The Dark Room(45)

She hadn’t opened her eyes yet.

“No, ma’am. We haven’t told her. Have you?”

“I can’t bear to.”

“Do you want me to?” Cain asked.

Mona sat up. She put her elbows on her knees and leaned her forehead against her hands.

“Will you do it for me?” she asked. “Would that be okay?”

“All right.”

There was no reason to tell her he preferred it that way. It was always better to see a family member’s initial reaction.

“Do you know where she lives?” she asked. “I don’t remember the address. I just know how to get there. It’s on Montgomery—New Montgomery.”

“I’ll call Melissa and get it from her,” Cain said. “I can go see Alexa after we finish up here.”

Mona reached for her coffee. Her hands weren’t steady, but she didn’t spill any. She took a long sip, then put the mug down.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” Cain said.

“All right.”

“And just so you know, I’m recording this.”

He set his phone on the coffee table between them.

“That’s fine.”

“Did Harry own any guns?”

“Yes, one. A pistol. A revolver.”

“Where’d he get it?”

“I don’t know. He’d always had it. It was his grandfather’s. Or maybe it had been his grandfather’s brother’s.”

“The gun we’re talking about, his grandfather’s revolver, is the one that was next to him under the desk?”

“I didn’t see it under the desk. I didn’t look under the desk—I saw him, and all the blood, and I got out.”

“You told 911 he’d shot himself, but you didn’t see the gun?”

She shook her head.

“I could smell the smoke—and the blood everywhere. The wall, the ceiling.”

“You didn’t touch him?”

“He was dead!”

“He was dead,” Cain said. “Okay. So you didn’t touch him.”

“I didn’t.”

“This gun, where did he keep it?”

“In his study? I don’t know. I hadn’t seen it for years. He isn’t a gun person. He just happened to have that gun.”

“Did he ever shoot it, that you know of? Take it to a range, and practice?”

“I never even saw him touch it.”

“How did you know about it?”

She was using her thumbs to massage her temples now. Her frosted hair hung around her face and brushed back and forth against her knees.

“I moved in with Harry when I was nineteen. Sea Cliff House, next door, is the fifth—no, the sixth house we’ve had since then. Six times, I’ve packed his stuff. Six times, I’ve unpacked it.”

“He’s not secretive about anything in his study? He let you pack it, each time?”

“You mean the Playboys?” Mona asked. She looked up, and her eyes were so red, she might have just stumbled clear of a forest fire. “Those belonged to his father. I already told you—there’s nothing about Harry you can’t find online.”

She’d told him that, but she’d also hinted what she thought about her husband and Melissa Montgomery. Cain had checked online, but even the political gossip blogs had come up clean. So either Mona was wrong, or Harry Castelli wasn’t such an open book after all.

“Was he depressed?”

“Not Harry. He’s driven. Confident.”

“But he was taking Wellbutrin.”

“Not Harry.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“None.”

“Any other trouble in bed?”

“What are you—Are you serious?” she asked. “He wasn’t impotent, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“But no problems, ever, with sleeping? Or anything else?”

She took her time thinking about it. Her thumbs were still on her temples, rubbing and circling.

“In the last five or six days, he’d been worried about something. I didn’t know what, and then you came to see me, that first time. So I thought, maybe he’s worried about that. But of course he didn’t say anything to me.”

“You knocked on the study door, and it was locked.”

“That’s right.”

“You took the spare key and opened the door.”

This time, when she looked up, her eyes were more focused. Maybe it was because of the questions, or maybe she’d just begun to wake up.

“I told the woman cop that already. Your boss. We were downstairs, and she called you and told you to come.”

“Was the study door usually locked?”

“Sometimes.”

“When he was in it, or when he was gone?”

“When he was gone. He’d never locked himself in.”

“If it was locked, and he was gone, would you go in?”

“But he wasn’t gone, Mr. Cain—his car was in the driveway. That’s why I went in. I couldn’t find him, but his car was there, and his study door was locked. Harry Castelli doesn’t take long walks on the beach. He’s not that kind of man. If his car’s home, then he’s in the house.”