Sophia closed her eyes for a moment, clearly pondering her options. Her stress levels were rising, as the spiders confirmed. Andi felt bad for dredging up such horrible memories. Nobody deserved to be abused and treated like shit.
“I guess, since you already know. Yes, they were. But it’s been years since he last touched me in anger.” Sophia’s voice was hollow, resigned.
“When you were pregnant.” George was so good at playing the understanding cop.
“Yes, when I was pregnant. I almost lost my son. That’s when my father intervened. Beating the wife was totally fine according to him, but he drew the line at harming his grandchild and potential heir. There were some threats, harsh words between my husband and my father, and after my son was born, my husband decided to set his sights elsewhere. I can’t say I was sad about his decision.”
“You knew about his mistresses?” George kept the soothing tone. Sophia McHill seemed to be in a talkative mood, which, being the excellent detective he was, he didn’t want to disturb. Hilda Doran, on the other hand, wasn’t as happy. She put her hand on Sophia’s shoulder.
“That I definitely wouldn’t answer, Sophia. It’s one thing to admit to having been abused, especially when there’s evidence, and quite another to acknowledge information about potential mistresses. One makes you a victim, the other a potential suspect.” She stared at George and Andi. “Is my client a suspect, Detectives?”
“Not anymore,” George announced smoothly. “Of course we suspected Mrs. McHill initially because, as you are surely well aware of, Mrs. Doran, family members are always under suspicion, especially when so much money is involved. The fact that neither of the victims was a saint—” Sophia actually snorted at this comment, a very unladylike sound she tried to cover up by holding a hand in front of her mouth. “—makes it even more likely for the murderer to come from their own family. But we already know it can’t have been Mrs. McHill for various reasons we can’t disclose yet. We wouldn’t mind getting her alibi for Thursday evening, just for our reports.”
Hilda Doran didn’t look convinced. She turned to Sophia. “I still recommend you don’t say anything.”
Again Sophia McHill pondered her options. She inhaled deeply. “Do you think one of his mistresses could have done it?”
“We’re investigating in all directions,” George answered.
“Well, then. I guess it doesn’t hurt to tell you. I did know about the women in my husband’s life.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice. “He made sure I knew, flaunting them under my nose, how perfect they were for him, how they weren’t as delicate and fragile as me. In his mind, I should have been begging him to focus on me again when in truth I thanked God every night for these women who were foolish enough to think they could take my place.” Now Andi saw a real smile on her lips. It was the nasty, cruel kind he had seen so many times on hisOma’sface. The smile of somebody who was suffering but knew they still had the upper hand. Knew there were others out there who suffered even worse. “They never understood that my husband would have never divorced me. My money and social standing are too valuable. Sometimes it was almost funny, watching as he strung them along, getting more and more violent until they finally realized what a monster he was. Then he would pay them a hefty sum to keep their mouths shut and go looking for the next one.”
Sophia McHill reminded Andi of a fat spider, sitting in the middle of her web, controlling more than she let on, maybe even waiting to bite off the head of the male.
“I gather from your words you didn’t mind his affairs?” George was reiterating the obvious. Hilda Doran didn’t object to this question. Her body language telegraphed she’d rather have Sophia shutting up completely, but the hint of dejection in her eyes told Andi she knew that wouldn’t happen.
“No, not in the least.” Absolute sincerity rang in Sophia McHill’s words.
“Are you friends with either Theodora Miller or Tamara Portius?”
Sophia seemed to think about this. “It depends on how you define the term ‘friends,’ I guess. Our husbands were best friends since forever, and Tamara and I went to the same school, though different years. Theodora is a good ten years younger than me and Tamara. We rarely did those couple nights where the three families met. Our husbands preferred to be among themselves. Of course we see each other at the club and all those social functions, but we never meet privately, and I wouldn’t think to confide in them.” She tapped her chin with her right index finger. “No, we’re not friends. Close acquaintances through regular exposure, I’d say.”
That was one way of phrasing it. Andi was impressed. George glanced at him, his gaze asking if he should go on or wrap things up for the time being. Andi shrugged almost imperceptibly. She was surprisingly forthcoming, something they should take advantage of in his opinion. The next time, her lawyer might have gotten through to her, and then she wouldn’t be so helpful anymore. George turned his attention back to Sophia McHill.
“Even though you weren’t friends with them, Mrs. McHill, did you know about the affairs both Mr. Portius and Mr. Miller were having?”
At this question, Hilda Doran relaxed a bit in her seat. Incriminating others was usually fine for lawyers. Sophia raised one brow, or at least it looked as if she was trying to. The Botox turned it into some kind of nervous little twitch. “I did. Just like they knew about my husband’s extramarital activities and his penchant for violence. We never talked about it, though. That would have been—wrong.” The word sounded strange from her lips, as if she had been searching for a better one and not been able to find it.
“Wrong?” George dug deeper.
Sophia McHill thought about it for long enough to make Andi think she wouldn’t answer. When she finally did, it was in a monotone voice, as if she were reciting something she had once heard. “They were open secrets, but still secrets. These things only become real when you admit them out loud. Until then, everything can be glossed over with small talk and shut out by simply ignoring it.”
Andi didn’t know if this statement was deep or just plain sad. Probably both, depending on who looked at it how. After that George ended the conversation fairly quickly, getting them away from the two women and back on the road within ten minutes.
The silence in the car lasted for about half a mile before George started speaking.
“That wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped. We have three wives who have no love for their late husbands, no problem admitting it, perfect reasons to kill them, and who claim not to know each other too well.”
“We do know it wasn’t them,” Andi pointed out.
“We know they weren’t the ones to pull the trigger, so to speak. We don’t know if they didn’t pull any strings in the background.” George sounded thoughtful.
“No, we don’t. Then again, could you see Sophia McHill going on the darknet and hiring a professional killer?”
George drummed a rhythm on the steering wheel. It was tight, the beat of Vivaldi’s “Summer” from theFour Seasons. Andi knew because George had made him listen to the entire thing when Andi had asked what song he was always drumming when he was thinking.
“Not really. Doesn’t mean she didn’t do it. Sometimes people surprise you in a bad way. I’m inclined to take Theodora out of the equation. If what she says is true, she never suffered because of her husband, quite the contrary—he’s the reason she can lead a carefree life in comfort. She didn’t strike me as a person who would secretly pine for something she can’t have. She’s too pragmatic for that. And she went into the marriage knowing what she was getting.”
“Unlike Tamara and Sophia. You heard them. And they never use their husbands’ names when they can avoid it. That says a lot about the relationship they had.” Andi stared out of the window—
