Chapter Nine

The distant rumble of thunder could be heard traveling across the grey clouds overhead. The vibrations became so deep that they eventually rattled the windows of the kitchen. Severe weather was rolling across the state of Michigan, and the storm was slowly approaching the city of Lansing. Such a dark ambiance wasn't the most ideal setting in which Sylvie would have preferred to speak with Duncan Reynolds.

"Would you like some coffee?" Duncan asked as he gestured toward the island in the kitchen. There were three stools tucked in underneath the lip of a light grey granite countertop. "I just brewed a fresh pot."

Duncan Reynolds had been married to the second victim for a little over nine years. The house that they had chosen to purchase two years after their wedding was a two-story residence located at the end of a cul-de-sac surrounded by tall oak trees. The main level had an open layout, and Sylvie was able to take in not only the kitchen but also the living room and dining room. Their chosen décor radiated warmth and comfort by merging several earth tones together.

"Yes," Sylvie replied, pulling out a stool so that it was diagonal to the counter. She wanted a chance to survey the living room, which was where Mary Jane's body had been found on the floor with several stab wounds to her chest. "Thank you."

Sylvie didn't prefer coffee, but allowing Duncan to undertake a task would afford him some semblance of control. She wouldn't even take one sip of the hot beverage during her visit. She had learned long ago from Theo to never drink anything given to her by a witness or suspect. Considering that Duncan Reynolds had a solid alibi for the night his wife was killed, he fell into the first category.

"I hope it's alright that my daughter isn't here." Duncan turned around with two cups of coffee. He slid one over to her, but he remained standing on the other side of the island. The way his knuckles tightened around the mug displayed his desire to be anywhere else but here with her. "Ava slept through…well, she didn't see anything that night. It took close to two months before my daughter felt comfortable enough to go to a friend's house without me. I didn't want anything that we might say to one another setting her back any."

Considering that Mary Two had been murdered in January, Sylvie wouldn't have wanted Ava to relive such a tragic moment, either. Sylvie's visit wasn't intended to disrupt their grieving process. On the other hand, speaking with the victim's husband four months after her death could shed some light on any details that he might have remembered since then. While usually it was best to take statements right after a crime, there were times that minute details weren't recalled until something triggered them during the witness' daily routines.

"I have Ava's statement from that night," Sylvie replied softly as she waited for Duncan to join her at the counter. She was hoping that he would change his mind, but he seemed more comfortable with the distance between them. "Since the FBI has taken on the investigation, my colleagues and I thought it best to speak with the victims' family members and friends. We believe it's important to know Mary Jane Reynolds…all of them."

Sylvie paused when Duncan dropped his gaze. He swallowed a few times, indicating that he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"Your Mary Jane, Duncan." Sylvie needed him to understand how vital it was for him to share the details of their lives. "Tell me about your wife."

"Her laughter was contagious," Duncan replied with a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. He stared into his mug as if he could visualize his memories in the dark beverage. "Mary was kind, funny, and…loved cheese."

Duncan laughed before shaking his head.

"I know that isn't what you want to know, but Mary loved cheese. She passed that on to our daughter, too. Ava will eat anything and everything, as long as I melt cheese over it." Duncan shrugged in defeat, albeit good-naturedly. He lifted his mug to his lips and took a long sip. "You want to know if Mary had any enemies, and the answer is no. Everyone loved her, with the exception of Mrs. Johnston across the street. That woman doesn't like any of her neighbors."

There were two entrances within sight from the majority of the main level—the front entrance, which Sylvie had walked through after parking the car near the curb out front, and the back door located in the kitchen. There had been no signs of forced entry, and none of the doorbell cameras in the neighborhood had caught anything suspicious that evening. The local police believed that Mary Jane had invited her murderer into the house, but that scenario couldn't have taken place. There had been no prints left behind to indicate a visitor, either. The odd thing Sylvie had noted in the detective's files was that the surfaces in the house hadn't been wiped down.

"What about someone new?" Sylvie inquired as she turned the warm mug in her hand. "Did either of you meet someone new in the weeks leading up to that night? I know that Mary was a high school teacher. Did she mention someone new at school?"

Sylvie had noticed right away that Duncan didn't refer to his wife as Mary Jane. He called her Mary, and Sylvie would respect the manner in which he would like to remember his wife.

"There were a couple of new substitute teachers who started filling in for the full-time teachers back in January. There's usually an influx when a new semester starts." Duncan lifted one corner of his lips in thought before he continued with more specifics. "A young guy in his twenties, and a woman in her sixties. I remember that conversation vividly, because Mary was saying the older woman had the patience of a saint."

Sylvie made a mental note to request background checks on both colleagues. After a few more questions without any new details that weren't in the reports, Sylvie switched gears.

"Would you please walk me through that day?" Sylvie maintained a delicate tone, knowing how difficult doing so would be for Duncan.

