Page 78 of The Instruments of Darkness

“Get the alarm up to spec,” I said. “I’ll make a call tomorrow about that money order from the forum. If I can find out where it was purchased, I might also be able to put a face on whoever bought it.”

I powered up my laptop and opened the file of photographs given to me by Delaney Duhamel. I hadn’t yet gone through them slowly and in detail, but a cursory search had produced two pictures of Stephen Clark. In both he was visible only in the background, distinguished by his height. In the first, he was accompanied by a much shorter woman. Her head was down, her face turned to her left to glance up at him. Even in profile, I could see she was smiling. Around her neck hung a lanyard ID, partly obscured by the lapel of her jacket. Magnifying meant losing definition, but I thought the letters might have included at least one l.

“You think this is her?” asked Moxie. “Because Clark might have met any number of women at that event.”

“Look at his right hand,” I said. “It’s resting on the small of her back.”

“Could be, although there are women who might construe that as a friendly gesture instead of an intimate one.” Moxie magnified her face. “Not enough to make a positive identification.”

“Not in a court of law, but I’d know her if I saw her.”

“Would Stephen Clark be willing to tell us who she is?”

“I doubt he’d confirm his own name if I asked. That door has closed.”

“Still, it might be useful if we get him on the stand. Send the image to me. I’ll add it to the file. What else have you got on your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Appointments with both Colleen’s physician and her therapist,” I said. “If I have enough time, I’ll knock on more doors, but according to Steady Freddy, the Portland PD’s inquiries didn’t turn up anything useful on that front. I’m not sure I’ll do much better.”

“I’ll leave it to you to decide the best use of your time. How’s Colleen doing under sequestration?”

“Okay, last time I saw her, but there’s a limit to how long I can keep her cooped up in Scarborough.”

“Have you told your girlfriend that you’ve taken in a female lodger? Sorry, your non-girlfriend.”

He sniggered. He was a schoolkid at heart.

“I hope someone breaks into your house and breaks your pencils,” I said.

CHAPTER LI

Colleen Clark was dozing in front of the television when I got home. I could see her through the living room window as I parked. She was a difficult woman to feel sorry for, although I still struggled to pinpoint why. It might have been the element of fatalism to her character, or her continued solicitude toward a husband who struck me as unworthy of it. But this was an observation more than a judgment: I’d lived too long with my own grief, and guilt for the harm it had caused, to admonish others for how they dealt with a sorrow unimaginable to anyone who had not experienced it for themselves. Nonetheless, her demeanor would have to be taken into account in the event of a trial. Whatever instructions it might receive from a judge, no jury made its decision on evidence alone. If justice was truly blind, a screen would be placed between jurors and the accused.

Colleen woke as I closed the car door, and came to meet me in the kitchen. She was wearing loose jeans and an old sweater. Her feet were bare, and I noticed that her toenails were freshly painted in different colors. She saw me looking at them.

“I was bored,” she said. “I found the nail polish in your daughter’s room.”

“As long as you’re here, you can paint them any color that makes you happy,” I said. “But when you do eventually go out again, keep them covered—or better still, remove the varnish and leave them plain. The same goes for your fingernails.”

“Should I wear a veil, too?”

“Whether you like it or not you’re in the public eye, and the jury will be drawn from people who read newspapers, watch TV, and gossip with their friends. How you act, how you hold yourself, the clothes you choose to wear, whether you smile or remain solemn, all carry potential consequences in court. It’s harder for a woman accused of a crime than a man, but I’m sure you’re already aware that women are held to a different standard in life, so forgive the mansplaining.”

I stood against the sink and stretched. My back ached from hours of sitting.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That sounded sharper than it was meant to.”

“Not at all. I hadn’t even considered what you’ve just told me. It’s better to hear it, and from you. I’ll get rid of the rainbow before I go to bed.”

I felt lousy. A little color wasn’t going to bring about the end of the world, but on the other hand, it was for the best. Until the trial, Colleen would have to learn to live life as though a camera was trained on her every move.

She took a seat at the table.

“I went walking earlier, just by the back of the house where I wouldn’t be seen,” she said. “It’s very beautiful here.”

She sniffed her hand.

“I can still smell salt on my skin.” The tip of her tongue touched her wrist. “I can taste it, too.”