Down the hall, said Tibbetts. Theres a full pot on, plus a couch if you need it. Why dont you wait there?
Go ahead, said Evelyn. Ill be done soon.
With a sense of relief Chase fled the office and went in search of the blessed coffeepot. Moving back down the hall, he poked his head into the first doorway and discovered a washroom. The next door was locked. He moved on and glanced into the third room. It was unlit. Through the shadows he saw a couch, a few chairs, a jumble of furniture off in a corner. In the sidewall there was a window. It was that window that drew his attention because, unlike a normal window, it didnt face the outside; it faced an adjoining room. Through the pane of glass he spied a woman, sitting alone at a small table.
She was oblivious to him. Her gaze was focused downward, on the table before her. Something drew him closer, something about her utter silence, her stillness. He felt like a hunter who has quite unexpectedly come upon a doe poised in the forest.
Quietly Chase slipped into the darkness and let the door close behind him. He moved to the window. A one-way mirror thats what it was, of course. He was on the observing side, she on the blind side. She had no idea he was standing here, separated from her by only a half inch of glass. It made him feel somehow contemptible to be standing there, spying on her, but he couldnt help himself. He was drawn in by that old fantasy of invisibility, of being the fly on the wall, the unseen observer.
And it was the woman.
She was not particularly beautiful, and neither her clothes nor her hairstyle enhanced the assets she did have. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a Boston Red Sox T-shirt a few sizes too big. Her hair, a chestnut brown, was gathered into a careless braid. A few strands had escaped and drooped rebelliously about her temples. She wore little or no makeup, but she had the sort of face that needed none, the sort of face you saw on those Patagonia catalog models, the ones raking leaves or hugging lambs. Wholesome, with just a hint of sunburn. Her eyes, a light color, gray or blue, didnt quite fit the rest of the picture. He could see by the puffiness around the lids that shed been crying. Even now, she reached up and swiped a tear from her cheek. She glanced around the table in search of something. Then, with a look of frustration, she tugged at the edge of her T-shirt and wiped her face with it. It seemed a helpless gesture, the sort of thing a child would do. It made her look all the more vulnerable. He wondered why she was in that room, sitting all alone, looking for all the world like an abandoned soul. A witness? A victim?
She looked straight ahead, right at him. He instinctively drew away from the window, but he knew she couldnt see him. All she saw was a reflection of herself staring back. She seemed to take in her own image with passive weariness. Indifference. As though she was thinking, There I am, looking like hell. And I couldnt care less.
A key grated in the lock. Suddenly the woman sat up straight, her whole body snapping to alertness. She wiped her face once more, raised her chin to a pugnacious angle. Her eyes might be swollen, her T-shirt damp with tears, but she had determinedly thrown off that cloak of vulnerability. She reminded Chase of a soldier girded for battle, but scared out of her wits.
The door opened. A man walked in gray suit, no tie, all business. He took a chair. Chase was startled by the loud sound of the chair legs scraping the floor. He realized there must be a microphone in the next room, and that the sound was coming through a small speaker by the window.
Ms. Wood? asked the man. Sorry to keep you waiting. Im Lieutenant Merrifield, state police. He held out his hand and smiled. It said a lot, that smile. It said Im your buddy. Your best friend. Im here to make everything right.
The woman hesitated, then shook the offered hand.
Lieutenant Merrifield settled into the chair and gave the woman a long, sympathetic look. You must be exhausted, he said, maintaining that best-friend voice. Are you comfortable? Feel ready to proceed?
She nodded.
Theyve read you your rights?
Again, a nod.
I understand youve waived the right to have an attorney present.
She nodded.
Theyve read you your rights?
Again, a nod.
I understand youve waived the right to have an attorney present.
I dont have an attorney, she said.
Her voice was not what Chase expected. It was soft, husky. A bedroom voice with a heartbreaking quaver of grief.
We can arrange for one, if you want, said Merrifield. It may take some time, which means youll have to be patient.
Please. I just want to tell you what happened.
A smile touched Lieutenant Merrifields lips. It had the curve of triumph. All right, then, he said. Lets begin. He placed a cassette recorder on the table and pressed the button. Tell me your name, your address, your occupation.
The woman sighed deeply, a breath for courage. My name is Miranda Wood. I live at 18 Willow Street. I work as a copy editor for the Island Herald.
Thats Mr. Tremains newspaper?
Yes.
