Death's Door. Meryl Sawyer
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Paul studied her closely for a moment. He could almost see Madison’s brain working, imagining her friend running, desperately fighting for her life. Her tormented expression hit him like a sucker punch to the gut when it shouldn’t have. He’d seen more than his share of devastated family and friends. Madison Connelly should be just another woman. Except she wasn’t. He’d read her file and knew the woman better than she knew herself. What he couldn’t predict was how she would react to his news.
“The killer strangled Erin with the sash from her robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.” He kept his voice pitched low in an effort not to upset her more than necessary. “Your friend was a very small woman. A bigger woman could have overpowered her.”
Madison frowned at him for a moment, then asked in a voice so thick with emotion that it was difficult to understand her, “Not bringing a weapon to the crime scene—doesn’t that mean the killing wasn’t premeditated?”
Madison didn’t miss a damn thing. He’d been prepared for a smart woman. One look at the file his father had on this woman made that clear. But she was a lot sharper than he’d expected. A hell of a lot.
“Often lack of a weapon suggests a crime of passion or a crime of opportunity. But this case is unusual. You wouldn’t bring a blow-dryer to the scene if you knew one was already there. It still could have been premeditated.”
“The killer was hiding, lying in wait, watching.” A frown crinkled her smooth forehead. “But how did he know she would take a bath?”
“Good question. He could have spied—”
“Erin loved a long bath. She was a big believer in the relaxing powers of various sea salts and herbs. She would light candles with special fragrances and soak in the tub. But her fondness for aromatherapy wasn’t common knowledge.”
“Her boyfriends must have known, and other close friends like you.”
Madison released a long, frustrated sigh. “I gave the police the names of every guy I knew about. Erin didn’t have any close female friends except me.”
“Why not?”
Madison shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just her personality.”
Paul had the feeling there was more to it, but he didn’t press. He settled himself at her side on the plush white sofa, facing the panoramic view of Biscayne Bay and the sea burnished to a honey color by the setting sun. Neither of them said anything. The retriever reached up and licked Madison’s hand.
“I found Erin’s body. How could I be a suspect? One look and you knew she’d been dead for hours. The others must have realized this. Why would they suspect me?”
“Sometimes killers ‘discover’ the victim to throw off detectives and provide a reason for their prints and other trace evidence to be at the scene.” He watched her slowly nod. A heavy beat of silence followed.
Finally, she asked the question he’d been waiting for. “You were at my office, then you followed me to Erin’s. Why?”
He hated to bring up such a sensitive issue right now. It didn’t seem fair, but what did his father always say? Where did you get the idea life is supposed to be fair? He was being paid to do a job. He couldn’t guess what Madison Connelly’s reaction was going to be, but putting it off wouldn’t change things.
“This is about computer security, isn’t it? That’s what your card said.”
“Not exactly. My father owns a company that specializes in corporate security. I’m helping him out while I’m on disability leave. I should be cleared to go back to active duty on Miami PD in the next few weeks.” Her expression clouded, and he wondered what she was thinking. For some reason, he touched the wound still healing on his thigh. “I took a couple of slugs in an arrest that didn’t go down the way it should have.”
Either she didn’t care or what he’d told her about himself didn’t register. She asked, “Your father wants my business?”
“No. This has nothing to do with your business. This is a personal matter.” What in hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he come to the point? He was progressing with the speed of a glacier. “I need to talk to you about your family.”
“Really? I can’t imagine why. My father died two years ago of cancer. My mother’s remarried.” She was regarding him with outright suspicion now, wondering, no doubt, what his angle was. “It’s a pretty typical story.”
“Would you consider yourself typical?”
She jumped to her feet and went over to the windows. He couldn’t help noticing she moved as if she were on a catwalk, not being deliberately provocative but gliding in a smooth, natural way that kicked up his pulse a notch. A second later, she pivoted in place and glared at him. “What do you want from me?” She hurried back to the sofa. “I only own half of Total-Trivia. Aiden Larsen and his wife control the other half. I can’t do anything without their approval.”
“I’m aware of the situation.” He didn’t add that he knew her ex had tried his damnedest to take the company away from her during the divorce. But she wasn’t just pretty and smart, she was a fighter. “This isn’t about your company, it’s about you.”
“Me?” Her response was a hollow echo in the high-ceilinged room.
“Yes. My father’s firm was hired to track you down.”
“Me? Why on earth—”
“Someone wants to meet you,” Paul replied, easing into what he knew would be a bombshell.
“Who? Why can’t they just pick up a phone and contact me? I’m not hard to find.” The words came out in a heated rush. She took a deep breath and added, “What’s going on? Something’s not right.”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it straight out. This man might be your biological father. We’ve been doing the verification for him. That’s how we found you.”
“What?” She surged to her feet once more. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re aware of sperm banks.” Paul expected a puzzled look, but instead hostility was etched on her face like a death mask.
“Of course,” she shot back without taking a breath. “So?”
“That’s how you were conceived.”
“My parents never used a sperm bank. They were totally in love. My mother was devastated when my father died. If they’d used a sperm bank, they would have told me.”
Paul knew he wouldn’t score any points by reminding Madison that her mother had married less than a year after her father’s death. He couldn’t see a way to sugarcoat this, and he sensed she was the type of woman who would appreciate directness. “According to my research, your mother was artificially inseminated at the New Horizons Fertility Clinic.”
“No way!” she shouted. The retriever shied to one side as if expecting a blow. “My mother would have told me.”
You’d be surprised, he wanted to respond. Being a cop had proved to him that unimaginable things could happen. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She lowered herself to the sofa again and reached down to stroke the head of the frightened dog.
Paul reached inside the jacket of the lightweight sport coat he was wearing and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her. “Is this your mother’s signature?”
Brows knit, she scanned the photocopy. “It appears to be her signature. It’s hard to say for sure.” She thrust the paper back at him. “So? She might have visited a clinic. That doesn’t mean—”
“She received sperm donations from donor 8374 on two separate occasions. I can show you documentation to prove it.”
Madison