“Looks like blood to me.”
The spoon clattered in the cup. “That’s what happens to real marble when something acidic is left out on it overnight. We made smoothies for dessert one night. I didn’t realize a few blueberries had escaped until I found Sutton down here the next day, crying. I’d been telling her from the start the counter was going to be ruined quickly, we shouldn’t get the real marble for exactly this reason, but she refused to listen. I was right, of course.”
“Was this before or after the baby?”
“Before,” he said, knowing it came out curt. “Here’s your tea.”
She blew on it, took a sip. To her credit, though he could tell the taste wasn’t to her liking, she sipped some more, then nodded politely and set the cup down. “Thank you. Now, the reason I’m here. The protective order you submitted against the reporter who was trying to interview Sutton wasn’t granted.”
“I know that.”
“The judge found there was no cause.”
“I know that, too. Idiot. Sutton was terrified of the man, and the judge blew us off.”
“I talked to the judge. He said you had no cause. That it was only a few phone calls.”
“A few phone calls that made my wife sleep with the lights on. Yes, totally benign.”
“What did the reporter—” She looked at her notebook. “His name is Colin Wilde, correct?”
“That’s the bastard.”
“According to the report, Mr. Wilde claims all he did was call and ask for comment after he’d talked with the reviewer, who goes by the anonymous moniker UMB. This UMB claimed Sutton came to her house. Wilde called you for comment. Sutton hung up on him, and you filed the order of protection. Correct?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but you’ve hit the gist.”
“Were you aware that the reviewer, UMB, filed an order of protection against Sutton?”
He was silent.
“Her name is Rosemary George. She lives in a tiny house in rural Kentucky, gets by on social security for the most part. In the report, she claims Sutton came to her house, beat on her door, and when she refused to answer, lit a small fire on the front step, and ran. They have video of the incident. UMB decided not to prosecute. Your wife dodged a very serious bullet.”
“I can’t imagine...”
Graham put her phone on the counter. “It’s queued up for you. I thought you might want to see it.”
She hit Play, and he watched in lurid black and white as his wife lost her ever-loving mind on a stranger’s doorstep.
When it was finished, he had no words.
Graham pocketed her phone.
“Thank you for sending this. It does help ascertain her state of mind.”
“What the bloody hell are you on about? I didn’t send it. I’ve never seen it before.”
“That’s odd. It came from your IP address.”
“Trust me, Officer Graham. I didn’t send that to you. There’s been a mistake.”
She gave him a completely inscrutable look, and Ethan had a moment’s qualm. He shouldn’t be talking to her without Robinson. He knew this. But she stepped away from it.
“I’ll have my people look into that, maybe it was a mistake. Let’s talk about the video. As you can see, Sutton was acting quite threatening that day. Has she ever been threatening or violent in your presence, sir?”
Ethan shook his head. He couldn’t believe this. She couldn’t be that stupid.
“Of course not. She’s a mild woman, if anything, too mild. She’s been trampled upon by a slew of people, and she just sits back and takes it. She cries and breaks down, sure, but she’s never been violent.” Not to a stranger, that is.
“The hospitalization. Can you give me some details?”
Ethan didn’t want to remember that night, the fear lodged in his heart as his beautiful, brilliant wife threatened to jump off the third-story portico. Her hair caught in the breeze, a storm coming in from the west, the clouds roiling black, screaming, trying to get the windows open, fingers clawing at the painted-over frame. Swearing, over and over, she wasn’t to blame, that she’d done nothing wrong. And why wouldn’t he believe her?
“She couldn’t take the pressure. She said she wanted to die, that having her career collapse so soon after the baby’s death was too much for her to take. Too much for anyone to endure. I called Ivy, she came over, and together we talked Sutton off the ledge. I have a friend in town who’s a psychiatrist. I called him, he agreed to have her involuntarily admitted. What’s it called, Title 33 or something?”
“Yes.”
He was quiet for a moment. “It absolutely tore me apart, watching them take her. She was so upset, so confused.”
“Who wrote the commitment papers?”
“Dr. McBean. Gregory McBean.”
“I know him. He’s a good doc.”
“He is. We were able to get her stabilized and out of there after a week. She seemed fine after that, quiet, subdued, embarrassed. She had to take medication. She pushed me away for a while, understandably. But that was all behind us. We’ve been good for weeks.”
“What did you fight about?”
Ethan shifted uncomfortably. “It was stupid. Nothing.”
“Clearly it was something, Mr. Montclair.”
“I don’t want you to think badly of Sutton. Or of me, for that matter.”
“I’m just trying to gather facts. Judgment is for other people.”
It was meant to be such an innocuous, comforting statement, but Ethan felt the chill spread through his body. All he could imagine was a long counter of dark brown wood and thirteen faces staring down at him.
“She asked how my book was coming. I haven’t been writing, and we were sniping at each other about the bills. I told her to mind her own business, and stomped off.”
Tears started to gather, damn it, there was nothing he could do. “I told her to leave me alone. It looks like she took me seriously.”
The cop rubbed her neck while he pulled himself back together. Finally, she said, “Mr. Montclair, none of this is adding up for me.”
“I suppose not. It isn’t for me, either.”
A TRAIL EMERGES
Holly forwarded the video and her write-up of her conversation with Montclair to Moreno, then headed toward Ellen Jones’s home. She was trying to keep an open mind. Trying to stay focused, to be willing to see all sides of the story.
Ethan killed our baby.
The password floated into her head, and Holly reminded herself that despite all of Montclair’s bravado, he was their only suspect. She knew he was lying, had to be, Jim wasn’t wrong about things to do with computers. Though God, Montclair sounded so adamant. And seemed so surprised by the video. Was he simply a brilliant actor?
She didn’t know anymore.