Burn 2 (13 page)

He reads her
mind. He has been doing more of that lately. Maybe it’s their closeness. Maybe it’s the fact they have been spending more and more time with each other.

He gives her shrewd stare
. “You are not thinking of going to the funeral, are you?”

She feels her cheeks burn.

“Uh, no.”

He nods. His eyes are narrowed. “But you are wrestling with the same thing. This is not about
you
either. You’re afraid they will make a scene with
you
in there because of your connection to me.”

She doesn’t reply.

His expression contorts. “God, I’m such a mess. I destroy anything I touch.”

H
e puts his paint-stained hands on his face.

“Devon, no.” She runs to him, distressed. She tries to pry his hands away from his
beautiful face, so full of anguish.

“It’s true. My mother, my father, you, Rachel . . . everyone. Maybe I’m cursed. I can’t be with anybody. They get destroyed somehow. Look at you. I’m bringing you down with me.”

“That’s not true. I
chose
to run away from my father.”

It’s the best thing I have ever done, she thinks. The only thing I could have done.
If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have met you.

Why does she love him the way she does? she has often wond
ered of late. Because he’s kind? Because he cares for me the way no one else ever did, even when he knew nothing about me? Because he’s beautiful and passionate and talented?

Tears are shining in Devon’s eyes. He has not cried before this. At least, she has never seen him cry
openly.

He says in a choked voice, “I can’t even paint anymore.” He looks down at his hands. A smudge of blue paint has gotten onto his right
cheek. “Look.”

He gestures at his canvas.

She looks. The canvas is filled with the shaky outline of a woman and imbued with blues and blacks. Devon does not sketch prior to painting. But this one – although it is far from being finished – is not up to his usual standard of work.

“It’s supposed to be
her
,” he says bitterly. “But I can’t even paint her right anymore, even though she invades my dreams.”

H
er chest wrenches. “Oh, Devon.”

She takes him in her arms,
smudged paint on overalls and everything. His entire body is trembling. She doesn’t care if the paint gets on her clothes, only that he needs to be held right now and she is the right person to do it. He holds her tightly back, as if she is his only anchor in the world.

They grip each other
for an eternity, and suddenly, she understands what he must be going through. She experiences it in a visceral sense that she hasn’t understood until now. His emotions about what is going on are buried so deep inside him that they are manifesting through his subconscious. He is an artist, and it is coming out in his work – all dark layers of it.

A knock on the door interrupts them. He looks away, blinking back his tears.

“I’ll get it. You go clean up,” she says.

He nods and hurries off. She
goes to the door and peeps into the bird’s eye view.

It’s Detective
Tobias Ford.

She has met him briefly once before when he came to interview Devon on the day she put in her resignation with Richard. And now he is here again. Whatever for?

She swallows the lump in her throat and lets him in.

Smiling pleasantly, she says, “Well, hello, Detective. What can we do for you today?”

The detective is a paunchy, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and pale eyes. He is about as tall as Abby, but his dressing is sharp, otherwise she would have thought that he resembles Columbo, the fictional homicide detective.

“Good to have caught you.” He nods respectfully. “Ms. Holt? And is Mr. Fisher in? I would like to speak to the two of you . . . separately.”

Right.

Devon comes out as the detective steps in.
He has taken off his overalls and is wiping his hands on a washcloth. The paint smudge has gone from his cheek..

Abby says nervously, “Can I make you a cup of coffee, Mr. Ford?”

“No, thank you. I won’t be that long.”

“
Hello, Detective,” Devon says cautiously.

The detective takes off his jacket. “I would like to speak to you for a moment, Mr. Fisher, if I may. Alone.”

“Whatever you say to me you can say in front of Abby, sir. Should I have my lawyer present?”

“It would only take a moment of your time, Mr. Fisher. Yes, by all means, if you want Ms. Holt to stay. May I sit down?”

Without waiting for an answer,
Detective Ford plunks his considerable bulk down on the sofa. Devon shoots Abby an anxious look, and then seats himself on the armchair. Abby takes the other one.

Tobias Ford says, “We have identified the DNA of the fetus in Rachel Krieg’
s womb and matched it to your sample, Mr. Fisher. The fetus appears to be three months old.”

He looks up, his pale blue eyes sharp.

“The baby is yours, Mr. Fisher.”

Devon freezes. As does Abby.

She is the first to splutter, “B-but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean he killed her.”

“You have not been completely honest with us from the beginning, Mr. Fisher.
When we very first met, you withheld the fact that Ms. Krieg has asked you to father a child with her.”

“But I told you why I withheld it . . . because it was a very pers
onal thing between Rachel and myself.” Devon glances at Abby. He licks his lips. “And I was trying to keep away that fact from my girlfriend. I didn’t think it was anyone’s business but mine and Rachel’s.”

“And now it seems you have fathered a child with Ms. Krieg. Throws a differ
ent spin onto things, wouldn’t you say?”

“What are you implying?” Devon says. “I always wore a condom.
I swear it. I-I don’t know how I managed to father a child with her. It’s the same way you found my sperm inside her . . . her vagina. I wore a condom that night, but she must have pricked it. Or else it was defective.”

“We found no condoms in the apartment, Mr. Fisher.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. She could have flushed it down the toilet. People do flush things down the toilet, especially condoms.”

“We didn’t find the condom wrapper either.”

“Same thing!”

“What did you do with the condom?”

Devon falters. “I-I threw it away.”

“In the toilet?”

