Chương 2
“No.”
“Any contact with the powder?”
“No.”
“Dizziness? Nausea? Shortness of breath?”
“Only the ordinary kind.”
The paramedic did not smile.
Across the room, Vivian watched them. Her face had regained its composure, but Marcus knew the work behind it. He had watched that face settle before charity galas, funerals, contentious dinners, and one televised interview after a contractor died on a Hale Development site. Vivian did not become calm. She assembled calm piece by piece.
The officer beside her asked whether the packet belonged to her.
“I have never seen it.”
“Your employee says she recovered it from your clothing.”
“She searched my pocket without permission.”
“Did she find it there?”
Vivian paused.
Marcus felt something close around his ribs.
“I felt her brush against me in the hall,” Vivian said. “I did not know what she was doing.”
The officer wrote that down.
Nora’s voice carried faintly from the corridor. She spoke too quickly at first. The officer questioning her asked her to slow down. Marcus heard the phrases tea tray, silver packet, powder, her pocket. Then the doors were drawn nearly shut, and the rest became a murmur.
Vivian looked at him. “You know me.”
He said nothing.
“You know me,” she repeated.
“I know you are answering questions carefully.”
“I am being accused of trying to poison my husband.”
“You said the packet wasn’t yours. You did not say it wasn’t in your pocket.”
Her lips parted. A reply came to her, then disappeared.
The police photographed the cup, saucer, spoon, teapot, pouch, and table. They placed the tea service into separate evidence containers. Watching strangers lift the cup made Marcus feel a peculiar sense of violation. He had purchased the set in London because Vivian had admired the blue maker’s mark on the underside. She had later teased him for remembering the mark but forgetting their dinner reservation that night.
He wished she would mention the trip. He wished she would be angry about the cup. He wished for anything that sounded like the woman he had married.
Instead she asked for a lawyer.
The officer allowed her to make the call.
Nora finished her statement and returned to the living room escorted by Detective Imani Cole, a compact woman with graying braids and an expression that gave nothing away. Nora’s hands were empty now. She held them clasped against her apron.
Detective Cole asked Marcus whether there were security cameras inside the home.
“Exterior, entrances, hallways, kitchen service corridor. None in private rooms.”
“Does that include this room?”
“Yes.”
“Who has access to the recordings?”
“Security staff. My chief of staff may have administrative access.”
Vivian looked up. “Everett has access to this house?”
“Digital access to the security system.”
“You gave Everett access?”
“He coordinates security when I travel.”
“You told me Malcolm handled it.”
“This is not the time.”
Detective Cole’s eyes moved between them. “It may be exactly the time, Mr. Hale. Who is Everett?”
“My chief financial officer. Everett Shaw.”
“Was he here today?”
Marcus looked toward Malcolm.
The security supervisor cleared his throat. “Mr. Shaw arrived at seven forty-six. He left at eight twenty.”
“What was he doing here?” Vivian asked.
“He brought documents for Mr. Hale.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
Marcus ignored her. “The meeting was in my study.”
“Did Mr. Shaw enter the kitchen?” the detective asked.
“I don’t know.”
Malcolm said, “I can check the access logs.”
“Do that, but do not alter or export anything until one of our technicians speaks with you.”
Vivian leaned back. Her defensiveness had shifted. Marcus could see her thinking now, arranging possibilities, identifying openings. He had watched her perform the same calculation at foundation meetings when a donor became hostile.
Detective Cole turned to Nora. “You said you saw Mrs. Hale stir the tea.”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“The service hall.”
“Were you preparing the tray?”
“I made the tea. Mrs. Hale told me she would bring it in.”
“Was that unusual?”
Nora glanced at Vivian. “A little.”
“A little how?”
“She doesn’t usually carry trays.”
Vivian’s expression hardened. “I live here.”
Nora lowered her eyes, then raised them again. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What happened next?” Detective Cole asked.
“I went back because I forgot the lemon plate. I saw Mrs. Hale standing near the counter. She had something silver in her hand. When she saw me, she closed her fist.”
“You saw powder?”
“No. I saw the packet.”
“Then what?”
“She told me Marcus—Mr. Hale—didn’t want lemon. She took the tray into the living room.”
“How did the packet get into her pocket?”
“I saw her put her hand against her dress. Here.” Nora touched the right side of her own waist. “There’s a seam pocket.”
Vivian looked down involuntarily.
“And you removed it?”
“In the hall. She came out because her phone rang. She walked past me. I saw silver at the edge of the pocket. I thought she would throw it away. I pulled it out.”
“You picked her pocket?” the detective asked.
Nora’s face tightened with shame. “Yes.”
“You opened the packet?”
“No. It was already torn.”
“Why put it in a pouch?”
“I use those bags for buttons and jewelry when I clean bedrooms. I had one in my apron.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
Nora looked toward the table where the cup had been. “Because he was lifting it.”
The answer left the room quiet.
Detective Cole studied her for a moment, then turned to Marcus. “Was anyone else present when the tea was served?”
“No.”
“Did you see Mrs. Hale stir it?”
“I saw her beside the table. I wasn’t watching her hands.”
“Did she encourage you to drink?”
Vivian stood. “That question is absurd.”
The officer beside her asked her to sit.
She remained standing long enough to make the refusal visible, then lowered herself into the chair. “I poured tea for my husband. That is not evidence of murder.”
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“No one has used that word,” Detective Cole said.
“You didn’t need to.”
