‘Lissie’s no longer with us,’ Kelly said, and pointed to a Maine Coon with a pancake-shaped head and a snaggletooth. ‘I had to put her down right after the holidays. She was hell on wheels that one, and about as friendly as a cactus. But she’ll always have a special place in my heart. Let’s go into the kitchen.’

If it weren’t for the pictures, Darby wouldn’t know that five cats, let alone one, lived here. The woman ran a fastidious household. The pleasantly warm air didn’t contain a single whiff of cat litter or urine, and the living-room carpet and furniture showed no sign of any fur.

The kitchenette was also immaculate. Darby sat at a breakfast nook with a wraparound high-back bench, the table covered with a blue vinyl cloth, while Sally Kelly, a petite woman with hair so shockingly white it seemed to glow, shuffled about the kitchen, making a fuss of making tea, even though Darby had declined the woman’s offer.

Maybe she just needs to keep busy, Darby thought, her ballpoint poised over her notebook. David Downes’s 53-year-old secretary was clearly still in shock from this morning’s grisly discovery. The woman’s face was leached of colour, her eyes bloodshot and puffy, and she kept looking around the black-and-green-speckled laminate counters and sand-coloured linoleum floor, blinking rapidly, as though she had misplaced or lost something of importance.

‘I explained what happened to the police,’ Kelly said, fetching mugs from a cabinet. ‘On the second day, when David didn’t report to work, I –’

‘Excuse me for interrupting, Mrs Kelly –’

‘Miss, actually. I’ve never been married. Please, call me Sally.’

‘I’m trying to get a feel for the family. What they were like.’

‘They were good and decent people.’

‘Mr Downes was a lawyer?’

Kelly nodded. ‘Real estate law,’ she said. ‘I worked for him … must be eight years now. He hired me as his secretary. Then he had to let his bookkeeper go, when the housing bubble here burst, and I took over those duties too.’

Kelly placed teabags into a pair of heavy white mugs that sat on the narrow laminate counter and set some water to boil in a saucepan on the stove. She had developed the same unresponsive glare Darby had seen over and over again in the family and friends of murder victims – a thousand-yard stare that begged for someone to release them from purgatory and to return them to a normal life.

‘They made –’ Her voice caught. Kelly swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘They made me identify the bodies.’

‘Mr and Mrs Downes didn’t have any family in the area?’

Kelly shook her head. She wore jeans and slippers and an oversized grey wool sweater that came down almost to her knees. ‘David was an only child,’ she said. ‘Linda too. They met in high school, here in Red Hill, did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry for your loss.’

The woman’s eyes were bright. ‘Such horrible things shouldn’t happen to good and decent people.’

Darby could hear the faint tick of a clock coming from somewhere down the hall. She waited a decent interval before gently moving forward.

‘What can you tell me about their daughter? What was Samantha like?’

‘Sammy was … solid. A solid person. Smart. Had her act together, never gave her parents a lick of grief – and what a hard worker! You don’t see that much any more. These younger generations, they don’t want to put in the time and effort. The sacrifice. They just want to click a computer mouse or tap some button on their phone and have everything given to them.’

‘Did you know her well?’

Kelly nodded. ‘He made me a part of his family, David,’ she said. ‘I had dinner with them just last week.’

‘When?’

‘Sunday. Linda made pot roast. She was a very good cook. Took it up after she retired. She was a nursery-school teacher.’

‘Was Samantha there? At dinner?’

Kelly nodded as the kettle whistled.

‘How did she seem to you?’

‘The way she always did, sunny and happy.’ Kelly poured the boiling water into the mugs. ‘Well, maybe a little the worse for wear. She was putting herself through graduate school. University of Denver. Business, I think. Or economics, one of those.’

‘Do you know where she worked?’

‘Wagon Wheel Saloon. It’s a bar. Downtown.’ Kelly picked up the mugs and carried them to the table, walking stiffly. Painfully. She caught the question in Darby’s eyes.

‘Fibromyalgia,’ Kelly said. ‘It’s always worse in the winter, especially when the temperature keeps jumping up and down.’ She placed the mugs on the table and then eased herself into the opposite seat. ‘One day it’s freezing cold, and then the next day it’s in the sixties, and all it makes me want to do is lie in bed.’

‘Did Mr Downes ever mention anything to you about his daughter having an encounter with a strange man? Maybe someone who was watching or following her?’

‘The police asked me those same questions. I told them no. If something like that had happened to Sammy, David never mentioned it to me. Well, there was – never mind, it’s stupid.’

‘Tell me.’

‘She said he smelled. Like garbage.’

15

Darby had her pen poised over her notebook. ‘Who smelled like garbage?’

‘This man at Sammy’s college,’ Kelly replied.

‘This man was a student?’

‘I think so. I don’t know for sure. I overheard Sammy talking to her father about it, when she came to the office to get his keys.’

‘When did you overhear this conversation?’

Kelly’s face reddened with embarrassment. ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping, if that’s what you’re insinuating,’ she said. ‘The door was open and they were chitchatting about college, how classes were going – that sort of thing.’

‘When was this?’

‘In … September, I think. Yes, early September. College had just started, and Sammy had come by the office to get her father’s car keys, because the car she used, Linda’s Buick, was having problems again. David told her to take his car to Denver because he was worried about her getting stuck on the road. Sammy said something along the lines of, “Remember that guy who came to class and made the room smell like a garbage truck? He never came back.” Something like that.’

‘Did she mention a name by any chance?’

Kelly shook her head. ‘The way she said it, though … She sounded sad. Like she felt bad for him.’

‘Did Samantha or Mr Downes ever mention this man again?’

‘No.’ Kelly casually waved a hand near her face, as if trying to swat away a fly, and added, ‘It’s probably nothing. Frankly, I feel foolish for even mentioning it.’

‘Don’t.’ Darby placed her hand on the woman’s bony wrist and smiled. ‘What can you tell me about Samantha’s friends?’

‘I know she was close to a couple of girlfriends from high school. Jennifer and the other one there … Debbie, I think her name was.’

‘Last names?’

‘I don’t know. I do know they’re no longer here. They moved away after college. Somewhere on the East Coast, I think. Most of Sammy’s friends moved away, there was certainly no reason for them to stay here. She was very close to her parents. Only children are sometimes like that. I wouldn’t know personally – the good Lord didn’t bless me with children – but I’ve read articles about how only children have attachment issues. As adults, they like to stick close to their families. Or so these so-called experts say.’

‘Did she have a boyfriend? Anyone serious?’

‘Not that I know of. She dated, obviously – she was a beautiful girl – but I didn’t know any of her beaus – and I most certainly did not ask.’

The way Sally Kelly spoke and acted for some reason reminded Darby of another era: the time of Prohibition and speakeasies, when women wore skirts that covered their knees. A time when men wore fedoras and nice suits and courted women and had the manners of proper gentlemen – opening car and restaurant doors, goodnight pecks on the cheek, calling everyone ‘miss’.