Royce assessed the rooms as they moved toward the rear of the residence, but he didn’t find obvious signs of distress or disturbance, only the occasional puddle of water Julia had tracked inside.
The house seemed too sterile to be inhabited.
Everything was pristine and elegantly displayed, resembling a model home instead of a gathering place for family.
Not a discarded pair of shoes kicked off after someone entered a room or a forgotten empty glass left on a table.
Sawyer was the tidiest person Royce had ever met, but he was a slob compared to these people.
Every clutter-free surface gleamed, stirring within Royce an irrational need to make a mess.
Seriously, no coffeepot or canisters? No keys or mail haphazardly tossed on the island as someone passed through? Who were these people?
The rear of the house featured a wall of windows that overlooked the pool and a meticulously landscaped backyard beyond it.
Royce halted mid-step to take in the stunning flora and fauna stretching for probably an acre.
Lush blooms and neatly trimmed shrubs had been arranged by color and height in the most dazzling display Royce had ever seen.
A paver walking path divided the sections and led to a large water fountain in the center, where a six-foot curvaceous goddess rose from the water.
She held a bouquet in her hands, and water spilled from a large, overturned vase at her feet.
“There’s your talking statue,” Royce said.
“Nah, we’ve gone from Caesar’s Palace to the set of Bridgerton ,” Diego said.
Movement on the far right of the patio caught Royce’s attention. Dr. Fawkes, the medical examiner, used a pool skimmer to guide Dr. Matisse’s body closer to the edge of the pool, where her assistants waited with outstretched hands to grip him. The deceased was tall and muscular and would not be easy to get out of the water. Officers Howard East and Erica Black were on the scene too, though neither of them seemed eager to help. Royce nudged Diego with his elbow and tilted his head to the struggling medical examiner’s team. He slipped on his first glove and said, “Shall we?”
Diego sighed and pulled his gloves on too. “If we must.” They continued through the house and stepped onto the patio. The patrol officers turned at their approach and exchanged a surprised glance amongst themselves when they saw who’d responded.
East, a transplant from Boston with the build and countenance of a bulldog, spoke first. “Sending out the big guns, huh?” He flexed his arm and pointed at his biceps straining his uniform.
Black, a petite Asian woman, rolled her eyes at her partner’s antics. “At first glance, this death looks like an open-shut case.” She gestured at a patio table where two crime scene techs were looking at an empty crystal decanter and a pill bottle. “Benzodiazepines and booze.”
Royce and Diego walked over to the table and waited for the techs to photograph and document the scene before examining the evidence. The prescription was for Alyssa Matisse and had been filled two days prior. The instructions said for her to take two to three pills per day as needed for anxiety, and the bottle was still pretty full. “Dr. Fawkes will do her best to determine how many of these he ingested,” Royce said to Diego. He gestured to the empty crystal decanter and matching glass. “And how much of this he consumed.” Royce removed the stopper from the decanter and lifted it to his nose. “Scotch. And it smells very expensive.” He set it down and gestured to the pool where Fawkes and her team were preparing to remove Dr. Matisse from the water.
“Let us give you a hand,” Royce called out.
Dr. Fawkes looked over her shoulder and sighed with relief. “Thank you. I didn’t want to ask my team to get into the pool with potential contaminants in the water.”
Royce concentrated on getting the man out of the pool without causing postmortem injuries that would require lengthy reports. He looked over his shoulder at East and Black. “Hey, can you guys move the body bag closer and hold it still so it won’t shift?” The officers exchanged a weary look but moved into position and did what he asked. Five of them carefully removed the dead man from the pool and set him on top of the black body bag.
Fawkes fixed Royce with a shrewd gaze. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I could say the same for you, Doc. I’d think you’d have enough clout to take the holiday weekend off.”
She offered a weary smile. “I’m here for the same reason you are.” She straightened her shoulders and surveyed their elegant surroundings. “Our deceased gentleman must have friends in high places.”
“You don’t know him?” Royce asked.
She glanced down at the man her technicians were photographing. “Should I?”
“Dr. Jean Claude Matisse,” Diego said.
Dr. Fawkes arched a brow. “And you think all doctors know one another? Medical examiners don’t get invited to sit at the cool kids’ table.”
“You can sit with me any day, Doc,” Royce told her.
She smiled gently. “Tell me why this doctor is so important.”
“He was a renowned fertility specialist in the country,” Royce told her. “He last practiced in Savannah and retired here.”
“Ahhh.” Fawkes nodded her head toward the statue in the water fountain. “She makes more sense now.”
“Which goddess is she?” Diego asked.
“Flora,” Fawkes replied. “She’s a Roman goddess who represents spring, abundance, and fertility.”
