Even if Mark hadn’t said a woman probably couldn’t have done that amount of damage to Gordon, I wouldn’t have believed Darlene was responsible now. Her grief was too genuine, and I didn’t detect any signs of underlying guilt. She met my gaze, albeit in a shy way, and her responses sounded matter-of-fact. Sad, but matter-of-fact.
I didn’t usually believe in innocent until proven guilty when it came to potential suspects, but in this case, that’s how I was going to approach it.
A cold gust of wind lifted my hair and Darlene’s. She touched my arm. “Why don’t we go inside? I’m sure you have questions, or you wouldn’t be here.”
She took my coat once we were inside and hung her own up as well. Her shoulders were slightly too broad for her hips, giving her a top-heavy look. Clement mentioned that she was a cheerleader. With her strong shoulders, she’d probably been one of the girls on the bottom of the pyramid.
I accepted her offer of coffee. She left me in the living room. Through the far wall, I could hear muffled voices, presumably the clean-up crew. That was a job I definitely wouldn’t want. Seeing blood in pictures was bad enough. The less blood I could see in real life, the better.
A chess set that looked like it was made from marble rested on a table in the corner, and a red brick fireplace ate up a third of their living room’s far wall. Pictures filled the mantel. Darlene’s temporary absence gave me a good opportunity to poke around a little and get a better idea of their life.
In the place of honor, where I’d have expected to find their wedding photo, was a picture of a boy of about ten, holding up a fish that was nearly as long as his entire torso. His square face and glasses reminded me of a little Clement, but it couldn’t be Clement as a boy. The picture was too recent. Not taken on a digital camera or phone by any means, but at least into the era of photography where the colors were bright and the image was clear.
To the right was a picture of a clean-shaven Clement in a graduation gown and Darlene in a dress with unflattering shoulder pads, holding a baby. It looked like Clement got his college degree while Darlene stayed home. The baby was probably the boy in the photo with the fish. It must be their son. Hopefully they’d called him to tell him what was going on. Some people thought it was better to hide bad news from their children.
To the far left was a picture of a high school football team. I leaned closer and studied the faces until I found Clement. If I hadn’t seen the graduation photo first, I wouldn’t have recognized him. The beard he wore now changed his look dramatically.
It must be the Fair Haven high school team. A few of the other faces were ones I knew as well—Stacey’s dad Tony Rathmell, the Fair Haven police force dispatcher, my pharmacist Saul Emmitt, and the head of the construction crew that rebuilt my historical-replica sugar shack. Based on what Saul said earlier, I’d thought he might have been born with spinal issues, but it looked like he’d been at least able to manage throughout high school.
It made me feel even more than I had before that I should listen to his advice. In high school, I’d assumed I’d be a first-class lawyer the way my parents were. My parents weren’t the only ones who were disappointed when it looked like I hadn’t inherited their abilities in the courtroom.
Gordon wasn’t in the team photo, but he was in one on the other side. Gordon and Clement stood out in the middle of the woods, shotguns beside them. Of course he had to be a hunter. My dad hated defending people who hunted because many jurors had a subconscious bias that people who killed animals for sport were more likely to kill people, too. Hopefully we could keep that from coming out.
“I don’t ever make coffee,” Darlene pushed open the door with her shoulder, “so I hope this is drinkable. Clement usually makes our pot of morning coffee.”
I’d drunk enough cups of Mandy’s strong-enough-to-clean-your-grout coffee that I was sure I could choke down anything now.
I moved away from the mantel and took a chair across from Darlene.
She balanced her mug on her knee, her fingers hooked around the handle just enough to steady it. Her gaze strayed to the office door, but with an I’m-out-of-my-depth look. My instincts said that Clement had probably used his one phone call to hire the clean-up crew rather than that Darlene had hired them. Clement seemed to be the one who handled most things.
Based on that, maybe the best thing I could do to help her through this would be to let her know she didn’t have to handle it alone.
“Part of my role is to make sure you and Clement have an ally and an advocate every step of the way, not only to defend him, but to make sure everything is taken care of and to answer your questions.” I inclined my head toward the mantle. “Have you called your son to let him know? It’s often helpful if the family is in court showing support for the accused, and it might make it easier for you to have someone around the house for a few days.”
Darlene’s gaze darted to the mantle and her cup tilted. She righted it at the last minute. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Our son drowned in a fishing accident shortly after that picture was taken.”
Great. I’d managed to make it worse for her, not better, by reminding her of her dead child. My voice didn’t want to work, which wasn’t surprising considering I had my foot in my mouth. I cleared my throat. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me about the case?”
Darlene swiveled the cup back and forth on her knee. “Can they make me testify against Clement?”
Darlene believed Clement was guilty. He’d said as much when I talked to him earlier, and I could see it in her every movement now. That put her in a terrible position. She loved her husband and didn’t want to feel like she was betraying him. But it looked like he’d murdered their friend.
More than anything, I wanted to fix that for them by proving someone else killed Gordon.
“The law protects the spousal relationship. They can’t make you testify against Clement if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to,” she said quietly.
I opened my mouth to tell her that I planned to do my best to prove him innocent, not only in the eyes of the law, but also in her eyes as well.
I snapped my mouth back shut before the words spilled out. I couldn’t guarantee anything, and the last thing this woman needed was potentially false hope. Especially given my misstep a minute ago about their son.
I sipped my coffee to buy myself a few seconds to reorganize my thoughts. I needed to figure out how to make her understand that we were all in agreement, but to also make sure she knew how important the information she gave me would be. And I had to do it in a noncommittal way so she wasn’t crushed if what I found out was that Clement was as guilty as Jack the Ripper.
I set aside my coffee and pulled out my notepad and pen. “If we’re going to keep you off the stand, I need to make sure I know everything useful to Clement’s defense and have alternate ways to bring it in. I’ll need you to answer a few questions for me now. Who would have known Gordon came over every morning at that time for breakfast?”
She did a headshake-shrug combo. “It wasn’t a secret, but I don’t think anyone specifically knew it was every morning that he came.”
Someone still could have known about it through the Fair Haven gossip system and decided to frame Clement. Since Gordon had a habit of coming, it wouldn’t have been a sound defense for Clement to claim that particular morning wasn’t one when he’d been invited.
“Do you keep your doors locked?”
“It’s a small town.”
In other words, no. At least I wasn’t surprised. Russ didn’t lock his doors, either. It drove me batty, especially when he’d come into my house and leave without locking the door.
Unlocked doors meant we couldn’t even narrow down possibilities. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Gordon?”
Darlene switched her mug from one knee to the other and frowned. “Why does this matter? Clement doesn’t want you trying to prove he didn’t do something he did.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. That was her first evasive answer. Darlene was still meeting my gaze, and her answers weren’t too rushed or too slow. She didn’t seem flushed or sweaty. She wasn’t showing any of the signs I would have expected from someone who was lying to me or had something to hide. She could be a psychopath or a sociopath, but that didn’t fit with the way she chose to show emotions in private and hide them in front of me. A psychopath would manufacture emotions when someone was watching.
So what was going on here? What was I missing? Maybe she didn’t believe Clement’s story about seeing a bear and suspected that he’d planned Gordon’s murder.
“Did Clement have a reason to want to kill Gordon?” I asked.
“No. And I did tell the police that.”
