Truly Married (26 page)

After they’d all greeted her, Lieutenant Zurcher took a small object from his pocket and approached the side of the bed. “Mrs. Vancleave, I understand there’s something you want to tell me,” he said softly.

Helen nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I have a tape recorder here,” he continued, showing her the device. “Do you mind if I tape our conversation?”

Her eyes widened. “No, I don’t mind,” she said in a frightened whisper.

He turned the recorder on and spoke briefly into it, noting time, place and people present, then looked again at Helen. “Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Vancleave. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. But what you do say will be recorded and may be used against you. Do you understand?”

She looked even more frightened, and the doctor moved closer and put his fingers on the pulse at her wrist.

“Yes, I understand,” she said shakily, “but I want to tell you anyway.” Taking a deep breath she plunged ahead. “I killed my husband, Floyd.”

“How?”

She swallowed. “I...I stabbed him with a letter opener and he died.”

“Can you tell me why you did that?”

“He... He was mad and he was going to hit me again.”

“How do you know he was going to hit you?”

Her face crinkled up as if she were going to cry, but she didn’t. “He raised his arm and I saw his fist. I knew he was going to swing.”

“Had he ever hit you with his fist before?”

She cringed. “Oh yes. With his open hand, too.”

“Did you report those attacks to the police?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, he always said he was sorry, and I didn’t want anyone to know. Our next-door neighbor reported him a couple of times, but I told the officers I’d fallen.”

The lieutenant grunted, but made no comment. “Can you tell me in your own words just what happened? Start with why you went to your husband’s office.”

Helen leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. She looked like a emaciated old woman, but Sharon knew she was under fifty.

“I’d been to a meeting of the deaconesses at my church that morning,” she began, “so when it was over I decided to drive on downtown and have lunch with my husband. I always use the valet parking at the hotel, but that morning I spotted a space on the street, so I parked there. It was on the pool side of the hotel, so I went in that way. Floyd was alone in his office and opened the sliding-glass door to let me in.”

Sharon was elated. So that’s why no one in the reception room had known Floyd’s wife was there.

Helen paused and Zurcher spoke. “Did you put your hands on the outside of the glass door?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly. “I knocked with my fist, but Floyd slid it open from the inside.”

Zurcher’s gaze concentrated on her medicated hands. “What’s wrong with them?” he asked.

The doctor answered for her. “She has a severe dermatitis, an allergic reaction to detergents, among other things.”

“May I examine them?” the detective asked.

This time it was Fergus who spoke. “You don’t have to allow that, Helen.”

“I don’t mind,” she answered, and pulled awkwardly at the gloves.

“Let me do that,” Dr. Hardy said, and carefully removed them.

Lieutenant Zurcher had her turn her hands several times for his inspection, but didn’t touch them. “Were they like this the day you killed your husband?”

“Yes,” she said. “Not this bad, but they were broken out and itchy.”

“Were they bandaged?” Sharon held her breath with anticipation as she waited for an answer. She could see what the lieutenant was getting at. If Helen’s hands had been bandaged it would explain why her fingerprints weren’t on the murder weapon.

“No, but I was wearing gloves. My hands look so awful when they’re broken out that I always keep them covered when I go anywhere.”

Sharon let her breath out with a swoosh. It was all coming together. Helen’s confession seemed to be airtight so far.

Zurcher nodded. “Sorry I interrupted you earlier. Now, please tell us what happened after you entered your husband’s office.”

She thought for a minute. “Floyd said he had some paperwork to finish before we went to lunch, so I went into his private bathroom to freshen up. I...I was in there when Ms. Sawyer—uh, Sharon—came storming into the office.”

The bathroom! Of course.
For some reason it had never occurred to Sharon that someone might have been in Floyd’s private bathroom while she and he were quarreling. And the police were so sure she was the killer that they didn’t investigate.

“She was awfully mad,” Helen continued. “She...she accused him of...of sabotaging her promotion because she wouldn’t sleep with him.”

