated through voice mail and e-mail and text.” He let out a long sigh. “Elizabeth and I did not have a good marriage, Detective Walker. That is no secret. We spent many nights apart. Many of those nights we did not speak. Sometimes I would call. Sometimes she would call. Sometimes one or the other of us was out for the evening. Do you understand?”

Walker was not sure he understood, but nodded anyway. “Did your wife have enemies, Dr. Knoebel? When I say that, I mean . . .”

“You mean, can I think of anyone who might want to shoot my wife to death.” He turned to face the detective. “Other than me, of course.”

“Yes, that's the question.”

Knoebel pursed his lips as he considered his response. “My wife was a nasty woman, Detective Walker. Making enemies was a hobby of hers. If you want to know whether I think any of those people would come into my home and murder Elizabeth, I must admit that it is beyond the realm of my imagination.”

“I can understand that. But is there anyone who especially comes to mind, someone who might have hated your wife that much?”

Knoebel pondered the idea again, returning his attention to the star-filled sky. “I'll think about it.” It was obviously not the first time the question had occurred to him, either before or since Elizabeth's death.

“I'd appreciate any help you could give us.”

Knoebel offered no reply.

“Did you get home in time to, uh, see your wife here?”

“Before her body was moved? In the room? No. She had already been taken to the coroner's office. I asked our housekeeper to clean up, once your people were gone. I certainly had no interest in seeing her that way.”

Walker nodded, as if confirming a thought.

“As you know, I was required to identify her body at the morgue,” the doctor added.

Walker waited a moment for that image to fade. “Your wife hadn't received any threats, had she Doctor Knoebel? E-mails we might find in her computer.” He waited for some reaction to the mention of the computer, which Nettie Sisson had confirmed was used exclusively by Mrs. Knoebel.

Knoebel responded with a blank stare.

“Just a possibility, that's all.”

Knoebel gave his head a brisk shake. “No. If she had, I believe she would have told me.”

Walker turned on the edge of his chair so he was facing Knoebel directly. “Excuse me for mentioning this, but your wife was found, uh, in the nude.”