Part 14 (2/2)
”No. We've been discussing the search warrant.” He handed a copy to her. ”I think they're tearing up Alex's bedroom.”
She scanned the warrant quickly and nodded. ”Will, please make a note of how many armed officers are present, what they're all doing, and their names.” She pulled her camera from her briefcase and started toward Alex's bedroom. Detective c.u.mmins caught her arm.
”Not so fast, Holloway. We're here with a lawful warrant to search and seize certain materials. Just park it on a chair and wait until we're done.”
She quickly aimed her camera and took his picture. He drew back. ”Detective, that warrant says you're looking for p.o.r.nography, weapons, drugs, and/or materials a.s.sociated with related activities. I intend to see that it stops with that and that you don't leave this house looking like a tornado struck. Don't touch me again. I intend to get a pictorial record of what takes place here today.”
For a moment he glared at her. He was forty-something, very muscular and trim, even good-looking, with close-cut brown hair and brown eyes. At the moment he looked carved from wood. He moved aside. ”Don't get in the way,” he said. ”And I asked you before, where's Feldman? I have instructions to take him in for questioning.”
”And I have a court order that says you can't do that.” She pulled a copy of the restraining order from her briefcase, handed it to him, then walked on into the bedroom and began taking snapshots. Drawers had been dumped out onto the floor; two detectives had already torn the bed apart and appeared ready to start slitting the mattress.
”You can tell by close examination if it's been opened and resewn,” she said clearly, taking another picture.
Behind her c.u.mmins said, ”Pick up that stuff and leave the bed alone.”
One of the detectives began to toss socks and underwear back into a drawer. Barbara did not say a word; better a mess in the drawer than on the floor. After that she simply followed them from room to room, watched and took pictures as they continued their search for illicit materials: they took pictures off the wall and examined the backs, searched through books more carefully than she had done in Hilde's house, inspected the bottoms and sides of drawers, the bottoms of chairs and tables....
Then c.u.mmins was back at her side. He handed her a cell phone. ”For you.”
”Holloway,” she said, keeping her gaze on the detectives.
”Ms. Holloway, Lieutenant Kreiger here. We seem to have a bit of a misunderstanding. Our department requires a statement from Mr. Feldman.”
”No objection,” she said. ”My office at a time convenient to all parties.”
Smoothly, even persuasively, he explained why that was not an option and then, just as smoothly, she explained that it was the only option he had. ”I am charged with his well-being, and it wouldn't be to his benefit to sit in an uncomfortable chair in a police station.”
”You could be charged with obstruction of justice,” he said, not quite so smoothly.
”And you could be charged with contempt of court if you interfere with an official court order.”
There was a pause, then he said, ”Two o'clock this afternoon. Where is your office?”
At eleven the officers were ready to leave. Barbara had a receipt for Alex's computer, one charcoal drawing pencil, several magazines, and a stack of newspapers. They wanted to take Dr. Minick's new laptop as well, and she had said no: the search warrant did not include any of his possessions. They settled for an on-site inspection by one of the officers.
As soon as the police were gone, Barbara said piteously, ”Now, may I please have a cup of coffee?”
Will laughed, motioned her to a chair in the kitchen, and poured coffee for her. ”You came on like gangbusters. Wow!”
”Got their attention, didn't I?” She sipped the coffee and closed her eyes. ”Ah, I needed that. They'll be at my office at two to get a statement from Alex.”
”Will I be allowed in?” Dr. Minick asked.
”Probably not. You can wait in Sh.e.l.ley's office, if you like, or just hang out here. It's a formality today. They ask questions, he answers, they present him with a typed copy, and he signs it. Done. Will and I will be at his elbow.”
She drank more of the coffee. ”At least now we know the approach they'll use. The stalking charge, endangering a child. Will, hasn't the Doughboy come up with a picture yet?”
He shook his head. ”A couple, but she's as clean as little Miss Prim.”
”Who?” Dr. Minick asked. ”You mean Rachel?”
”Rachel,” Barbara said. ”I want a picture of her in her war paint.”
”Let me tell you what I saw yesterday,” Dr. Minick said. He told them how he had watched Rachel block off lover's lane. ”She's deeply troubled, traumatized, consumed by guilt feelings.”
”Guilt? Why? She had nothing to do with her father's death.”
”No, no. I don't mean deserved guilt, earned guilt. I mean the guilt that sneaks in. Not just her father, but both parents. She must be going through all the little slights, the insignificant instances when she didn't take out the trash or make her bed, when she sa.s.sed or she daydreamed through church services. A thousand little things. Add them to the guilt she knows she deserves, sneaking behind her father's back to wear makeup, lying about Alex, going out with an older boy. The girl's in deep trouble, Barbara.”
”All right,” Barbara said sharply. ”She's in trouble. But so is Alex. And she put him there. If she wants to untangle herself, she should start telling the truth, just for openers.”
”I doubt she's capable of doing that right now,” Dr. Minick said after a moment. ”That might be too threatening to her.”
Barbara stood up. ”I have to get to the office, get in touch with Alex, prepare him. After today, he can come home.”
Alex arrived at one, as Barbara had asked him to do, and he came in wearing a tan chamois beret. Sh.e.l.ley had been right; it was a vast improvement over the baseball cap, and it meant, Barbara added silently to herself, that Sh.e.l.ley must have seen him over the weekend to give him the berets.
Dr. Minick and Will arrived together at a quarter to two, and the detectives arrived promptly at two. Lieutenant Kreiger was a slightly built man with black hair a touch too long, and black eyes. His eyebrows were black, s.h.a.ggy and thick. His manner was crisp. He had a stenographer with him, and another detective who seemed to do nothing except keep his gaze on the lieutenant at all times. All three had taken one look at Alex. The stenographer, a young man who looked as if he belonged in high school, blanched and looked ill.
”Please remove your hat and gla.s.ses,” Kreiger said as soon as they were all seated in Barbara's office.
”I prefer not to,” Alex said. ”If you don't mind.”
The lieutenant nodded as if he had a new bit of information. It was a mannerism he was to repeat several times as he asked his questions and Alex answered them.
After covering the day of the murder, the lieutenant asked, ”Where do you sell your paintings?”
”I send my art to my agent, and he sells it. Original paintings by unknown artists are placed in corporate offices, doctors' offices, some restaurants, not upper-echelon offices, CEOs and such, they get Miros and van Goghs, but mid-level management.” He gave his agent's name and address.
The lieutenant took a drawing pencil from his briefcase and handed it to Alex. ”Is that yours?”
”I don't know. It's like some of mine. I have several different kinds.”
”Do you take a sketchbook and pencil out on your hikes?” Alex said yes. ”Ever stop behind the Marchand house to sketch?”
”No. I don't go near his property if I can help it. Up in the woods it's hard to know where his starts; it's not posted or anything.”
”They keep it mowed behind the house, a hundred feet or so, don't they?”
”I don't know.”
”You ever sit up there, just behind the mowed part and sketch?”
”I said no. That's the only answer I can give you. No.”
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