Page 21 of Manner of Death
“Off being told that my wife is gonna die and there’s nothing anybody can do anymore!”
The three of them were silent for a long moment before Nan sighed. “I’m sorry.” She sounded like she really meant it. “But if you can’t handle that news without drinking, then you need to be at home.”
“There’s nothing I can do at home,” Kurt mumbled. “Her sister is with her. My sister is flying in…I can’t get a word in edgewise.”
“But—”
“Detective Villeray?” That was the desk sergeant. “There’s a Miss Smith here to see you. I put her in Room Three.”
“Thanks.” Sawyer got to his feet, feeling was as if he were leaping from one fire into another. He felt drained anew, his brief moment of internal sunshine clouded over by the fact that his partner was in pain.
He and Kurt weren’t friends, not really; they weren’t the sort of people who went to each other’s houses on their off days and watched football, or whatever regular people enjoyed when they weren’t working. But Sawyer liked Molly, who treated him with more care and affection than he knew what to do with, and few things were worse than watching someone you cared for go into a decline and knowing you couldn’t help them back out of it.
He’d have to figure out what to do to help later. Right now, he couldn’t keep Miss Smith waiting. Sawyer took a second to get into character, then headed for the interview room. He could hear Nan whispering vigorously at Kurt behind him, but he didn’t try and listen in.
Focus. Stay on point. Hit your marks.
He knocked on the door, then entered. “Larissa Smith?” He stepped in and over to the young woman sitting on the couch. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“You’re welcome.” Her fingers braided through the strap of her handbag, and it took her a moment to unwind them enough to shake hands. She was young, early twenties, with long brown hair and dark brown skin. Her eyes were puffy, but mostly she looked as though she was still in a state of shock. “I, um. You have some questions for me? About Chris?”
“Yes. But first…” Sawyer got through the basics of verifying her information—name, date of birth, and occupation—before moving on to the murder. “Was Chris having any trouble at work? Someone hassling him, maybe a patron who didn’t want to take no for an answer?”
“There’s always somebody like that.” Larissa sounded a bit helpless. “Not the crew he works with—they’re solid, but Mac’s is the most popular sports bar in town. There’s always going to be some asshole in there angry that their team is losing, you know?”
“Right.” Sawyer had no idea because he would rather dip himself in boiling oil than spend time in a sports bar, but he was good at faking understanding. Fake it till you make it. “Can you think of anyone in particular he mentioned recently? Or anyone else who might have been having problems with him?”
Larissa smiled tremulously. “Usually the problem was that he was getting hit on too much. At work, at the gym, at the pool…Chris is a good-looking guy, you know? He’s constantly being…” She stopped speaking, one hand going to her mouth. “I mean, he was…he…”
“I understand what you meant,” Sawyer assured her. “The pool, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s…” Larissa took a deep breath. “That was his other job. He was a swim instructor at the country club. He was really good in high school, and he had a swimming scholarship in college. We actually met at the Y, where I work, when…” She began to cry. Sawyer handed her a tissue and tried not to look as useless as he felt. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. Soft, soft. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough that he felt he could ask some more questions. “So he worked at the country club too?”
“Yeah. Um, he did kids’ classes and a few water aerobics things.”
“No private clients?”
“I don’t think so.” She shrugged miserably. “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful.”
“This has been helpful,” he promised her. “We think he might have been in a pool around the time of his death, so this is very helpful.”
Larissa’s breath hitched. “Did he drown?”
“No.” Sawyer waited for the inevitable follow-up question, but it didn’t come. She just nodded and stared down at her hands. He pulled his phone out and turned it to face her. “One last thing. Have you ever seen a plant like this before?” He’d chosen a photo of a yellow oleander in full bloom. The flowers were gorgeous, like the sort of thing you’d see tucked into a lei or behind an ear. Too bad that every single part of them was deadly if you consumed it or breathed in its pollen. Even touching it could cause serious problems.
She looked at the picture without so much as a flicker of incriminating nervousness. After a moment, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not really much of a plant person, though, so…um, no.” She glanced up at him. “Is it important?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Sawyer said. “If you do see a plant like this in the places you and Chris went to, or something else strikes you as notable or out of the ordinary, please let me know.” She already had his number, but he handed over his card. “This has both my phone numbers and my email address.”
“Thanks.” She held the card so tight that for a moment Sawyer thought she was going to accidentally rip it in half. “And you’ll let me know? If you figure out who killed him?”
“Yeah, I will,” he promised her. If we can figure it out. Right now this wasn’t looking any more solvable than the last murder despite how elaborate it had turned out, which…was weird. It reminded him of something, what was it…well, he’d come up with it.
He said his goodbyes and escorted Larissa outside, then took a few minutes to stand in the shade of the maple tree where the station’s designated smoking area had been set up. No one else was there, but it still stank of cigarettes. Too bad it was the only place around the entire building that had any—
His phone buzzed. Great. Sawyer pulled it out and checked his messages. A second later he smiled, an almost dizzying sense of relief filling him as he read it.