"It started out as any other morning." Duncan set his mug on the counter before crossing his arms over his chest. "Our alarm went off around a quarter after six. Mary jumped in the shower while I went to make breakfast for Ava. I swear that girl has an internal clock. She was already dressed by the time I walked past her bedroom, but she couldn't find her favorite pair of socks."

"Let me guess," Sylvie said with a soft smile to keep Duncan somewhat in the present. It wouldn't do to completely lose him in the past. "Ava's socks were in the dirty laundry."

"They were," Duncan replied with a tender smile. "I ended up tossing them in the dryer with a dryer sheet while Ava ate her favorite cereal. By the time I had returned to the bathroom to brush my teeth, Mary was already out of the shower and getting dressed. There was nothing unusual about our morning routine."

"What time did the three of you leave the house?"

"Seven-thirty," Duncan responded at the same time that his phone chimed an incoming text. He didn't hesitate to pick his cell up off the counter. Sylvie assumed that his daughter wasn't the one reaching out to him, because he set his phone down without responding to the message. "I kissed both of them goodbye. Ava hopped into her booster seat and fastened her seatbelt while Mary settled in behind the steering wheel. We both park in the garage, so I waited until she pulled out before getting into my car."

Sylvie had caught Duncan's slip of speaking about his wife in the present tense, but that wasn't unusual during interviews like this one.

"When you pulled out of the driveway, did you notice any unusual vehicles parked on the street?"

"Not that I can recall." Duncan had crossed his arms once again, but he lifted his right hand to rub his thumb across his chin. Typically, such a gesture indicated the individual wasn't being truthful, but Sylvie had recognized early on that it was his way of soothing himself. "I always make sure the garage door closes all the way, so I was focused on that while letting the car idle in the driveway. By the time that I had pulled onto the street, Mary had already left the neighborhood."

"You work at a doctor's office, correct? An RN?" Sylvie asked, already knowing the answer to her question. Her inquiry was merely to keep the memories fresh in Duncan's mind. "Did you drive straight there? Stop off for coffee?"

"I didn't stop anywhere that morning." Duncan dropped his hand to rest on his other arm. His movement indicated that he was subconsciously aware nothing out of the ordinary happened the rest of the day. "Since Mary teaches at the high school, it's easier for her to drop Ava off at the elementary school. I used to work twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, but not after Ava was born. I wanted something with fewer hours so that I could be home in the evening. The only day of the week that we have longer office hours is Thursday. Dr. Roberts sees patients until around six or so."

Mary Two had been murdered on a Thursday, but according to the criminal report, the late office hours hadn't been the reason that Duncan hadn't been at home that evening.

"Did you speak with Mary at any point throughout the day?"

"Yes," Duncan replied with a nod. "Mary always calls on her way home. She had picked up Ava, who had gotten an A on her spelling test, and they were stopping to pick up a pizza. Since I'm usually not home for dinner on Thursday nights, it became a habit to eat take-out food."

"Nothing was said during the course of the phone conversation that caused you to think something was wrong?"

"No, nothing," Duncan replied before glancing toward the back door of the kitchen when another roll of thunder materialized outside. "I know that Mary picked up the pizza, because I spoke to her on the phone again about five minutes after I left the clinic. She and Ava had already eaten, and they were about to play Candyland. I was maybe five minutes from home when I got a call from the alarm company. I'm second on the list, and the operator couldn't get ahold of Dr. Roberts. The police were already responding to the call, so I had no choice but to turn around and drive back to work."

"It's my understanding that Dr. Roberts was driving to a restaurant to meet his wife, but he had forgotten to take his cell phone off silent," Sylvie tacked on to confirm what was in Dr. Benjamin Roberts' statement. "He arrived at his clinic around fifteen minutes after you, correct?"

"Yes. We have at least one break-in a year, if not two. It's not uncommon. Unfortunately, there is always someone looking for a way to score drugs. We don't keep narcotics on hand, though."

"Was anything taken?"

"A few samples from our sample drawers were raided, but our security company is outstanding," Duncan replied before giving his opinion on the robbery. "The detective doesn't believe the break-in had anything to do with my wife's murder. I'm inclined to agree, because that would mean someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure that I wasn't home that night. I just…I can't wrap my head around that."

"How long were you at the clinic that night?"

"The police finished taking statements from me and Dr. Roberts around eight o'clock. I stayed behind for another forty minutes or so to organize the mess left behind." Duncan inhaled slowly as he ventured ahead with his story of what was waiting for him at home. "I pulled into the garage. Mary's SUV was parked in its usual spot. I made sure the garage door was closed before walking into the mudroom. I was quiet since I knew that Ava's bedtime was around seven-thirty. I made my way through the kitchen, expecting Mary to be grading papers in the living room. She loved listening to music on low and enjoying a glass of wine while sitting in front of the fireplace."

"Did you hear music when you entered the house?"

