Part 43 (1/2)

A long drop, he thought, using the scope to judge the distance from the bluff to the rocks below. In all likelihood the fall would've been enough to kill Duncan. But shooting him first guaranteed it.

Why? What had he known, seen, done?

And how was it connected to Lindsay's death? Logically, there had to be some connection. He didn't believe Wolfe had that part wrong. Unless the whole thing was as illogical as digging in a bas.e.m.e.nt for pirate treasure, the murders were connected.

Which opened the possibility Duncan's murder was connected to the intruder.

Again, why? What had he known, seen, done?

A puzzle. In his other life, he'd enjoyed puzzles. Maybe it was time to find out if he still had an apt.i.tude for them.

He left the telescope on the terrace, went back upstairs for a legal pad, a pen. This time on his pa.s.s through the kitchen he did slap a sandwich together and, what the h.e.l.l, added a beer. He took it all to the library, lit the fire and sat down at his great-grandfather's magnificent old desk.

He thought to start with Lindsay's death, but realized that wasn't the beginning-not really. He'd considered their first year of marriage an adjustment period. Ups and down, lateral moves, but a great deal of focus, on both sides, on outfitting and decorating the new house.

Things had begun to change between them, if he were honest, within months of moving into the house.

She'd decided she wanted more time before starting a family, and fair enough. He'd put a great deal of time and energy into his work. She'd wanted him to make full partner, and he felt he was on track for that.

She'd enjoyed the entertaining, the being entertained, and she'd had her own career path and social network. Still, they'd argued, increasingly, over his workload, or conflicts between his priorities and hers. Naturally enough, if he continued to be honest. Sixty-hour workweeks were more common than not, and as a criminal attorney he'd put in plenty of all-nighters.

She'd enjoyed the benefits, but had begun to resent what earned them. He'd appreciated her success in her own career, but had begun to resent the conflicts of interest.

At the base? He admitted they hadn't loved each other enough, not for the long haul.

Add in her intolerance-and that was a fair word-for his grandmother, for his affection for Bluff House and Whiskey Beach, and the erosion just quickened. And he could see now that even in that first year of marriage, an emotional crack had formed between them, one that had steadily widened until neither of them had the means or desire to bridge the gap.

And hadn't he resented Lindsay for his own decision to limit, then to end, his visits to Bluff House? He wanted to save his marriage, but more out of principle than for love of his wife.

That was just sad, he thought.

Still, he hadn't cheated, so points for him.

He'd spent a lot of time trying to calculate when her infidelity had begun. Conclusion? Not quite two years into the marriage, when she'd claimed to be working late, when she'd started to take solo weekend trips to recharge, when their s.e.x life had gone to h.e.l.l.

He wrote down the approximate date, her name, her closest friends, family members, coworkers. Then drew a line from one, Eden Suskind. Both casual friend and coworker, and the wife of Justin Suskind, Lindsay's lover at the time of her death.

Eli circled Justin Suskind's name before continuing his notes.

Eden stood as her cheating husband's alibi for the night of Lindsay's murder. He'd hardly had a motive in any case. All evidence pointed to his plans to take her on a romantic getaway in Maine at what had proven to be a favorite hotel.

His wife certainly had no reason to lie for him, and had been humiliated and devastated when the affair came to light.

Eli's investigator had pursued the possibility of an ex-lover or a second one, one who'd confronted Lindsay and killed her in a fit of temper and pa.s.sion. But that seed hadn't borne fruit.

Yet, Eli reminded himself.

She'd let someone into the house that night. No forced entry, no signs of struggle. Her phone and e-mail records-home and work-had shown no communications with anyone who hadn't been cleared. Then again, Wolfe had been focused on him, and his investigator could have missed something. Someone.