Tips for Living(55)

“Nora. Please. I have to apologize. It won’t happen again, believe me. I had no right to do what I did. I crossed the line. It was unethical. It was a Clarence Thomas move—an abuse of power and against everything I stand for. When you didn’t respond, I understood what an unfair position I’d put you in. I’m sorry.”

How could he think I didn’t respond? Was I that rusty? I really went for that kiss, but he thought I was a cold fish.

“Is there any way you can forget what I said in my voice mails?” he went on.

“Voice mails? I didn’t get any voice mails from you.”

“I left you three messages since yesterday morning.”

“No. There were messages from Grace and my aunt. And from Lizzie and Gubbins. The rest were from ‘unknown callers.’ Probably tabloids. I didn’t even listen. I erased them.”

Ben looked puzzled for a moment. “Wait. I called you from home . . . I just got a new Internet phone.” His whole body seemed to relax. “Your cell wouldn’t have recognized the number.”

Wait. Ben was the unknown caller? He’d really tried to reach me?

He moved out of the doorway, sat down on the edge of his desk and smiled. “You weren’t avoiding me.”

I shook my head. “No.”

He’d been worried that I hadn’t wanted to connect. Concerned he’d offended me. I realized I was smiling, too.

“I was afraid you were going to quit,” he said.

He was really worried. I’d had it all wrong. I felt sorry I’d misjudged him.

The phone in his pocket rang.

“Hold on.”

He took out his BlackBerry, glanced at the number and lifted an index finger.

“It’s my guy,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “Wickstein here.” He grabbed a pen off his desk. “Okay. Go ahead.” He jotted notes on the back of an envelope. “Autopsy confirms both deaths caused by single .22-caliber GSW to the head.”

I winced. He stopped writing and listened, his face darkening.

“Say that part again.” He wrote some more. “Uh-huh. Huh . . .” He looked at me, expressionless. “Anything else?” He put the pen down and continued listening for another excruciating minute. “Thanks. I owe you.” He hung up and frowned.

“What?”

“Three factors triggered the warrant.”

“Three factors.”

“One, the FBI report came in.”

“FBI? When did the FBI get involved in this?”

“The county uses the fed’s profiler on multiple murders.” He read from his envelope: “Crime scene of a disorganized type. Consistent with a killer who has been rejected or humiliated.”

“But that fits him.” My heart sped up. “It fits him exactly.”

“Who?”

“Stokes Diekmann. He was sleeping with Helene. And she dumped him.”

Ben crossed his arms. “Really. I would never have called that one.”

“I have it from a reliable source. Kind of.”

“That’s valuable information. He’s worth checking out.”

He left the desk and walked toward me, stopping inches away. He looked me square in the eyes.

“The profile also fits you.”

I blinked nervously. I knew that too well. But I balked at the idea that Ben might suspect me. He didn’t even know about my sleepwalking.

“True, but . . .”

“Number two: the DA has an incriminating document that your ex-husband kept.”

“What?” I stepped back, alarmed. “What kind of document?”

“On the advice of his lawyer, Hugh kept a diary during the period you two were divorcing.”

“No.” I was incredulous. “He did not.”

“In case things got out of hand, which they apparently did, once. He made reference to you trying to stab his painting. The same painting I told you was slashed at the crime scene. Somehow you never mentioned that.”

“Shit.” I looked away.

“And you cut him.”

I turned back and faced Ben. “Believe me, that was an accident.”

He nodded. “The third factor is a witness who can place you at the crime scene shortly after the murders.”

“Let me guess . . .” I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “Stokes Diekmann.”



Ben poured some Beaujolais Nouveau into the two mugs on his desk and offered me one. I took it, gulped half of it down and continued pacing the room like a big cat in a small cage. Wide-awake now, I ran my story by him, including my encounter with Stokes at Pequod Point and my suspicions about the deaths of Stokes’s in-laws.

“I think Stokes is a vengeful guy. He must’ve despised the Walkers. Helene used him. She cock-teased him in front of Hugh. Hugh turned around and humiliated him in front of her and their friends. I think Stokes killed the Walkers and arranged the evidence to frame me, just like you said. Then, to make sure everything is buttoned up, he goes to the police and tells them I was at Pequod Point that morning. I’m really worried about Kelly. How can she be safe with him?”

“Stokes didn’t go to the police. They went to him.”

I stopped pacing.

“They’re interviewing everyone who might have had regular contact with Helene and/or Hugh. That includes your Pilates crew, Kelly and Stokes—he’d have been at the alley on occasion when your class was held, correct?”