Page 3

Thirteen years ago

Special Agent Alice Patmore studied Noelle Bell through the small window in the hospital room door. The assemblyman’s wife was alone, her eyes closed, but Alice sensed she wasn’t asleep. Bandages were wrapped around her head, and some of her dishwater-blonde hair stuck out, stained pink with blood.

“What did the doc say?” asked Oscar, peering over Alice’s shoulder. He smelled like the Big Mac he’d eaten on the way to the hospital. Alice had ordered a chicken salad and after one bite had wished she’d ordered a burger instead.

“Concussion. Cracked skull. Said she’s having memory problems,” said Alice.

“Convenient.”

“Yep.”

“Think she could hit herself in the back of the head after killing him?” Oscar’s tone said he thought she had done exactly that.

“I guess it’s possible. But damn, she’d have to be aggressive about it to crack her own skull.”

“If I wanted to hide that I’d murdered my husband, that wouldn’t stop me.”

Alice said nothing. The assemblyman had been brutalized. She had a hard time imagining a woman doing that amount of damage, but she wasn’t letting it cloud her judgment.

She opened the door.

Noelle Bell immediately sat up, her gaze meeting Alice’s and then going to Oscar.

“Good evening, Ms. Bell,” said Alice. “I’m Special Agent Alice Patmore and this is Special Agent Oscar Wilson. We’re very sorry to hear of your husband’s death.”

As Noelle’s dark-blue gaze studied them, Alice noticed red blotching around her eyes from crying.

“You’re FBI?” Noelle asked.

“Yes,” Alice said simply.

Noelle settled back into her pillows. “Good. I assume you’re involved because of his position in the government.”

“Correct.” Alice pulled a chair closer to the hospital bed and sat as Oscar chose a spot to lean against the wall.

They’d agreed Alice should start the interview.

From closer up, Alice noticed faint red marks on Noelle’s lower and upper arms. Not welts.

Not cuts. Thicker marks, as if someone had grabbed her arms.

Those will be black and blue tomorrow.

Clearly there was a struggle.

But with her husband or an attacker?

Alice looked at Noelle’s eyes again. They were wet and bloodshot, but Alice revised her opinion on the cause of the red blotching around them.

She’d seen it before when someone had been hit hard in the back of the head.

The trauma would create bruising around the eyes.

She couldn’t recall the medical term for it, but tomorrow Noelle Bell would have two black eyes.

The woman’s hands were clear, no cuts, no scraped knuckles. Her French manicure was perfect.

Her clothes and shoes had been bagged as evidence. Alice hadn’t seen the items yet but had been told there was a lot of blood on them. Including stains on the front of her dress, where it seemed unlikely she’d be bloody from a blow to the back of her head.

“Your doctor told me you have a cracked skull,” began Alice.

Noelle raised a shaky hand to lightly touch the bandage at the back of her head. “That’s what they said.”

Her words were slow and slightly slurred.

Pain medication side effects or injury symptoms? Both?

Alice silently sighed in frustration. The statements of drugged and injured witnesses couldn’t be taken at face value. But they had to start somewhere.

“How did you hurt your head?” Alice asked gently.

The woman frowned. “I’m not sure.” Frustration rippled across her face. “I’ve been trying to recall. It’s fuzzy.”

“What do you remember?” Open-ended questions were best at the moment.

Noelle studied her and then Oscar. “I remember the ambulance. A woman’s face close to mine, telling me I’d be okay and that they were taking me to the hospital.”

“What about before the ambulance?”

Noelle grimaced. “I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to remember ever since the doctor told me—” She froze, pain in her gaze.

If that’s acting, she’s very good.

“About your husband?” asked Alice.

“Yes,” Noelle whispered. Fresh tears started.

“What do you remember?” Alice asked again.

“The ambulance,” she said in a frustrated voice.

“What about earlier today? What did you do? Did you go anywhere?” Alice knew she had to take her time questioning this witness.

Noelle frowned. “What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“I would have ...” Noelle blinked several times, her gaze on her hands. “On Fridays, I ...” She shook her head and winced at the movement. A big breath made her chest rise under the hospital gown. “Do I need surgery?” She looked at Alice, confusion in her gaze.

“The doctor didn’t tell me you did,” said Alice, wondering about the sudden topic change. The doctor had told her they were watching carefully for any critical swelling of the woman’s brain. Inside the skull, there is little room for tissues to swell.