Helen’s face had turned beet red and she stammered as she reminisced. “She was shouting, and he...he kept telling her to lower her voice. She...she told him she knew about...about the other women employees he’d prop-propositioned. She said she was going to get statements from them and file har-harassment charges against him—”

Her voice broke on a sob, and the doctor put the box of tissues from the night table on the bed beside her, within easy reach. “That’s enough, Lieutenant,” he said crisply.

“No! No, please,” Helen protested through her tears. “I want to finish this now.”

Dr. Hardy looked at her. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this until you’re stronger.”

“I’ll be all right,” she assured him. “I just want to get it over with.” She wiped her wet face and blew her nose, then turned to look at Zurcher. “By then Floyd had lost control of his vicious temper and was yelling, too. He told Sharon to shut up and get out. That those women wouldn’t tattle on him if they wanted to keep their jobs. He said he—” Again she broke off on a sob. “That he had plenty of willing women to choose from, and he sure as hell didn’t need her. He...he threatened to fire her if she stirred up trouble, and said he’d make sure she didn’t get another job anywhere in the hotel industry.”

Helen stopped and took a deep breath. “They shouted at each other some more, but I was too shocked and upset to catch what they said. I didn’t know she’d left until I realized that the noise had stopped and there was nothing but silence.”

She closed her eyes once more, but it didn’t stop the tears that ran unchecked down her pale, sunken cheeks. Sharon’s own eyes filled as she absorbed some of the other woman’s pain. She knew only too well what Helen was going through. Being accused falsely, as Sharon had been, was bad enough, but having to confess that you’d killed your philandering husband would be sheer hell.

Fergus, who was standing beside Sharon, reached out and took her hand. The gesture shattered her tenuous control, and she turned into his arms, buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. He held her close and rubbed his cheek in her hair. “Go ahead and cry, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re entitled.”

Aloud he said, “I think we’d better postpone the rest of Mrs. Vancleave’s statement until tomorrow. She’s been put through enough for one day.”

“I agree—” the doctor began, but Helen cut him off.

“No, Mr. Lachlan. I really need to get this over with.” She sounded exhausted, but determined. “It won’t take much longer. After Sharon left I confronted Floyd. He was furious, and was especially enraged that I’d stand up to him and dare to question his actions. I told him I was going to file for divorce.”

She stopped and shuddered. “He looked at me with pure hatred and swung back his arm, his fist clenched to hit me. I was honestly afraid that he’d kill me, and I reached out for something to protect myself with. My hand closed on the letter opener that was lying on his desk, and I swung wildly with it. It plunged into his chest.”

Another sob shook her. “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted to keep him from beating me up again.”

Dr. Hardy poured a glass of water and held it for Helen while she sipped it through a straw. “Don’t put yourself through any more of this,” he said softly. “If there’s anything else they need to know they can question you later.” He glared at Lieutenant Zurcher.
“Much later.”

She pushed the glass away. “There’s just one more thing,” she insisted. “Floyd didn’t say anything, just looked stunned and stumbled against the desk. Then he fell and scattered things as he went down. I didn’t know how badly he was hurt, but I panicked and ran out the way I’d come in, got to my car and drove home. When I got there I was violently sick.” She sighed and relaxed against her pillow. “I guess you know the rest.”

* * *

By the time Sharon and Fergus arrived home Sharon was exhausted. For the first time she fully understood what her grandmother had meant when she used to say, “I feel like I’ve been put through the wringer.”

Sharon had seen pictures of those old-style washing machines with a contraption built on the side that ran clothes between two cylinders, one on top of the other, to wring out all the water from them. That’s exactly the way she felt, as if she’d been wrung dry of all emotion.

This day had been a marathon of highs and lows. She knew she should be exuberant, and she was. The mystery of Floyd Vancleave’s death had been cleared up and she’d been exonerated. Fergus assured her that getting the charges against her dropped was only a formality now that they had a confession from Floyd’s wife that she’d been the culprit.

