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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Evan Ferguson had aged well.

Still as youthfully thin as in his photo, with all his hair and teeth, plus distinguished gray at the temples that added more dimension to his face.

Not the strongest face I’d ever seen. But maybe it wasn’t fair to compare, since Teague’s was the face that immediately came to mind as a standard and nobody would miss his strength of character.

I found it hard to connect this man with an ob- sex -sion, as Linda said at lunch. But maybe it was because of the circumstances.

Evan Ferguson didn’t look happy — a fretful worry behind the blue of his eyes. And since he was looking at Clara and me standing before him at the front door of his townhouse, it was hard not to take it a little personally.

The complex near Stringer was fairly new and entirely uninteresting. The soda crackers of housing.

As we’d arrived, we’d spotted him walking from his mid-range and practical sedan — remarkably like mine, as a matter of fact — carrying a bag of groceries. We caught him before he went inside.

“Yes?”

“Hello, my name’s Clara Woodrow and this is Sheila Mackey. We—”

His face lost color. “I’ve seen you on TV. I know who you are.”

Only Clara appeared on TV, so likely his face-paling was because of her. But I’d take my share. Only fair.

Her smile never faltered.

“We hope you can help us with background. Robbie Dorrio, the son of Jaylynn Carnell Dorrio, has asked us to ask you for help in clarifying some elements, since you were friends with her.”

Not precisely accurate, but if it got us in the door, close enough.

It did not get us in the door. But he did set the bag down.

“You’ll have to excuse me. My wife is particularly sensitive to discussion of crime and such.”

Was it good of him to be protective of his very pregnant wife’s feelings? Or wimpy to hide behind them?

I stepped in as bad cop to Clara’s good cop. “We’d hate to distress her by needing to return multiple times, because we really do need to talk with you.”

The implicit threat hung in the air for three beats before he sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll talk to you — but not here and not now.”

****

Both our phones dinged as we got back in the car after Evan Ferguson agreed to meet us for lunch the next day.

I drove, Clara checked the incoming message.

She was already typing a response when she said, “It’s Kit, sending us the transcript.”

“Even for Kit, that’s fast.” And far better than including a bow. “Hey — don’t start reading it without me. Let’s go to my house and read it there.”

“We could stop at the café on the way for a little afternoon pick-me-up. Sort of like tea without the tea.”

“In other words, pastries.”

“Exactly.”

We’d go past my house to get to the café, then have to double back.

“Great idea.”

****

We had crumbs on both phones and on the trial transcript printout we’d shared to make notes, though Kit sent us each an electronic copy.

The prosecution was succinct and straightforward.

Derrick was having an affair with another woman.

Derrick wanted his son and likely would not have earned custody since he was cheating.

Derrick knew his wife’s routines and habits.

Derrick knew the location was isolated.

Derrick could count on his wife coming to his aid if he called her late at night.

Jaylynn received a call from a burner phone in the correct timeframe to get her to that location at the time an area resident called in about possibly hearing a shot. The burner phone was never traced.

The timing meant Jaylynn couldn’t have asked her sister or mother to take care of Robbie, which meant she’d have no reason to inform anyone where she was going or why.

Because of Robbie, she wouldn’t have gone out to meet just anyone — cue the evidence of her car being pulled over, which indicated she’d gone there deliberately.

She had no money to stir greed as a motive and no known enemies.

Woven into the testimony was an undercurrent that Derrick had a sense of entitlement from childhood that could answer the Why the heck didn’t he get a divorce like a sane person? question.

The defense case was nobody saw Derrick pull the trigger, the weapon wasn’t found, and, yeah, okay, he’d been having an affair with Dova, but other than that little detail he was a devoted father and husband.

Emil, as Derrick’s alibi witness, had not covered himself in glory.

He’d started off strong under the direct questioning of the defense attorney, including having kept a paper receipt for the dinner he testified to sharing with Derrick the night of the murder.

But even the transcript caught his defensiveness and snideness with the prosecutor, who’d prodded just enough to bring it out, while also driving home that the timeline would have allowed Derrick to commit the crime after dinner.

“What about Emil testifying that Derrick told him two nights before the murder that he’d decided to try to make his marriage work? Do you find that suspicious?” Clara sat straighter. “The same applies to Emil. He would have had time to be the killer.”

“Why would he kill Jaylynn? Unless you think he’d do it as a favor to Derrick or trying to make him look better? Family name and all that.”

“No.” She slumped and took the last slice of brownie. “Go out on a limb for someone else? No. I doubt anybody believed him anyway. I wouldn’t believe him if he said New Year’s Eve was December thirty-first. Oh—Look at the time. I have to go. Be ready for an early start tomorrow.”

I groaned.

She didn’t relent. “We have a lot to figure out.”

I could admit that now. Come morning, probably not.