Royce turned his gaze and scrutinized the garden through a new lens. One might think the doctor had established the colorful, lush plantings as a tribute to the goddess. In a way, the plants almost looked like worshiping servants at her feet. “That’s something,” he said. Felix would have a field day with this information when Royce could share it. “There’s an empty decanter of booze and a prescription for benzodiazepines on the patio table. At first glance, this seems like an overdose, but I’m not sure if it’s accidental or intentional.” The medical examiner and her investigators would take lead until there was evidence of a crime. Royce was acting as her support at the moment.
“I will put blood, urine, and vitreous humor through my automated immunoanalyzer to get preliminary toxicology reports for drugs and alcohol in his system, but that alone won’t tell us if he’d intended to die or got carried away with experimenting.”
“How long before we have some answers, Doc?”
“Thirty minutes for the initial drug and alcohol test results, but I need to do a complete autopsy first. I’ll try to have preliminary data in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”
“That’s much better than waiting two or three months for results to come back from a forensics lab,” Royce said.
“I may have to send samples off for additional testing or to double-check ambiguous results. But the toxicology won’t be the only factor in my ruling, and I expect Dr. Matisse’s body will provide a lot of answers for me.” She placed her hands on the small of her back and stretched her spine. “I’ll need to review his medical records and talk to his family about his recent state of mind and what was going on in his life. His organ and hair samples will reveal if this is a long-term habit for the doctor or a newer hobby, but I won’t have those answers quickly. The crime scene technicians will dust the decanter, glass, and pill bottle for fingerprints. I’ll run tests on the contents and residues to see if someone has tampered with them, but—”
“Those results will take time,” Royce finished for her.
“Unfortunately.” Dr. Fawkes scanned the patio area before meeting Royce’s gaze. “Will you send me your interview notes after you speak to the person who found Dr. Matisse? I’ll read them after performing the autopsy and will contact the family if I need additional details to determine his cause of death.”
“Sure thing,” Royce said. “I’ll send you my notes right away.” He scanned the expanse of the outdoor living space and couldn’t find a single shred of evidence pointing to foul play. It was just as pristine as the interior. “Everything is under control here. We’ll head back inside and talk to Julia Matisse.”
“We’ll talk when I know more,” Dr. Fawkes said.
Royce and Diego retraced their steps through the house to the midway point, made a left turn down a hallway, and followed the directions Julia had given them to find her mother’s salon.
“What’s a salon?” Diego whispered.
“It’s what French high society called their social gatherings for intellectual conversations.”
Diego stopped suddenly, forcing Royce to halt too. “How in the hell do you know that?”
Royce quirked a brow. “I don’t care for your tone, Fuentes.”
“You had to learn it from Sawyer,” Diego said.
Royce wanted to get angry at his assumption, but everyone knew Sawyer was the intellectual one in their relationship with a law degree from Duke University. If Royce let things like the truth bother him, he’d never be happy. So he shrugged. “My guy loves to watch documentaries about anything and everything.” Sniffling came from the room nearest them, and Royce gestured for them to continue. Once they fell into step, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I think a salon in this instance is probably a fancy or formal room to gather.”
“I thought that was called a parlor.”
“I consider them to be the same thing, but I’m sure my super-intelligent husband could tell you the difference.”
Diego snorted, but a soft flush crept up his neck. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re not an intelligent person. I just didn’t expect you to come with the French high society facts.”
He wanted to tease Diego more about his assumptions and feign wounded pride, but they’d reached their destination, and so his torment would have to wait a little longer. He’d get his revenge when Diego least expected it. They stepped into the salon, which was as formal and feminine as Royce had expected it to be. The teacup rose wallpaper was the focal point of the room, and everything in the space, from fabric colors and textures to the furniture’s shape, complemented or matched the wall treatment. Even the massive white fireplace featured elegantly carved rose vines climbing up and across the mantel.
Julia Matisse sat on a pastel green velvet settee, another term Royce had learned from Sawyer, with her legs pulled up to her chest so that only her bare toes peeked out from beneath her flowy pink skirt. She’d wrapped her arms around her legs and pressed her forehead to her knees. Her wet, wavy hair swung forward to hide her face from their view. But soft weeping and trembling shoulders attested to her heartbreak without them seeing her expression. She sniffled again and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, reminding Royce that he probably had a limited time to get coherent answers from her before she shut down.
Her head snapped up when she heard them approach. Julia’s eyes were as red as a person on a three-day bender. They looked as raw as her expression. She sniffed and pulled a fresh tissue from the box on the coffee table. The crumpled one fell forgotten to her lap as she tried to pull herself together. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Diego said. “You’ve had a terrible shock.”
“And we’re truly sorry for your loss, Miss Matisse,” Royce said, then gestured to the pair of chairs across from her. “May we?”
She sniffed and nodded. “And it’s Dr. Matisse, but you can call me Julia to minimize confusion.”
“Pardon me,” Royce said. “Do you mind if I record our conversation so I can refer to it while making my report?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
Royce pulled up the app and hit Play before setting his phone on the table between them. “This is Sergeant Royce Locke with Detective Diego Fuentes, interviewing Dr. Julia Matisse at the home of her parents, Dr. Jean Claude Matisse and …” He let his voice trail off so she could confirm the bottle outside belonged to her mother.