“Uh . . . no, I think it was in the waste bin. But that was when we had that argument . . . I mean, discussion about me fathering her child. So I didn’t really think of where I put it. But I didn’t kill her over a stupid disagreement. You don’t kill people over things like that. I just walked away.”

“There are no fingerprints on the shards of the vase, suggesting the killer wore gloves,” Tobias Ford says. “The murder was obviously premeditated.
Someone tried to make it look like a crime of passion, perhaps a misstep in the heat of an argument.”

Devon looks hopeful. “
Then you don’t think I did it?”

The detective smiles
grimly. “I’m looking into every single aspect of the case, Mr. Fisher. I do not discount the possibility that you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Devon bows his head in relief. Abby can imagine what he’s thinking.
Reasonable doubt. That is what I need.

Abby chimes in, “Why should he kill her when it’s obvious
the doorman has seen him enter the apartment? If he were a cold-blooded killer, it would make no sense.”

“I am taking in all possibilities, Ms. Holt.”

Devon shakes his head slowly. “Maybe that’s why she was so mad at me. Because she had already arranged for it to happen, and she didn’t want to tell me about it until it was too late. And when I said no . . . ” He let the possibilities trail.

“There are many probabilities, Mr. Fisher. We are investigating each one thoroughly.” Detective Ford turns to Abby
. “And now I would like to speak to you, Ms. Holt. Alone.”

Abby feels a sudden chill.

“What’s it about? Devon can stay. We have nothing to hide from each other.”

Tobias Ford’s nonplussed look suggests that he thinks otherwise.

Devon gets up. His expression is strained. “I’ll go out for a walk.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fisher.”

They wait until Devon grabs his jacket and goes out of the front door, shutting it with a soft click. Then Detective Ford focuses all his attention onto her.

“Now tell me, Ms. Holt, what you were doing on the night of Rachel Krieg’s murder?”

“I was in bed,” Abby squeaks.

Richard
did warn her about this. It is coming true now. It is one thing to know that this is a possibility, but quite another for it to be actually happening. It is like watching a loved one contract a terminal disease, and then getting it yourself in a matter of days.

“
You were under Ms. Krieg’s employ as a sales assistant in her store for over a month.”

“Yes,” Abby whispers.

She knows what she did on a whim will come back to haunt her now.

Detective Ford cocks his head to one
side. “Coincidence, perhaps? This little fact you are working for your boyfriend’s client? She has been his client for about a year, so he has known her longer than you have.”

It’s a struggle not to keep her voice from quavering.

“No, it’s not a coincidence. I-I followed my boyfriend one night to see where he was going. That was when I saw him with Rachel Krieg . . . and another woman. I don’t know the other woman’s name. So one day, I saw Rachel Krieg on the street. I followed her, and she went into this store that she owned. There was a ‘Position Wanted’ sign out there. I needed a job, and so I applied. She liked me enough to give the job to me.”

“Why did you do that, Ms. Holt?”

“I – ” She is venturing into very personal territory now. She wonders how Devon would feel about it. “I wanted to get to know the woman who . . . who was causing physical pain to my boyfriend.”

“Indeed.” Tobias Ford seems very interested.

“I’m sure he told you that they engage in BDSM play sometimes. I just wanted to understand the woman who would do that to someone else.”

“Someone you love, perhaps.”

“Yes.”

“And what is your assessment of her?”

“Well, I found her really nice, actually.”

“You seem surprised.”

“Yes. I thought she would be this cold, icy blonde who ate men for dinner, if you understand my expression. But she isn’t. She’s smart and articulate and generally a very good boss. It’s her brother, Richard, who gives me the creeps.”

“We’ll talk about Richard Krieg later.
Were you jealous of Ms. Krieg’s relationship with your boyfriend, Ms. Holt?”

“N-no. I mean yes. Initially. I was jealous – ” Abby pauses, not sure if ‘jealous’ is the right word she should be using “ – of all the women he has been with. But not enough to kill her for it. I-I mean, I actually liked her.”

“But you didn’t like what your boyfriend was doing on the side.”

“No. I confess that I don’t.
I wanted him to get out of that profession.”

“And he didn’t want to?”

“No. Not yet. The money was too good. Yes, I was jealous of her, but it didn’t mean I killed her.”

“You’ll admit you had a motive.”

“No!” Abby is rapidly getting more agitated. “I mean . . . it’s not big enough a motive to kill someone over.”

“I have only your word for it that you actually ‘liked’ Ms. Krieg.”

“I do!”

“But you will admit that your
actions during this period do engender suspicion, Ms. Holt. You followed your boyfriend during one of his client dates. Then you befriended the client and did not come clean with your ulterior motives to either your boyfriend or Ms. Krieg. Everything reeks of premeditation.” The detective leans back. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s true! I did all that, I do admit, but I didn’t kill Rachel Krieg!”

“Once again, you claimed you were in bed when it happened. Do you have witnesses to corroborate that?”

Abby turns pale. “No.
But it’s the truth, I swear it. A-and my fingerprints aren’t on the vase. My fingerprints aren’t anywhere in her apartment because I have never been near it!”

“As I said, Ms. Holt, I’m looking at all possibilities.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“
I do not discount anything.” He gazes at her intently. “I have done some digging up on you, Ms. Holt. You come from a small town called Cat’s Creek in Louisiana. You are an heiress to a multimillion dollar fortune. In fact, you bailed your boyfriend out with the money from the trust fund your grandfather left you.”