“And the last time youdidsee or speak to Ms. Herrera? When was that?”
“Well, I saw her yesterday at the memorial service for my mother-in-law—on the lawn—but I barely had any contact with her. I did speak to her, though, on, uh, Monday. We discussed a few details related to the service, since Jillian was helping with the arrangements.”
“Did she share any concerns with you about her safety?”
The question catches me off guard. Do the police think someone wasafterJillian, stalking her? No, that’s not it. What the question suggests is that if Jillian was killed by someone in the household, she might have felt nervous during the days beforehand, nervous enough to even hint at it.
“No—and she seemed perfectly fine to me. By the way, I need to point out something important. Before she died this weekend, my mother-in-law told me that local hunters had been trespassing on the property. There’s apparently a way to reach the woods the Keatons own—the ones near where Jillian was found—from an old logging road.”
Russo drums her fingers on the table briefly.
“Did your mother-in-law elaborate on that?” she asks. “Had she made any formal complaints?”
“I’m not sure if she did, but Bonnie is aware of it, too. I’m sure Ash—Mr. Keaton—would know of specific examples.”
“And you hadn’t noticed anyone on the property who shouldn’t be there?”
“No, but I haven’t strayed very far from the house this week.”
Russo taps her fingers again. Her cuticles are ragged, bitten or torn, but right now at least it seems nothing could faze her.
“Just a few more questions, Ms. Redding. How well did other family members seem to know Ms. Herrera?”
My pulse quickens. This is when I might have to skirt the truth.You’re in aplay, I tell myself for the second time today.Own the room, stay in control.
“Probably not much better than I did—though Nickmight have had more contact with her. Because he works with my father-in-law.”
“And how about your husband? Gabe, is it?”
Why is she asking about him specifically?Only because I’m married to him, I tell myself. It’s surely just a routine question.
“Yes, Gabe. Jillian started around the time we met, so he only knows her as well as I do. Though he may have bumped into her occasionally when he dropped by his dad’s office.”
What the hell would she make of the fact that he was talking to Jillian this morning—but doesn’t want to admit it? To my relief, Russo redirects the conversation.
“And just to clarify,” she says after a few beats, “what is the reason everyone is staying at the house this week?”
“It was supposed to be our annual summer get-together week. A vacation. Then my mother-in-law passed, so we’re all still here, but of course it’s not a holiday anymore.”
Russo’s perusing her notes again, and Callahan has stopped writing, her pen poised right above the page.
“That has to be tough at moments,” Callahan offers. “So many adults in one house.”
It’s the first time she’s opened her mouth other than to introduce herself, and though I’m pretty sure what she’s trying to get at, I refuse to bite.
“You mean, like sharing a bathroom, stuff like that?” I say, offering the perplexed expression I’ve perfected in the mirror over time. “There are several buildings, so people have plenty of privacy.”
“I meant being with so many different relatives for an extended period of time.”
“We actually enjoy it. That’s why we do it every year.”
And then without warning, Russo thanks me for my time and warns me not to disclose details about the crime scene to anyone else. She shakes my hand briskly, and Callahan sees me out to the lobby, where two people are slouched on a bench, though neither is Bonnie or Blake. There’s also no sign of anyone else from the family.
I park myself on an empty bench, and within a couple of minutes, Bonnie is escorted to the lobby and takes a seat next to me. Her face is drained of color, and her hair’s practically matted to her head. Though we exchange weak smiles, we agree silently that it’s best to keep our mouths shut for now. About ten minutes later, Blake appears. We greet him with wan smiles, but it isn’t until the three of us are halfway across the parking lot that he asks, “Everybody okay?”
Bonnie tells him, “Yeah, as well as can be expected.”
I don’t respond, because frankly, I’m not sure what to say. The interview unnerved me. I’m worried that with the state police on a mission, someone in the family could become caught in the cross fire. Worried, too, that my father-in-law might be a murderer. And regretful that I couldn’t find a way to subtly direct their attention to Claire’s death.
