The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

Twenty-One

Tom, Bob and I were escorted to separate rooms at the police station—Tom to one interrogation room, Bob to the other while Rodriguez put me in Chief Baca’s office.

I sat in the chair across from Mike’s desk and noticed how completely silent it was in here, as if he’d had his office soundproofed. I took a few deep breaths, wondering how long I would have to wait. My thoughts turned to Finn alone at my house. I took out my cell phone and checked my cat cam.

He must have taken Yoshi to bed because, though there were several Dr Pepper cans on the coffee table, he wasn’t in the living room. I did see all three cats asleep in different spots.

Then I thought about poor Dashiell, who had been dropped off at Karen’s house. Tom had told me once she had no clue what to do for a diabetic cat should there be an emergency, even though he’d tried his best to show her how to test the kitty’s sugar. But until we were free to go, Dashiell had to stay with someone. When Tom phoned her with the request, she agreed to take him. Tom made sure to give her Doc Jensen’s number in case of an emergency.

I glanced around Mike’s office, which was devoid of personal photos. But the walls were filled with police academy certificates, sharp-shooting awards, a commendation from the mayor and town council. For some reason, I’d never noticed these items before. Maybe because I’d never been in his office all by myself. Mike was a good guy, but of late, with all the budget cuts, he’d become much more of a political animal. After all, chief of police was a position appointed by the town council.

As the moments ticked away, I finally allowed myself to wonder about Rory Gannon. Somehow he’d found his way to Tom’s house. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised since he’d been showing up anywhere Finn might be in Mercy. There, he’d met his death. Why? And how had he ended up beneath the holly? Like Billy Cranor said, those bushes weren’t exactly people friendly. Maybe he’d started to crawl under them so he could peer into the dining room and had suffered a heart attack. But I had the sick feeling something far more sinister had happened.

I realized I was squeezing my left hand with my right, afraid of learning the truth and yet wanting to know at the same time. I hated this anxious feeling and was almost ready to get up and see if Candace had arrived so I could get answers. Before I moved, the door opened.

Lydia Monk flew into the office like she was riding a witch’s broom. Her blond hair looked like a lion’s mane surrounding her face.

“You again,” she said with contempt. “When I heard you were the one who found the body, well, let’s say I volunteered to come in here and be the one to interview you. See, I’m getting darn tired of you interfering in Tom’s life.”

She walked around to the other side of Mike’s desk and sat in his black leather chair opposite me. She wore a low-cut purple sweater and a leather vest, along with plenty of makeup. Giant silver hoop earrings dangled near both cheeks. She put a small tape recorder down on the desk.

“Hello, Lydia,” I said, mustering every ounce of composure I could.

“Okay,” she said, glancing around Mike’s tidy desk. “I’m not sure what in the heck you thought you were doing at Tom’s house. You don’t belong there.” She started opening drawers and finally said, “Ah,” and pulled out a legal pad. Lydia took a pen from a container on the desk and turned on the tape recorder. “This is Assistant County Coroner Lydia Monk interviewing Jillian Hart at the request of the Mercy Police Department.” She gave the date and time, then said, “What do you know about this dead man?”

“Not much, really,” I said.

She sighed in exasperation, turned off the tape recorder and echoed, “Not much, really,” in a mocking tone. “Listen to me, Miss Prissy. This is the second man in a week dead by another’s hand and somehow connected to you. You better tell me everything, starting now.”

Dead by another’s hand. Murder, in other words. “Why did you turn off the tape recorder?”

“Bothers me. Can’t do a decent interview. They can rely on my notes,” she said.

“W-where’s Candace?” I said.

“You think your friend will come in and rescue you from the hard questions?” she said. “She’s busy with the real suspects. Yeah, you’re no suspect in her eyes, but I might prove her wrong.”

“You believe I killed a man I hardly knew?” I said.

Her eyes shifted, as if she was trying to pull some theory out of the air to confirm her crazy suspicions. “Let me give you a heads-up. Tom has a brother. He has a stepson. He has an ex-wife. How much did you know about these strangers?”

“As much as anyone. They’re people from Tom’s past.” I avoided eye contact with her. Anything not to get her more agitated than she already was.

