Split Second - Catherine Coulter [36]
Delion said, “There was nothing about this in your wife’s file, Mr. Carpenter. Did you also give the officer you spoke to Kirsten’s name so there could be a follow-up with her?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you remember the officer’s name?”
“No, sorry, I don’t. I do remember he had to put me on hold a minute because there was a lot going on, a big drug bust, and I guess that meant lots of confusion. I could hear shouting and cursing in the background.”
Both Coop and Lucy knew exactly what Delion was thinking: I’m going to find and kill the idiot who took this call. Just a brief note or a couple of words to the lead—Inspector Driscol, now retired—and they might have caught Kirsten Bolger before she killed more women.
Lucy said, “So, basically, she invited you for a drink to tell you Arnette had left you for another man, this Teddy?”
“Yeah, now that I think back on it, all the rest of it was window dressing; telling me about the other man, that was the bottom line.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I believed her for maybe two seconds. I knew my wife, knew her as well as I knew myself. We’d been married for three years, not all that long, but we’d known each other since we were sixteen. I would have known if she’d met someone else. She would have told me. Whatever was in her head was out of her mouth in the next second.
“I wasn’t enough? Arnette wouldn’t say that, I know it to my soul.” He paused, then tears swam in his eyes and he lowered his head. “We were trying to have a child, and I’ll never know if she was pregnant when this Kirsten killed her.” His head snapped back up, and now there was rage. “Why? Why did this woman kill her? And then she calls me and tells me Arnette left me for this Teddy? It makes no sense.”
Coop said, “Your wife never mentioned Kirsten’s name? Ever?”
“No. As I said, Arnette always said whatever was on her mind; sometimes that wasn’t a good thing, but it was simply the way she was. If she’d had any kind of problem with Kirsten Bolger, she’d have told me. And who is Kirsten Bolger? All she ever told me was that she modeled, and that’s how she knew Arnette.”
Delion said, “Have you heard of the killer some of the media is now dubbing the Black Beret?”
“Of course. The guy who murdered two women here in the city—met them in bars, drugged them, took them home, and strangled them, right? No rape, which is why it’s even stranger. Why are you asking?”
Delion said, “The Black Beret isn’t a guy. She’s a woman—Kirsten Bolger, to be exact.”
Talk about a conversation stopper. Even the air stilled. Roy Carpenter looked like someone had shot him. His breathing hitched, and he began shaking his head back and forth. “But these two women murdered right here in San Francisco, they were found right away. Not like Arnette; she’s been gone three and a half years.” He turned perfectly white. “Do you mean she didn’t want Arnette found, and so she took Arnette someplace and buried her?”
“We believe so,” Coop said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carpenter.”
“But why did she want to torment me? I didn’t even know her.”
She called you because she’s an unbelievably cruel bitch. Lucy said aloud, “That’s an excellent question.” She sat forward. “Tell me, sir, was your wife by any chance an artist?”
“Why, yes, she was, but—” Roy Carpenter blinked. “She called it her hobby; she always laughed when I told her her paintings were good enough to sell. There, over the fireplace, that’s one of Arnette’s landscapes. Next to it is a portrait she did of her mother. They’re acrylic; that was her favorite medium. I’ve got several dozen of her paintings. I change them out every couple of months. She was very good, don’t you think?”
They rose to look at the paintings. Coop said, “Yes, she’s very good, Mr. Carpenter, very good indeed.” Coop supposed he’d call them neo-Impressionist, with their soft muted colors, the shapes slightly blurred, the trees a bit out of focus, but the colors were beautiful and deep. Her mother was a lovely woman, he thought, her face both haunting and beautiful. He saw hints of pain around her mouth and her