But “culprit” wasn’t the word for Helen Vancleave. Actually, she was the victim and Floyd was the culprit. He’d been a mean, selfish egomaniac, with no redeeming qualities as far as Sharon could see. Helen had had a right to strike out in self-defense, and Sharon’s heart bled for the poor, troubled woman.

Fergus seemed confident that the case would never go to trial, but Floyd had made Helen’s life a hell for so long that she now seemed past caring what happened to her.

Anna arrived home a short time later and, after happily greeting Fergus, wanted to hear all about their visit with Mrs. Vancleave. Sharon was too drained to go through it all again and excused herself to go to bed, leaving Fergus to bring Anna up to date on the events of the day.

Sharon slept soundly all night, and woke up feeling rested and invigorated with the knowledge that she no longer had to dread the start of a new day, but could face it with anticipation and confidence.

Then she remembered that it was Sunday. Fergus would be leaving in a few hours to return to his home and his law practice in Chicago. And not just temporarily, as before.

He was no longer needed there to defend her, and Helen hadn’t been arrested. At least not yet. But he’d already arranged for Ray Quinlan to be co-council and handle her defense—under Fergus’s long-distance supervision, of course—if she should be.

No, this time when he left to return to Chicago he wouldn’t be coming back!

Chapter Fourteen

S
haron dressed quickly in red shorts and a red-and-white striped pullover shirt. After brushing her teeth, splashing water on her face and adding a touch of lipstick, she ran a comb through her hair and tripped barefoot downstairs to the kitchen.

Fergus was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. He lowered the paper when she entered the room and smiled up at her.

“Well, hello there,” he said huskily as his gaze roamed over her, taking special notice of her full breasts, rounded hips and long, slender legs. “God, Sharon, you’re even more desirable now than you were when we were—” He stopped abruptly and drew in his breath, then motioned to the chair beside him. “Sit down. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

She felt both pleased and disappointed. Apparently he wasn’t going to pursue his thoughts on the subject of her desirability, but why would he? She’d told him emphatically that she wasn’t going to make love with him again.

How woefully naive she’d been at that time, when she was still sated by their stunning night of passion. Had she really been immature enough to believe that ignoring the attraction between them would make it go away? Why hadn’t she realized it would be like trying to stop the tides? They reappeared on a regular basis whether you allowed them to or not.

She smiled back at him. “Good morning, thank you and don’t bother to get up. I can pour my own coffee.”

She took a mug from the cupboard and filled it. “Would you like a refill?” she said as she turned to look at him.

“No, thanks. Mine’s nearly full,” he answered.

She brought her cup and sat down in the chair he’d offered. “Is Anna still sleeping?”

“No, she left about an hour ago. She took the dog and drove down to spend the day with her parents in Arnold.”

Sharon gazed past him out the window at the bright sunshine and cloudless sky. “Isn’t it a beautiful day? You should have wakened me earlier. I haven’t slept so soundly since I was arrested and charged with Floyd’s murder.”

“I’m glad you rested so well,” Fergus said, “and I’m not masochistic enough to go into your bedroom while you’re in bed asleep. When you’ve finished your breakfast we have to talk.”

Her appetite disappeared along with her feeling of well-being. He was going to tell her he was returning to Chicago. That it was nice seeing her again, but now he had to get back to work, so goodbye and please try to stay out of trouble from now on.

“I... I’m ready anytime you are,” she said, trying for a light tone and failing miserably.

He folded the paper and laid it aside. “Then let’s take our coffee and go into the other room, where we can be more comfortable.”

She agreed and followed him into the living room, where he headed for the sofa and she started toward a chair.

“No, sit here with me,” he said, and patted the cushion beside him.

She knew that wasn’t a good idea. Talk about desirable! That subject was definitely not one-sided. Fergus was wearing hip-hugging blue denim shorts that exposed his strong, muscular legs, and a snug-fitting, multicolored striped pullover shirt that outlined the equally powerful muscles in his chest. Just the sight of him made her mouth water!

No, sitting beside him wasn’t a smart move, but it was an invitation she couldn’t resist, and she obeyed. He reached over and cupped his palm around her bare knee.