Sylvie's question grabbed Duncan's attention. The way his eyes narrowed and the manner in which he focused his attention on the black box near the television emphasized his struggle to recall such a detail. He gradually shook his head.

"No. No, there wasn't any music playing," Duncan replied as his stare drifted toward the overstuffed chair closest to the gas fireplace. "I do remember that Mary's tablet and stylus were on the side table next to the chair."

"And a wineglass?"

Duncan once again shook his head in response.

"I take it that grading papers with a glass of wine and some music was a nightly ritual for Mary?" Sylvie asked, hoping to pinpoint a smaller timeframe so that Bit could once again go through a specific range of security footage obtained from the neighbors' doorbell cameras. "Did she do so at a certain time?"

"After tucking Ava into bed, which is around seven-thirty."

Sylvie granted another fifteen minutes for Mary to have picked up a bit, maybe place some dishes in the dishwasher, before she collected her tablet from her purse or bag. No music or wine meant that someone had come into the home before Mary had been able to finish setting the ambiance for a comfortable evening. Still, nothing that Bit had discovered on the footage handed over by the local police had shown anyone near the front of the house.

"Mr. Reynolds, would you mind if I take a walk around your backyard?" Sylvie asked after listening to the details of how he had discovered his wife's body lying on the area rug. Mary had changed into loungewear at some point during the evening, and her light grey long-sleeved shirt had been soaked in blood. Duncan immediately dialed 911 after checking for a pulse. He described the sightless eyes of his wife, and how he had known instantly that no measures taken could have saved her life. "The detective made several references in his report that there were no forced signs of entry on the doors or windows. No one's security cameras caught anyone of interest out front, but aerial footage shows a conservation area out back."

"We had snow in January, and there were no footprints from the side gate to the back door," Duncan responded as he shifted his weight to push off the counter.

Sylvie left her now cold coffee on the countertop as she stood from the stool to follow him. He flipped the deadbolt and opened the back door. Lightning branched across the sky, its brief illumination displaying the gathered storm clouds above. Sylvie figured she had mere minutes before raindrops began to fall.

"Mary wouldn't have let some stranger inside the house, either."

Sylvie stepped onto the back patio after Duncan had moved to the side. He didn't bother to close the door. Instead, he remained near the threshold as he studied the darkening sky above. The air was charged with humidity even though the storm front was bringing in cooler temperatures.

"Mr. Reynolds, did you have some work done to the landscape recently?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Duncan leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. He gestured toward the flat gray pavers that served as a walkway toward the side gate. Only there was a more established path that led from the back patio to the conservation area, running horizontally through the backyards behind the row of homes on the north side of the neighborhood. "Mary and I had planned to buy a pontoon boat for the lake, and she was really hung up on making a beautiful pathway lined with flowers between the house and conservation area."

"The pavers that lead to the trees seem to have been there for a while," Sylvie pointed out as she thought back to the crime scene photos. Forensics had taken pictures of the exterior, as well. "Did you or Mary spread salt pebbles over the stones? The notation in the report regarding the assumption that no one had entered the backyard focused on the undisturbed blanket of snow."

"That's because there were no footprints on either side of the house," Duncan responded with a frown. He didn't seem to be on the same page as her. "Granted, the pavers are heated, but there were still no tracks discovered in the snow."

"The pavers are heated?" The first raindrop fell from the gathered clouds above, but Sylvie remained standing on the edge of the patio. "So there wouldn't have been any snow to leave footprints behind on the surface of the pavers then."

"True, but whoever murdered my wife would have had to walk around the house."

"Or entered through the back gate that opens into the conservation area."

Duncan was already shaking his head at Sylvie's theory, but she had witnessed firsthand the lengths a killer would go to in an effort to reach his or her target.

"There are fences on both ends of the conversation area, and the police canvassed the backyards of every home," Duncan revealed somewhat reluctantly, though Sylvie could sense his interest in her theory. "Even if what you say is true, and someone used a boat to reach the conservation area, Mary never would have allowed someone into our home."

"What if a male subject was in trouble? Would Mary have wanted to help him?" Sylvie asked as the spitting of raindrops became more frequent. She finally turned and began to walk back toward Duncan. "What if the man had blood on his head or maybe wet clothes from falling into the lake?"

Duncan hesitated, but Sylvie already had her answer. Mary Two had been a very kind individual, and she never would have let someone hurt remain outside in freezing temperatures. What Sylvie hadn't mentioned was that she believed whoever had been at Mary's back door had been someone she was familiar with…either from school, the local cafe, or maybe even the grocery store.

A clap of thunder was joined by a very long streak of lightning, prompting Sylvie to quicken her pace. She and Duncan entered the house right as the sky opened up and released a deluge of rain. She swept her gaze over the backyard before closing the door against the severe elements. It was one thing to know about the lake and the conservation area, but it was another thing entirely to know about specialty items such as heated pavers to obscure one's footprints.