Part 6 (1/2)
Detective Stratton stood there. A squad of men carrying equipment waited on the walkway behind him. ”h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Weaver,” he said politely.
”What do you want?” Keely asked.
The Realtor and the well-dressed young couple who were viewing the house appeared in the doorway to the living room and stared at Keely curiously.
”This is the Crime Scene Investigation Unit,” Phil Stratton explained. ”We need access to your pool area to collect some evidence in regard to your husband's drowning.”
”Drowning!” the young woman behind Keely exclaimed with a gasp.
”I have people here looking at my house,” said Keely angrily.
”They can continue looking,” Phil said. ”They won't be in our way.”
Keely could hear low voices murmuring behind her. ”No, I couldn't,” she heard the young woman insist.
”May we go around back?” Phil asked.
”Do as you like,” said Keely, slamming the door. She turned to apologize to the Realtor and the prospective buyers, but the young couple averted their eyes from her gaze.
Nan Ranstead walked up to Keely. ”I'm afraid we're through here. They've lost interest. Could you just tell me the next time if you're expecting the police?”
”I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting them.”
Nan ushered the couple out, and Keely watched as they hurrieddown the driveway toward Nan's red Ford Taurus. Shaking her head, Keely walked back to the French doors and let herself out onto the patio. She crossed the patio and saw one man shooting photographs of the pool's gate and another officer wielding a tape measure and writing down numbers on a pad. Phil Stratton was conferring with a man with a clipboard in a blue windbreaker.
”Detective Stratton,” said Keely.
Phil Stratton turned and looked at her.
”What in the world are you doing here?”
”We've been measuring-” he said.
”I can see that. But what are you measuring? Why?”
”Well, one thing we measured was the distance from the house to the pool.” He tapped a gold pen against his upper lip. ”Now how old is that baby of yours?”
”She's a year old. Detective, I hope you know that you just torpedoed the sale of my house. I had prospective buyers here looking at the property. But once you announced my husband's drowning, they couldn't get away fast enough.”
”Can't be helped,” he said shortly. ”About the baby-how long do you think it would take her to walk from inside the house out to the pool?”
”I don't know,” she cried. ”How would I know? I don't time her.”
”But she's not fast. I mean, she's not marching along at a clip.”
”No, of course not.”
”Doesn't it strike you as odd?” he asked.
”What?”
”Well, toddlers are always on the move. I don't have any children myself, but my sisters are always complaining about having to watch their kids every minute. Doesn't it strike you as odd that your husband would leave her alone, out of his sight, long enough for her to make her way out to the pool? Never notice she wasn't in the house?”
For a minute, Keely felt confused. She thought of her last sight of Mark alive-holding Abby in his arms. He knew that Abby had to be closely watched. But maybe someone had called and he got distracted. Thought Abby was safely beside him, but she wasn't. ”I don't know,” sheadmitted. ”Maybe they were already outside and he took his eyes off her for some reason. A phone call. I don't know.”
”Yeah. I guess that's possible,” Stratton said. He squinted out at the tarp-covered pool. Rainwater had collected in the center, forming a brackish puddle with dried leaves floating on it. ”But if he was outside with her, wouldn't he have noticed that the gate to the pool was ajar? Don't you think so?”
Keely looked from the pool back to the house. Her heart felt strange in her chest, as if it were skipping a beat every so often. ”I guess something distracted him,” she admitted. And in her mind's eye she imagined him, deep in conversation on the phone, thinking the baby was there beside him. a.s.suming there was no danger. Maybe he was talking to a client. Trying to make a better deal. Losing track of the baby as he presented his arguments. And then a scream, a splash. Tears sprang to her eyes as she pictured him leaping up, knowing in that moment that disaster was on him. Rus.h.i.+ng over to see her, his adored child, flailing helplessly in the deep end and having, in that instant, to make an unthinkable choice-choosing.
”Why are you making me live through this again?” she pleaded.
”What could possibly have distracted him that much?” he persisted.
”I don't know,” Keely cried. ”A client . . . an emergency . . .”
”We thought of that. There is no indication that he was on the phone at the time of the accident. I questioned Sergeant Henderson about this. He said that they didn't find the phone outside when they got here. It was inside. On the hook.”
Keely regarded him balefully. ”Maybe he went inside to answer it.”
”And left a toddler alone out here with the gate to the pool open?” Phil Stratton asked, incredulous.
”No. I don't know,” said Keely miserably.
”No, I'm thinking maybe he was inside the house when it happened. Your records show he'd logged on to the Internet at seven o'clock. He was in the house, and the baby wandered away. And he had no idea that the pool gate was open.”
Keely felt as if her head was spinning. ”He was careless, all right? And he paid with his life for that carelessness. What difference does itmake? You know what happened.” Tears ran down her face, and she wiped them impatiently.
Detective Stratton ignored her tears. ”That's just it. We don't know what happened. And frankly, I'm surprised that you're not more curious.”
Keely was stung by his rebuke. ”Look, I don't care how it happened. The result is the same. The pool gate was left open. It should have been locked, but it wasn't. Mark lost track of the baby. He should have been watching her, but he didn't. My life was going to be happy, and now it isn't. That's all I need to know.”
”I'm afraid we need to know a little more than that. Mrs. Weaver, I want you to bring your son, Dylan, down to the prosecutor's office this afternoon.”
”The prosecutor's office,” she said, wiping her eyes. ”Whatever for?”
”We want to talk to Dylan some more. It's in the Profit County courthouse. Do you know where that is?”
The detective's words stunned her like a blow. ”Yes, but . . . talk to Dylan? Why? What is this all about? Why is that necessary?”
”What time does he get home from school?”
”Three o'clock. But I don't see-”
”Let's make it three-thirty, then.”
”Wait a minute, detective. Let me save you . . . everyone . . . the trouble. Do you want to know how the pool gate got open? Well, I'll tell you. Dylan-my son, Dylan-left it open. He was mad at me about the bike, and he came home to get his skateboard, which he had carelessly left by the pool. All right? He made a mistake and he left the gate open, and the worst thing that could have happened did happen.”