There were other suspicious circumstances, Riley recalls. The marriage had been in trouble. There had been talk of divorce. That might describe half the marriages out there, but there had been an insurance policy – a large one. And there had been no sign of forced entry.
As far as she can remember, the charges had been dropped. They could find no bloody clothes, no murder weapon. With no physical evidence tying the husband to the crime, and no witnesses – other than the neighbour who said he’d been home earlier than he at first claimed – there wasn’t enough. They let him go. And as far as she remembered, the case was still unsolved.
Riley studies David’s face as he stands near the fire, and asks herself if it is the face of a killer. She thinks of him in bed with Gwen, his hands on her – imagines him pummelling his fists into Gwen’s face, over and over …
She is breathing too quickly. She must stop thinking like this. She must control her thoughts. If only they could get the hell out of here.
Finally, James and Bradley appear and invite everyone into the dining room. They’ve put together a huge plate of sandwiches and supplied more coffee.
Gwen finds herself wishing for a stiff drink, even though it’s only lunchtime. She hears Lauren say to Bradley, ‘Candice wanted me to mention that she’d like you to bring her lunch to her in the library, if that’s all right. Oh, and hot tea.’
‘Yes, I figured as much,’ Bradley answers, and bends over the platter and selects a few sandwiches with a pair of silver tongs and arranges them on a smaller plate. He heads off towards the library.
Even with the corpse lying at the foot of the stairs in the next room, only yards away, the sandwiches quickly vanish from the platter.
Gwen watches the others eat with distaste. She wants to leave. She doesn’t want to spend another night here, in this hotel, in what will be almost total, claustrophobic darkness, with no heat.
She steals a glance at David. She can’t believe what Riley said about him this morning is true. It can’t be. He can’t have killed his wife. He can’t be a murderer. The idea is absurd. Riley must have it wrong.
When they’ve all finished eating, they drift together out towards the lobby, and the warmth of the fire.
Gwen says, ‘I don’t know about anyone else, but I could use a drink.’
Ian is delighted that someone else has mentioned drinks, so that he doesn’t have to. He’s surprised that it’s the pretty, pale Gwen who has suggested it, rather than her hard-drinking friend who looks like she’s escaped from rehab.
‘Yes, why don’t I fetch the bar trolley,’ Ian offers now, glancing at Lauren, as if for permission. Bradley isn’t there, and James has returned to the kitchen. ‘I think we could all use a little something, considering.’
Ian gets up and wheels the trolley closer, then starts serving drinks. For a time, there is only the tinkling sound of ice against glass and the wind howling around the building.
There’s an awkward silence, as if no one knows what to say.
Saturday, 1:30 PM
Riley is sitting on her own, away from those arranged around the coffee table near the fire, looking out occasionally across the lobby to the windows. But she is listening to their conversation as they hover over the game board on the coffee table. Ian had found some games on a bookshelf and suggested they play Scrabble.
She sees Bradley return to the lobby and tend to the fire.
It’s Ian who starts it, bluntly asking the attorney why he seems to be suggesting that Dana’s death might not have been an accident.
‘Oh, please, let’s not talk about it!’ Gwen says, obviously preferring to focus on the game. She has always excelled at Scrabble, Riley knows. And she’s also good at avoiding things she doesn’t want to face.
‘Why not?’ Ian replies. ‘It’s all any of us are thinking about. He’s a criminal attorney – I want to know what he thinks.’
‘I’d like to hear what he thinks, too,’ Henry chimes in.
Riley turns and stares now at David, who has just been put on the spot.
‘I don’t know any more than the rest of you,’ the attorney says evasively. ‘I simply said that I think we ought to wait for the coroner to decide what happened.’
‘I’m not asking you what you know, I’m asking you what you think,’ Ian presses.
‘Very well,’ David says, looking around at the rest of them, as if considering what to say. He takes a deep breath and exhales. ‘I don’t think that Dana’s death was an accident.’ He pauses and adds, ‘In fact, I think she was pushed. And then I think her head was deliberately and forcefully smashed against the bottom stair.’
Riley almost spills her drink. She sees Ian’s eyebrows go up in surprise.
‘Seriously?’ Ian says. ‘You think someone murdered her?’ He shifts in his seat, looks uneasy. ‘I thought …’ But he lets his sentence trail away.
Riley is trying her best to appear completely calm, completely normal. She’s had two glasses of wine already, which helps. She sees David look at Gwen; Gwen averts her eyes. Frightened little Gwen, Riley thinks. If she could bury her head in the sand, she would.
‘I think it’s a distinct possibility,’ the attorney says crisply.
Riley grips the arms of her chair tightly. She feels the tension build in the silent room; it’s palpable. Then Riley blurts out what they’re all thinking: ‘Did Matthew do it?’
She hears several gasps from the guests around her. She has been impolite. She doesn’t care. They all seem to think she’s a train wreck anyway.
David turns to her and says, ‘I have no idea.’
Ian asks, ‘Are you acting as his attorney?’
‘No, I am not. I have enough cases on my plate as it is,’ he answers rather irritably. ‘I’ve merely suggested he remain in his room.’ He takes a last drink from his glass, finishes it. ‘The police will sort it all out when they get here – which I hope will be soon.’ He adds, ‘But for now, nobody is moving the body.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘IT SEEMS TO me,’ Henry says, in his slightly pompous way, ‘that if this is a murder, it would be almost impossible to solve. It seems to have happened in the middle of the night. We were all asleep in our beds. There are no witnesses. Unless someone wants to confess, or share some helpful information about seeing someone creeping about in the night, I don’t see that there’s much to go on.’
Beverly listens to him, licks her lips nervously, and waits. No one else volunteers anything.
Finally, she blurts out, ‘There’s something I should probably say.’
All eyes turn her way. She almost loses courage. She doesn’t know if the argument between Dana and Matthew is relevant or not, but it will certainly sound damning.
‘What is it?’ David says calmly, as she hesitates.
‘I heard them arguing, last night.’
‘Dana and Matthew?’ David says, as if in surprise.
‘Yes.’
‘What was the argument about, do you know?’
She shakes her head. ‘I heard them shouting, but I couldn’t make out any words. Their room is next to ours, on the same side of the hall.’ She looks at her husband. ‘Henry slept through it all.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I don’t know, but late.’
‘Did it sound … violent?’ David asks.
‘I don’t know. It was just raised voices. No crying or anything. Nothing slamming, if that’s what you mean.’
There, she’s said it. If Matthew’s done something wrong, then it’s good that she’s told them.
David can sense the heightened distress of the others. They don’t like what Beverly has said; it makes them uneasy. They don’t like to think the unthinkable. He can see from their faces that they are all imagining it – the argument, the push down the stairs.
He’s sorry for their distress, but he’s only telling it how he sees it. It doesn’t seem possible that Dana could have been injured like that from her fall, and he doesn’t want them messing about with the body. And now this new information – Matthew had told him that he and Dana had not argued. If Beverly is to be believed, Matthew lied to him.