Page 62 of A Deeper Darkness

At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

She entered the kitchen and the conversation stopped. The detective stepped forward and shook her hand. His was warm and dry, like he had a fever. She pulled away abruptly; she didn’t need to get sick, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Thanks for letting me come over, Mrs. Donovan.”

“You’re welcome. Do you have news?”

“Some. I’ve just gotten back from New Castle, Virginia. We found William Everett. It looks like he committed suicide last week, prior to Major Donovan’s death.”

Susan rubbed her eyebrow, where a sudden headache had sprouted. Panicked confusion ran through her mind. What did that mean?

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she managed. “But, Detective, please. Is that going to help solve Eddie’s case? What’s happening? Why was Eddie killed? Why were any of them killed?”

He held up his hands to placate her, which made her even more uneasy.

“Mrs. Donovan, that’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to run through everything again. And have you tell me a bit more about the last man in the picture, Alexander Whitfield.”

“God, Xander’s not dead, too, is he?”

“We have no way of telling. We don’t know where he is. He has no address on record.”

Sam looked at Susan. “You didn’t tell him? About the Savage River?”

Fletcher straightened. “Where the sand came from? What about it?”

Susan shook her head. “No. We haven’t talked. I…I’m sorry, Detective. It slipped my mind. Xander lives somewhere near the Savage River.”

The detective’s face tightened. “Where, exactly?”

“I don’t know. We used to go up to the park to camp, and Eddie would go off and meet Xander somewhere to have coffee and talk. He never invited us along, said it was man time. So I’ve never met him, only seen the pictures.”

Susan saw Sam staring at her again. “What, Sam? What is it?”

“The nicknames. All the men in the picture went by nicknames, right?” Sam asked.

Fletcher perked up, too.

“Yes, they did. Nothing unusual there. Why?”

“‘BS.’ Remember? The little doodle in Eddie’s calendar that I thought looked like a cross? Didn’t you say William Everett was called Billy Shakes?”

Susan nodded. “Yes. But if he committed suicide, and Eddie knew about it, wouldn’t he tell me that one of his good friends had died?”

Fletcher passed his hands over his face as if scrubbing away his frustration. “That’s one helluva good question, Mrs. Donovan. Can you ladies clue me in to what you’re talking about?”

“I’ll show you,” Susan said. The journals and Eddie’s nearly empty day runner were sitting on the kitchen table. She retrieved them and pointed out the spot on the calendar, then showed him Eddie’s journal.

“I see,” Fletcher said. “That’s very interesting. Was William Everett in touch with your husband?”

Susan shook head. “Not that I know of. But, Detective, he was a grown man. He didn’t tell me about everything. Certainly not about who called him on any given day, unless it related to the family.”

“Well, in a way, he did,” Sam said. “The journal. May I see it again?”

Susan handed it to Sam, who flipped back to the corresponding date. “I think I figured out what I was overlooking….”

The detective was obviously lost. Susan explained it to him quickly. “My husband keeps a journal, but it’s in Latin. Sam has been translating. So far she hasn’t found anything relevant to the case.”

Sam shook her head. “Until now. Look. Last Tuesday has a notation that’s out of the ordinary. Remember I told you Eddie had slipped in words that looked out of place? I realized earlier today that they’re memories. It’s his own brand of shorthand. And using the nicknames as a guide…” Her eyes skimmed the page, and even Susan felt her eagerness.