Her Last Word(81)

“The surveillance footage at the Crowleys’ shows Kaitlin pulling up at 2:05 p.m.” Quinn was sitting in the front passenger seat, flipping the pages of her small notebook. “She hesitates at the base of the stairs and checks her phone before she moves toward the front door and opens it. She steps inside, out of camera range.”

“Any sign of her attacker?” Adler said as they drove west on I-64. Using Erika Crowley’s calendar notations, Adler had located Diane Wallace, an employee of Margie’s Maids, who regularly cleaned the couple’s home. They were headed toward her house in a working-class neighborhood off Derbyshire Road.

“There’s a figure that passes in front of the window about a half hour before Kaitlin arrives,” Quinn said. “The figure appears to be male.”

“Someone was waiting for her just like Jennifer’s killer.”

“It appears so. I checked all the available security cameras nearby. One catches the intruder coming from the woods behind the Crowleys’ house.”

“What do those woods back up to?” Adler asked.

“A cul-de-sac in a middle-class neighborhood. No one on the cul-de-sac has cameras, but I had an officer knock on a few doors. Several people reported seeing a black or dark-blue American-made pickup truck parked in the cul-de-sac early that afternoon. One woman thought maybe it had to do with an electrical contractor. No one recalls the license plate.”

“Several of Jennifer’s neighbors said there was a dark truck with a plumbing sign on the side,” Adler said.

“Magnetic signs are easy enough to change,” Quinn added.

“A tradesman doesn’t set off alarm bells right away. And we know Kaitlin didn’t stab herself,” Adler said more to himself.

“Assuming she wasn’t working with someone.”

“Kaitlin with a partner? All I’ve learned about her suggests she’s a loner.”

Quinn shrugged. “Okay, maybe you’re right on that one.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Quinn.”

“I don’t like citizens like Kaitlin playing detective. They end up getting in our way or injured. She’s managed to do both in short order.”

It was dusk when he parked in front of Diane Wallace’s small brick house. The lawn was large, a throwback to the dairy farm that had occupied the land for a half century. In the last few years, the area around these small homes had filled in with increasingly larger homes on smaller lots.

There were several bikes in the front yard. In the driveway, an old Toyota truck sporting a magnetic sign that read MARGIE’S MAIDS was parked.

The detectives crossed the concrete sidewalk and climbed the front steps to a green door.

Adler rang the bell. “I called ahead and told Mrs. Wallace we were coming.”

“Right.”

Footsteps clattered inside the house seconds before the door opened to a pale woman with red hair streaked with gray. She wore a large oversize T-shirt that bloused over full breasts and faded jeans. She appeared to be in her midforties.

“Mrs. Wallace?” Adler said, holding up his badge as Quinn did the same. He introduced them.

She studied the badges and frowned before pushing the door open. “I’m not sure what I can tell you.”

They stepped inside to a small living room. A worn beige couch, flanked by two burgundy recliners, faced a sixty-five-inch television now playing a muted cooking show.

After taking a seat, Adler asked, “Mrs. Wallace, can you tell us about the most recent day you cleaned the Crowleys’ house?”

“When I got there, Mrs. Crowley wasn’t home. But the last few months she’s been at yoga on Saturdays, so I didn’t expect her until about nine.”

“What time did you leave the house?”

“About nine thirty. It takes me almost two hours to clean it. I’m in the house six days a week.”

“Six days?” Quinn said.

“The Crowleys don’t like anything out of place.”

“Were you worried when Mrs. Crowley didn’t come home?” Adler asked.

“I thought it was unusual. She doesn’t leave the house much.”

“Why is that?” Quinn asked.

Mrs. Wallace rubbed her hands over her jeans. “I think she’s afraid to leave her house alone. She never discussed her fears with me, but I could see she was afraid. It was a big step for her when she started the yoga classes late last year.” She hesitated and then said, “She’d been seeing a doctor. I think he was helping.”

“So, Mrs. Crowley didn’t come home,” Adler said, doubling back. “What did you do?”

“I waited an extra fifteen minutes. She likes to review the work I’ve done. But finally I had to leave. I had another job.”

“You locked up the house.”

“I did,” Mrs. Wallace said. “I am sure of that.”

“Who has keys to the house?”

“The Crowleys, of course. Me. I think there’s a neighbor who does.”

“We checked. None of them had a key.”

She shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I know I locked that door.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just that there were no signs of forced entry.” Adler smiled. “Did Mrs. Crowley have any friends?”