“That’s good.” She settled back into her pillows and closed her eyes.

“You were about to tell me what you did this morning,” said Alice. “Friday morning.”

Noelle’s eyelids flew open. “That’s right. Ummm ... Fridays I usually meet my sister Eve for lunch.”

“Did you see her today?”

“Yes?” Noelle frowned again. “I think so.” Her face cleared. “We had lunch downtown. Then I headed to the house. The traffic was horrible getting out of town on a Friday.” A small smile touched her lips as she looked at Alice, clearly pleased she had remembered something.

“And when you got to the house?”

Noelle looked around the room as if the answer were hidden there. Her gaze stopped on Oscar, and a hint of fear entered her eyes for a split second.

He’s scared her. Because he’s a man? Or because he’s FBI?

“I don’t recall anything besides the heavy traffic,” Noelle finally admitted.

“I drove out to your house today,” said Alice. “It’s a lot of two-lane country roads once you leave the city behind. Traffic doesn’t seem bad on those.”

“Yes.” Noelle nodded and then froze as pain flashed in her eyes from the simple action.

“Beautiful area out there. Quiet.”

“It is.”

“How long have you been married?” asked Alice, ready to change direction.

“Just over three years.” A shadow flickered in her eyes and tears welled again.

“I’m very, very sorry for your loss,” said Alice.

“Thank you.” Noelle paused. “I was married before. It only lasted for a couple months. I was eighteen.”

Alice already knew about the woman’s first marriage to Brendon Simon. She’d requested he be tracked down for an interview. “You were young.”

“Too young,” Noelle agreed.

“Did you and Derrick purchase the country house? It’s stunning.” Alice had done a quick dive into the Bell family history and knew the answer but wanted to evaluate Noelle’s ability to focus.

“No. That house has been in his family for many years, although we updated it recently. He bought the condo downtown a year before we met.”

Her husband, Derrick Bell, came from a wealthy family.

Alice had learned his parents lived in an even larger home a few miles from the house where Derrick had been murdered.

His older brother was single and lived on the other side of Sacramento, and he had a married sister who lived in town.

The parents owned other large homes. One in Seattle and another in Park City, Utah.

Alice’s mother would have described Noelle as having grown up on “the wrong side of the tracks.”

Noelle Bell, née Marshall, had married very well the second time.

For Derrick Bell, a man from a wealthy family who was making a career in politics, Noelle seemed like an odd choice.

Sometimes there is no control over who you love.

“What do you do for work, Noelle?” asked Alice.

“I volunteer,” she said. “I’m on a number of nonprofit boards.” She looked away. “I can throw a good fundraiser. Most of these groups need all the help they can get.”

Alice had learned Noelle had a psychology degree and wondered why she’d chosen to spend her time volunteering instead of pursuing something in that field or getting a graduate degree. The woman had seemed slightly embarrassed to admit she didn’t work.

“What kind of groups do you work with?”

“I like working with animal rescue groups, but lately I’ve been focused on literacy for children.”

“Both important,” said Alice, hoping the woman would have more to say.

“Yes.” Noelle didn’t volunteer additional information.

“Were you aware of any threats against your husband?” Alice tossed a heavy question.

Noelle seemed to focus on her hospital blanket as she put her hand to her forehead.

Those perfect nails.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I’d been told about a few angry letters Derrick received when he was first elected. It was very stressful. I think he told his staff not to tell me about any more. He didn’t want me to worry.”

“Understandable,” said Alice. “Did Derrick have concerns about your safety?”

“I’ve never felt unsafe, and besides, he doesn’t like hiring security. Says it looks bad. Like he doesn’t trust anyone.”

“What about security for your home?”

Noelle looked away. “I don’t know. We must have talked about it. Right now I don’t remember what was said.” She looked across the room at Oscar, no fear in her gaze this time. “How long have you been with the FBI?”

Alice let the random change of topic go by as Oscar answered.

Noelle seemed to do better answering general questions.

Every time Alice returned to specifics about what had happened, she appeared to struggle with an answer and then asked or said something outside the scope of Alice’s question.

As if her brain were avoiding pain, pushing her to a safe topic.

Alice wanted to ask if Derrick had had life insurance and a will, but it was much too soon for that. She searched for a topic that would encourage Noelle to talk.

“I was told you met your husband in a bar.”

“I did.” Noelle hesitated, then slowly shared the story.