“Mrs. Alyssa Matisse,” Julia supplied for him.
Royce rattled off the date and time before launching into questions. “Can you tell me about your father’s day, Julia?”
Her lips trembled, and she pressed the tissue to her mouth before lowering her head. She met his gaze again after a few seconds and swallowed hard. “I can tell you about his day until I left for the Barclays’ house for their annual barbecue.”
“Mayor Barclay?” Diego asked.
Julia’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and she pressed her lips into a firm line. “Yes, but I call him Uncle Elliott.”
The reason for their presence became crystal clear. The mayor had likely called Commissioner Rigby and asked for her help. “Were your parents supposed to attend the barbecue as well?”
She nodded, and Royce gently asked her to answer out loud since he was only recording their voices. “Sorry. Yes. Both my parents had planned to attend the barbecue. They’d both mentioned it multiple times since I arrived from Boston on Thursday afternoon.” Julia tilted her head and narrowed her eyes slightly. “Well, my mother had mostly steered the conversation about it. My father mentioned the party at dinner on Thursday night but hadn’t brought it up since. In fact, he has said very little about anything since Friday afternoon. He’d—” She cut herself off suddenly and shook her head. “You didn’t ask about yesterday.”
“Please continue,” Royce said. “It would be extremely important if you would tell us what you observed about your dad since you arrived in town.”
Julia exhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. “Father has never been someone you’d describe as gregarious. He was extremely cerebral and lived mostly in his brain. He was introverted to a point that most would call him socially awkward, but Uncle Elliott always brought out the best in him. Father could let his guard down and enjoy the food, liquor, and company at his gatherings. That’s why it was odd when he snapped at Mother for mentioning the barbecue this morning.” Julia lowered her head and shredded the tissue in her hand. Was this a sign of agitation or anxiety?
“Was it rare for your father to lose his temper?” Diego asked.
Julia snapped her head back up and pinned Diego with an icy glare. “I didn’t say he lost his temper. That was beneath him. Father just got short with Mother when she kept bringing Elliott up in conversation. Something was clearly bothering him, but she just kept going on about the party. What she was going to wear and how we should dress. He’d just had enough and got snippy with her.”
“Can you remember what Dr. Matisse specifically said?” Royce prodded.
Julia closed her eyes and swayed slightly. When she reopened them, she wore a faraway expression. “Father told her to back off and stop nagging him. He had bigger concerns than what to wear to a garden party and didn’t want her hounding him. They argued for a few minutes, and Mother stormed from the room. Father closed his eyes and seemed to enjoy the silence until I shattered it.”
“How?” Diego asked.
“I dropped a juice glass on the kitchen floor and broke it,” Julia said. A look of utter embarrassment washed over her features. Royce figured she was in her late thirties or maybe even in her early forties. It seemed so strange that such a simple accident could cause so much strife. “Father was furious with me and berated me for my clumsy behavior.” As if remembering her previous claims, she added, “But he never raised his voice. He didn’t need to. His tongue was as sharp as a scalpel and just as deadly.” She snapped her mouth shut and pressed her hand to her lips. Julia closed her eyes, and a fresh wave of tears cascaded down her face.
Royce feared they wouldn’t get through the interview, but then she straightened her shoulders and said she was ready to continue. “What happened after the incident with the glass?”
“I cleaned it up and got ready for the party. We were all supposed to leave together, but Father had announced at breakfast that he was waiting for an important phone call from his friend, um, his attorney and would drive separately. I asked Mother to join me, but she had hoped to change Father’s mind and ride with him. She arrived alone at the party about an hour after I did.”
“Was there anyone else in the home that might’ve witnessed unusual behavior from Dr. Matisse?” Diego asked.
“Yvonne and Ricardo,” Julia said absently, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. Yvonne is my parents’ housekeeper, and Ricardo is our chef.” She narrowed her eyes as if thinking hard. “They left early on Friday to start their holiday weekend, but I don’t know the specific time.”
“So they don’t live on-site?” Royce asked.
“No, they don’t. I’m almost positive they left before the fireworks began.”
He thought her phrasing was odd. To describe an argument as fireworks implied it had gotten pretty explosive. And Julia had claimed that something bigger had been weighing on Dr. Matisse. Royce knew he was headed into delicate territory and needed to tread lightly. He wanted to find out if she or her mother knew anything about the looming allegations without tipping his hand. “Was it common practice for your father to have a conversation with his attorney on a holiday weekend?”
Julia narrowed her eyes to icy slits. Royce worried he’d gone too far, but she smoothed her expression and took another deep breath. “It’s not unusual. My father is— was —a demanding man. If he deemed something important, he didn’t want to wait until office hours to have a discussion. Considering the amount of money my father has paid Richard Todd over the years, it’s not too much to expect a return phone call on a Saturday.”