Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [153]
Was the accident a coincidence?
A planned publicity trick gone awry?
Some heinous plot?
“It’s sick,” he grumbled to himself, and hated being a part of the media circus and speculation that were a party to anything that had to do with Marquise. If only he thought he was making some kind of headway, but the investigation seemed stalled, log-jammed, and it made him irritable and cranky.
Somewhere in the outer offices another midnight hero, some detective working late coughed. A second later a phone rang in another part of the building.
Henderson spun his chair to stare at her glossy photograph full in the face and felt his stone of a heart chip a bit at the sight of her bright smile and mischievous green eyes. Almost as if she were pulling a fast one over on the photographer and anyone else even remotely associated with her.
Rubbing the stubble on his jaw, he thought about recent stalemates in the case. His interview with Jane Stanton hadn’t gone well. A neighbor of Marquise’s, Jane was pushing eighty, and though she was spry, her memory sharp enough, her hearing, apparently, wasn’t always dependable.
“I was looking for Precious that night, you see,” she’d said, blue eyes cloudy with cataracts as she’d offered the detectives tea that tasted like it had been made from some bitter weed. She’d sat in a rocking chair with an afghan and the cat in question on her lap. Precious had blinked his yellow eyes slowly as if he enjoyed being the center of attention while other felines—five in all—took up various perches in the stately old home.
An orange tabby had viewed them from the top shelf of a bookcase, a Siamese had peered from a crack in a cupboard door left slightly ajar and the other three strolled around the room, hopping onto the furniture or staring through the window at winter birds fluttering in the bare branches of a copse of saplings planted near the back deck.
“He’s such a naughty boy,” the old woman confided, “always trying to stay outside, aren’t you dear?” With a smile she continued to stroke the cat. “Anyway, I was looking for this little imp, here, when I heard a commotion on the other side of the fence. I couldn’t see through the bricks, mind you, but I recognized the voices and though they were muffled, I’m sure I heard Marquise call that Walker man by his name…at least I think so. But I heard, clear as a bell, him threatening her. Warning her that he’d kill her.” She nodded curtly, as if agreeing with herself. “Usually I try not to eavesdrop but that night…” She shrugged her thin shoulders as if to say, “what can you do?”
“You couldn’t hear what they were saying?” Hannah clarified, and the woman’s wrinkled face drew together like a tiny purse.
“Not really, but I thought they said something about money or a child…oh, I don’t really know.” She smiled sadly and sighed. “I usually keep to myself, you know. Just call for a ride down to the center once in a while.”
“Do you know Marquise?”
“Only just to wave and say ‘hi.’ I saw the young men come and go—the latest one, the fellow with all the hair and the flashy car…” sparse gray eyebrows rose over the rims of her glasses—“I think he’s a little rude. The ex-husbands are a nicer lot.”
“Did Marquise leave with anyone that night?”
“Now, that I can’t be sure.” She’d pressed the tip of one long, bony finger to her lips and thought for a second. “It seems that I saw her Jeep leave and there were definitely two people in it. A man and a woman, I think…but…” she shrugged, “…it was dark, except for the second or two they were under the streetlights, and I can’t be certain.”
Judging from the clouds in her eyes, Henderson had silently agreed.
He and Hannah had somehow managed to force down most of the strong tea without the benefit of gleaning more information, then left