“Yeah, he stopped by for a few beers. But he forgot his phone. Just let him know in case he’s freaking out about it.”
After assuring James I would tell Peter, I hang up. Then, after thinking for a moment, I get in my car and head straight for Deborah Taylor’s home.
69
Samantha
“I’D LIKE TO CONGRATULATE YOU on a job well done,” I say. I’m sitting on the edge of a plush chair in Deborah Taylor’s living room, trying not to give in to its comfort. Deborah Taylor is standing in front of me. She does not look pleased. I interrupted her arranging a huge bunch of flowers for her dining-room table. Cut flowers—I am reminded of MJ and feel a pang of sadness. A muffled roar from a vacuum cleaner upstairs. The maids’ day. I’m actually shocked Deborah let me in to the house. But her manners are too good. She automatically stood aside as I pushed my way in.
“What job, exactly?” asks Deborah. She remains standing.
“The murder of your husband John Taylor,” I say. I wait. What will I get? Shock? Outrage? Cool denial? My bets are on the latter. Deborah is always cool.
But Deborah surprises me. She’s cool, yes. But no denial.
“You’ll never prove it,” she says. She is dressed as impeccably as always, a tailored red blazer over a white blouse and a long thin black skirt. The clothes show off the slimness of her figure.
She walks over to the stairs, looks up, and listens to the sound of the vacuum roaring in an upstairs room. “We don’t need this conversation to be overheard,” she says, coming back into the living room, but still not sitting down. “Especially since I gather you’re not exactly in step with the rest of your precinct. Have gone rogue, in fact?”
“Let me tell you how you did it,” I say. “And you correct me if I’m wrong.”
“No tape recorder,” Deborah says. “No notes. This conversation is not happening. And after this, no more visits to my house.”
“I just have to know,” I say. “I must know.” And, then, reluctantly, I add, “You were too good. This murder was almost too perfect. But you slipped up. Twice.”
“And how was that?” asks Deborah.
“First, when you took the room key with you when you left the Westin. And second, by involving MJ. She was too emotional—too unpredictable. You would have been better off with a simpler plan. Or using Helen as your dupe rather than MJ.”
“Helen would hardly have sufficed, given that she lives four hundred miles away,” Deborah says. She sits down, but slowly, without haste. If she is worried by what I’m saying she doesn’t show it.
“Go on,” says Deborah, after she’s smoothed her skirt. “Say your piece. But try to speed it up. I’m giving a dinner party this evening and need to prepare for my guests.”
“You were the brains, and MJ was the stooge,” I begin, and cross my fingers. “You got her in over her head. And she didn’t know what to do.”
“If I were to indulge you in your little fantasy,” says Deborah, “I would have to say that you’re making a mistake about MJ. Poor creature. To be thought a murderer! Or, perhaps worse, to have believed it about herself.”
“But surely MJ was there—either with you or because of you.”
Deborah interrupts me. “You’re coming at this all wrong,” she says. “Think logically for once. First tell me: why would MJ want to kill John?”
I am quiet. This is what makes no sense to me. Would MJ want John dead out of anger? Did she find out, somehow, about Claire and about John’s divorce plans? But MJ wasn’t the murderous kind. She would get upset, yes. Perhaps even get physical. But cold-bloodedly plan a murder? No. And then I remember Peter’s text and suddenly I have it.
“Here’s what I think happened,” I say, slowly. “MJ stumbled upon John Taylor’s secret. Perhaps she learned only about one of his other wives. Perhaps she discovered Claire Fanning—who knows? Somehow she realized she wasn’t the only woman in his life. She was devastated. She confronted John Taylor Thursday morning at their home. He admitted it—he was a polygamist, but he wasn’t a very good liar. She kicked him out of the house, told him he wasn’t welcome there any longer. So after his usual shower and breakfast at Deborah’s, he went to Claire and told her he needed a place to stay until he calculated the best way to proceed. Only they fought, too, about when John would make their relationship public. John Taylor was certainly caught between a rock and a hard place. Or should we say four rocks and a hard place? He was vacillating from one moment to the next. On Friday afternoon he checked in to the Westin to get some thinking space. MJ was summoned there via a text sent at 6:45 and immediately went to meet him.”
I pause. “That’s when you come into the picture,” I say. “You murdered John Taylor. And set it up so MJ would provide you with an alibi, and perhaps even take the rap.”