Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [90]
She talked about a male who’d appeared unannounced within the past year to visit Mrs. Spalding, and recalled serving them drinks on the patio. She couldn’t describe the man, but when shown Dean’s booking photograph from the Santa Fe County Jail, she identified him as the visitor.
The information pleased Macy. Claudia Spalding had told Sergeant Lowrey that Dean had never been to the Montecito estate. He wondered what else Claudia had lied about.
Macy motioned the detectives to back off and took over the interview. “Were you present at the house the entire time Dean was here?” he asked Sluka.
“No, Mrs. Spalding asked me to take some clothes to the dry cleaners and then gave me the afternoon off.”
“Was that an unusual thing for her to do?”
“Yes, it was. She liked to keep us busy.”
“Were other employees around at the time?”
“No, just me.”
“Did you mention Dean’s visit to Mr. Spalding?”
“No.”
“Could he have learned about it some other way?”
“Mrs. Spalding might have told him.”
“Does Mrs. Spalding treat the staff fairly, without favoritism?”
Sluka lowered her head. “She treats us all pretty much the same, I think.”
Macy read the dodge. “She doesn’t play favorites?”
“We all try to get along and work together,” Sluka hedged.
“No one gets special treatment?” Macy asked.
Sluka’s cheeks turned red. “That’s not for me to say.”
“Okay, Cora, that’s all for now. But I may have to speak to you again.”
Sluka hurried out, and Glenn Davitt, the estate manager, replaced her at the kitchen table. A man in his thirties, he had jet black hair, dark, deep-set eyes, and a lean, angular face. He looked at Macy with feigned boredom, which raised Macy’s curiosity.
“How long is this going to take?” Davitt asked as he slouched in his chair and glanced at the three cops.
Macy countered the question. “Tells us what you know about Mrs. Spalding’s lovers.”
“I know nothing about any of that,” Davitt said, peering over his shoulder as the two detectives moved behind him.
“Please pay attention to me, Mr. Davitt,” Macy said softly as he approached. “Would you say Claudia Spalding is a beautiful woman?”
Davitt shrugged. “Sure, for someone her age.”
“Hard to resist?” Macy asked.
Davitt crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Macy chuckled. “Come on, don’t give me that. She’s a very sexy lady.”
“If you say so. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think of her that way. She’s my employer, that’s all.”
Macy gave Davitt a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Relax. Talking to me can only help you.”
“Help me how? This is a waste of time.”
“Let’s forget about Mrs. Spalding for a minute. Think about yourself, your future.”
Davitt laughed. “Maybe I’ll write one of those tell-all books and make a pile of money.”
“That’s a great idea,” Macy said approvingly. “But if you don’t tell us the truth, you’ll have to write that book in jail.”
“In jail for what?”
“Making false statements to the police,” Macy said. “Obstructing justice.”
Davitt raised a hand. “May lightning strike me if I’m telling a lie.”
Macy pulled a chair over and sat close to Davitt. “I don’t think you’ve lied, yet. But if you don’t tell us about your relationship with Claudia, you’ll be in a world of trouble. We know you’ve been sleeping with her.”
“Who says?”
Macy glanced at the closed door to the dining room where Cora Sluka waited. “Who changes and washes the bedsheets?” he asked.
Davitt bought into Macy’s trickery and started talking. He copped to having sex with Spalding, and cast himself in the role of a pursued, put-upon employee who only wanted to keep his job.
When Davitt finished, Macy stood. “Did she ever ask you to help her kill her husband?”
“No way,” Davitt said, making good eye contact.
“I believe you,” Macy said, “and I can’t wait to read your book, if you ever get it published.”
Late afternoon turned golden, the clear sky so bright that the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains were washed in a flood of light. On such days, Ramona Pino could still believe in the enchantment of Santa Fe.
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