Lets go straight to last night. Tell me what happened. All the events leading up to the death of Mr. Richard Tremain.
Chase felt his whole body suddenly go numb. The death of Mr. Richard Tremain. He found himself pressing forward, against that cold glass, his gaze fixed on the face of Miranda Wood. Innocence. Softness. Thats what he saw when he looked at her. What a lovely mask she wore, what a pure and perfect disguise.
My brothers mistress, he thought with sudden comprehension.
My brothers murderer.
In terrible fascination he listened to her confession.
Lets go back a few months, Ms. Wood. To when you first met Mr. Tremain. Tell me about your relationship.
Miranda stared down at her hands, knotted together on the table. The table itself was a typically ugly piece of institutional furniture. She noticed that someone had carved the initials JMK onto the surface. She wondered who JMK was, if he or she had sat there under similar circumstances, if he or she had been similarly innocent. She felt a sudden bond with this unknown predecessor, the one who had sat in the same hot seat, fighting for dear life.
Ms. Wood? Please answer my question.
She looked up at Lieutenant Merrifield. The smiling destroyer. Im sorry, she said. I wasnt listening.
About Mr. Tremain. How did you meet him?
At the Herald. I was hired about a year ago. We got to know each other in the course of business.
And?
And She took a deep breath. We got involved.
Who initiated it?
He did. He started asking me out to lunch. Purely business, he said. To talk about the Herald. About changes in the format.
Isnt it unusual for a publisher to deal so closely with the copy editor?
Maybe on a big city paper it is. But the Heralds a small-town paper. Everyone on the staff does a little of everything.
So, in the course of business, you got to know Mr. Tremain.
Yes.
When did you start sleeping with him?
The question was like a slap in the face. She sat up straight. It wasnt like that!
You didnt sleep with him?
I didnt I mean, yes, I did, but it happened over the course of months. It wasnt as if we we went out to lunch and then fell into bed together!
I see. So it was a more, uh, romantic thing. Is that what youre trying to say?
She swallowed. In silence she nodded. It all sounded so stupid, the way hed phrased it. A more romantic thing. Now, hearing those words said aloud in that cold, bare room, it struck her how foolish it all had been. The whole disastrous affair.
I thought I loved him, Miranda whispered.
What was that, Ms. Wood?
She said, louder, I thought I loved him. I wouldnt have slept with him if I didnt. I dont do one-night stands. I dont even do affairs.
You did this one.
Richard was different.
Different than what?
Than other men! He wasnt just just cars and football. He cared about the same things I cared about. This island, for instance. Look at the articles he wrote you could see how much he loved this place. We used to talk for hours about it! And it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to She gave a little shudder of grief and looked down. Softly she said, I thought he was different. At least, he seemed to be.
He was also married. But you knew that.
She felt her shoulders droop. Yes.
And did you know he had two children?
She nodded.
Yet you had an affair with him. Did it mean so little to you, Ms. Wood, that three innocent people
Dont you think I thought about that, every waking moment? Her chin shot up in rage. Dont you think I hated myself? I never stopped thinking about his family! About Evelyn and the twins. I felt evil, dirty. I felt I dont know. She gave a sigh of helplessness. Trapped.
By what?
By my love for him. Or what I thought was love. She hesitated. But maybe maybe I never really did love him. At least, not the real Richard.
And what led to this amazing revelation?
Things I learned about him.
What things?
The way he used people. His employees, for instance. The way he treated them.
So you saw the real Richard Tremain and you fell out of love.
Yes. And I broke it off. She let out a deep breath, as though relieved that the most painful part of her confession was finished. That was a month ago.
Were you angry at him?
I felt morebetrayed. By all those false images.
So you must have been angry.
I guess I was.
So for a month you walked around mad at Mr. Tremain.
Sometimes. Mostly I felt stupid. And then he wouldnt leave me alone. He kept calling, wanting to get back together.
And that made you angry, as well.
Yes, of course.
Angry enough to kill him?
She looked up sharply. No.
Angry enough to grab a knife from your kitchen drawer?
No!
Angry enough to go into the bedroom your bedroom, where he was lying naked and stab him in the chest?
No! No, no, no. She was sobbing now, screaming out her denials. The sound of her own voice echoed like some alien cry in that stark box of a room. She dropped her head into her hands and leaned forward on the table. No, she whispered. She had to get away from this terrible man with his terrible questions. She started to rise from the chair.