“I know they’ve all caused trouble, so what’s your part in his problems?” she said.

I would never understand how Lydia’s mind worked. I decided my job right now was to be as cooperative as possible and maybe she’d leave me alone. “What exactly do you want to know, Lydia?” I said.

She stared at me for several seconds, eyes narrowed; then, thank goodness, she looked down at the legal pad. “Why were you at Tom’s house tonight?”

Feeling less nervous, I explained how Tom, Finn, Bob and I had all been at Karen’s place earlier in the day. I told her how Finn and Tom left for his house when Hilary arrived and that I’d gone home. When I came to the part about Finn and Tom coming to my house later on, I saw her press the pen into the paper a little harder, but she didn’t look at me. When I told her how Bob allowed the cat to sneak out again and that I’d accompanied Tom back to his house to help look for Dashiell, her almost-rational behavior disappeared again.

She slammed down her pen and leaned toward me. “Why would he trust you? Why can’t Tom see you for the Mata Hari you are?”

I shook my head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

The door opened behind me and Liam entered the office. He smiled down at me and then addressed Lydia. “Did you get the time line I asked for?”

Lydia stood. “Yes, Mr. Brennan, I did. This woman here had plenty of time to kill the man. She says she was alone all afternoon. No alibi. Now, I may not be a doctor but, like I told you over at Tom’s house, Mr. Rory Gannon was dead for several hours before his body was found.” She glanced at me pointedly. “Found by her with a knife wound in his back.”

The shock I felt must have been written all over my face. She was accusing me of murder in front of the Assistant DA.

I was relieved to see the corners of Liam’s mouth twitch upward. “Your theory is Mrs. Hart murdered Rory Gannon? What evidence have you collected to support this conclusion?”

“She hasn’t implicated herself,” Lydia said, sounding less convinced. “But she had the time.”

“I see. I’m sure you have paperwork to complete for the coroner. Thanks for stepping in when the police needed extra help.” Liam stood away from the open office door to allow her to leave.

“Sure.” She tore off the notes she’d taken, but before she could leave with them, Liam glanced at the tape recorder and said, “You have her statement on tape?”

She pulled off a few pills on the arm of her sweater. “No. I couldn’t work the thing. I don’t use tape recorders.”

He held out his hand. “Then I’ll need your notes.”

She looked at Liam, her mouth tight, and then turned them over before she left.

I let out an audible sigh once she was gone. “I am so glad you’re here.”

He closed the door. “Two murders in less than a week. You bet I’m here. Kara was worried about you, by the way. Her new assistant told her about the 911 call at Tom’s house. She was on the scene sooner than I was. Once I learned they’d taken you here, I told her as much. She was relieved you’re safe.” He perused the yellow piece of paper as he walked around and took a seat in Mike’s chair.

“Lydia said Mr. Gannon was stabbed?” I said.

“Yes,” he said absently, still reading what Lydia had written.

“No one has confessed, I assume,” I said.

He looked at me. “Wouldn’t a confession tie this up nicely?” He held up the paper. “This, despite Lydia Monk’s propensity to want to find you guilty of anything, is lucid. Thanks to this, I see there’s another person we need to bring in. Do you know where Finn is?”

I swallowed. “H-he’s at my house. But he didn’t even know his father.”

“I’m not saying he’s guilty of anything, Jillian,” Liam said. “He was at Tom’s house, probably around the time Gannon was killed. He could know something.”

“You just want to talk to him?” I said. “You’re aware Candace has a theory about his innocence based on physical evidence?”

“You know me, Jillian. We’re friends. From what Candace has told me, that young man doesn’t have a serial killer bone in his body. Doesn’t mean we don’t need to talk to him,” Liam said. “I’ll drive, since I assume you don’t have transportation.”

“I drove here, so you can follow me. But can I speak with Tom first?” I said.

“You believe he’ll react rationally when it comes to Finn?” he said with a generous dose of skepticism.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

Liam stood and offered me a hand up. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

He helped me out of the chair and we went into the hall just in time to see Tom’s mother come into the police station waiting area.

She spotted me and ran past B.J. through the gate. I could tell she’d been crying.

Karen gripped my shoulders. “I need to tell what I know. I have to tell someone what he said.”