Tuesday, March 16

5:45 P.M.

When Reed arrived, Alex sat huddled on the floor, Margo on her lap. Her hands, face and clothes were stained with blood. She stared blankly ahead.

A deputy stood nearby. Reed met the man’s gaze with the briefest nod, then crossed to Alex and squatted down in front of her. “Alex, honey. Are you okay?”

She blinked, as if seeing him for the first time. “Reed,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“You asked for me. When you called 911.”

Her gaze shifted to a point behind him. The kitchen, he thought. Location of the victim.

“He’s dead,” she said. “Tim’s dead.”

“Yes, I know. Are you all right?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

He heard Tanner and Cal arriving. “I have work to do now, but I’ll be close by. If you need anything, including to talk to me, just ask Jim here.” He pointed to the deputy, who nodded in acknowledgment. “Jim will get it for you.”

Reed stood and exchanged another glance with the deputy. He understood his duty: do not let her out of his sight, even to go to the bathroom.

Cal had gone on to the kitchen to inspect the victim; Tanner waited behind for him. When he reached her side, she murmured, “This is complicated for you.”

“I know what I have to do.” He heard the edge in his voice and regretted it. He was the one who was out of line, not Tanner.

“Do you?”

She held his gaze. He worked to control a rush of anger. He wasn’t even certain who he was angry with-her, for questioning his professionalism; or himself, for being in this mess in the first place.

He leaned toward her. “Yes, dammit, I do. Just give me the chance to process the scene and question her, then I’m out.”

“Agreed.”

They moved into the kitchen, careful to step around a puddle of blood. The first responders had done their job: secured the scene, established the outer and inner perimeters and isolated the suspect.

Cal had already begun photographing the scene. The Coroner’s detective would take their own shots and would need to do it before the body was touched in any way.

“Coroner’s Office has been notified?” Reed asked the deputy standing watch.

“On their way.”

Reed nodded and signed the inner perimeter log. “What do you have so far?”

“Woman’s name is Alexandra Clarkson. The man was her ex-husband. When we arrived, she was hysterical. Babbling about finding him. I asked her about the blood. She said she ran to help him. That’s all she could remember.”

“Did she touch the body?” Tanner asked.

“Yes. Pressed her ear to his chest, then tried his pulse.”

“Throat or wrist?”

“Wrist.”

Reed shifted his attention to the scene. Judging by the amount of blood, whoever stuck him had hit the jugular. Blood would have literally shot out. Death would have come quickly, in a matter of a couple minutes.

The cottage was old and had settled to the northeast corner. The blood had sought the lowest point, pooling in front of the kitchen door. That would explain the prints, human and feline, that circled the area. It appeared as if both the cat and Alex had moved through it. On the floor near Clarkson’s head was one perfect imprint of a hand.

“He wasn’t a tall man,” Tanner commented. “Coroner will get an exact measurement, but I’m thinking five foot six, maybe seven?”

Reed pictured him from their meeting the night before, recalled he and Alex walking away and thinking he wasn’t taller than she was.

“That’d be my guess. Why?”

She shook her head. “No sign of a struggle.”

“Bottle of red open on the counter.”

“It’s a good one,” Cal said. “I already checked. “Seghesio Rock Pile Zin. It seems wrong to let it just go to waste.”

They ignored him and studied the bottle and two glasses on the counter beside it. One was full, the other empty.

Tanner leaned closer, carefully inspecting the full glass. “Looks like he filled this one, but didn’t drink from it.”

“He was pouring,” Reed murmured, “his assailant came from behind, reached around-”

“And planted the chopsticks neatly in his throat. Would’ve been messy.”

“Strike two against the pretty head case in the other room,” Cal offered.

Reed ignored that and squatted near the body, inspecting the wound. “Stainless steel chopsticks. Is that unusual?”

“Not really,” Tanner said. “They sell them a number of places, including the Sur la Table.”

He looked at her and she shrugged. “I was in the market. But I think I’ll pass now.”

They made their way out to the living area. Alex, Reed saw, hadn’t moved. Neither had Margo. The cat was busy cleaning herself.

The table in the dining alcove had been set for a romantic dinner for two. Reed experienced a quick jab of something he didn’t care to analyze.

“Watch it,” Tanner said, touching his arm. “Broken glass.”

He bent and inspected it. A broken champagne flute. It’d been empty-or nearly so-the floor around it dry.

“Take a look at this.”

Went for food. Help yourself to the bubbly.

P.S. Don’t be mad. I have news.

He and Tanner exchanged glances. A note from Clarkson to Alex? Or the other way around? One had been angry at the other. But why?

Time to find some answers. Wordlessly, they parted. Tanner would begin processing the scene for physical evidence and he would question Alex.

He asked the deputy to take notes of the interview. He wanted Alex to feel relaxed, like it was just the two of them talking, and his taking notes would get in the way of that. In addition, should it come to it, he didn’t want the information gathered to be tainted by his relationship to the suspect.

He sat on the floor in front of her, mirroring her Indian-style position. “Tell me what happened, Alex.” When she looked confused, he added, “How did your ex-husband end up dead?”

“Someone killed him. Stabbed him”-she touched her throat; he saw that her hand shook-“here.”

“Did you kill him, Alex?”

That penetrated her glassy-eyed shock. Her eyes widened. “No!” She shook her head as if for added emphasis. “I couldn’t… I found him like that.”

“Okay, sweetheart, take a deep breath. I need you to tell me exactly what transpired. Moment by moment.”

She did as he suggested and took several deep breaths, then began. “He had a faculty meeting this morning. At San Francisco State.”

“He’s a professor there?”

“Yes. He bought me a spa day… I wouldn’t have accepted it, but it was for my… birthday.”

“Is today your birthday?”

Her eyes filled with tears. Reed plucked a tissue from the box on the floor beside her. She took it and pressed it to her eyes. “Tomorrow.”

“What spa was it?”

“The Kenwood Inn.”

“Go on,” he said gently.

“I was there when he called me. I wasn’t supposed to have a phone… it’s the rules, but I’d slipped it in my robe pocket. I don’t know why. Instinct, maybe.”

She fell silent for a long moment. So long he was about to nudge her when she spoke again. “He was surprised when I answered, said he meant to leave a message. He said he”-she crumpled the tissue in her fist-“knew something about my… dad. My mother had told him… back when he and I were still together.”

She fell silent; he prodded her. “What did she tell him about him?”

Alex lifted her stricken gaze to his. “I could hardly hear! He was driving and the spa attendant…”

The convertible parked out front.

“I couldn’t believe he hadn’t told me before… all the time that’s passed. I could have known something, Reed.”

Her eyes filled once more, tears spilling over and rolling helplessly down her cheeks. He ignored the catch in his chest, denied the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.