Chapter 6, continued
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"Mrs. Richard, I need to speak with you," Don said quietly. He watched as the woman stepped forward and spoke to her child, and then received reassurance from the attendant. With a look of silent submission, Mrs. Richard turned toward Don and walked through the door that he held open for her.
Don took a deep breath, not really sure how to start. He decided on the simplest way he knew, putting all the blame on himself. "Mrs. Richard, I'm having some problems with this case." She said nothing, letting him struggle onward with his words. "I. . . well, I visited your house, and I have several questions to ask you about that. But first, I need to discuss something with you, because. . . Mrs. Richard, are you aware that you are the primary suspect in the attack of your daughters-- in the eyes of the police?"
Don watched her face for the slightest indication of surprise or concealment, but instead her features seemed to grow heavy, and the lines around her eyes deepened. She simply looked back at Don, very tired and very sad. "Yes. I am aware of that."
Taken slightly aback, Don replied, "Did you not think that that would be an important piece of information to give to me?"
Mrs. Richard's head dropped, "I wanted to see if you would reach the same conclusion. To see if there is any hope at all. I know how it must look, I just wanted to be certain."
For the first time, Don began to think that he understood the woman, he gave her a small smile, "I am very far off from being able to make a conclusion, Mrs. Richard. I've only had the case for a day," he said with a bit of a laugh. "The truth is that I went to the police station yesterday to check for any records on you or those of your family and to establish contact with the force-- as I would with any case," he added carefully.
"Oh," she said, her shoulders sinking again. "You have some questions then, I suppose." Don nodded, but before he could even take a breath she spoke again, "I didn't kill my husband, Mr. Calder."
Don kept his face stony and studied her, "Tell me what happened, Mrs. Richard."
* * *
James Richard was a star engineer for the oil company of the moment. He was brilliant, making many, many, many, many times his age in dollars per year, and worth nearly 3 million in insurance. He also hated his job. According to Kate Richard, James felt trapped in his fourteenth-floor office, and shortly before his death, he had decided to leave the company. There were glitches of course, like leaving a gang, though less extreme, leaving the top ranks of a billion dollar company makes many enemies, and makes only friends with the guy one step below. At four o'clock, September 23rd, two weeks after his departure from the company, James's Mercedes smashed into a full moving van in front of him, and killed him on impact. The confirmed cause of the accident was that James's brake lines had been cut. It was the last day of his insurance coverage. Kate Richard had been seen working under the Mercedes hood at 2 o'clock that afternoon.
* * *
"The only reason they didn't convict me is because my lawyer was very good," she finished shakily. "James's car was also serviced earlier that day, so anyone could have. . ." she trailed off. "Also, the oil was refilled. The service station didn't do it, that was on record, so I mean, I had a legit reason to be �working on the car' as they called it. I also couldn't identify brake lines under oath. Basically, I got off because my lawyer was good, and the jury sympathized," she sighed, "I think they thought I was for real. The police and everyone official hated me though. Rich m-millionaire wife. . . th-that's-s all they s-saw. . ." Mrs. Richard choked on the last few words. Don reached out to her and lay a hand on her shoulder.
"It's alright, Mrs. Richard. I believe you."
She looked up, eyes that were still filled with tears, searching his own, "Do you?" she asked, only questions in her voice. "I'm not sure I did by the end of the trial. I just knew that if I went to jail, there would be no one left to take care of my little girls." She closed her eyes and visibly paled, "not that anyone they found could have done a worse job than me. . ." she crumpled in her chair, retching with sobs, "What's happened?" she cried. Don could do nothing but watch silently, his hand resting uselessly on her shoulder all the while.
In that moment, any reservation Don had had about solving the case fell away. "I'll call you tomorrow, Mrs. Richard," he told her in a low, resolute voice. "I can't help you with what happened to your husband, but we're going to find out what happened to your daughters. But I'm going to need all the help you can give. I've never been more confused." And confused in more than one way, too, Don thought ironically as he pulled his hand off of Mrs. Richard's shoulder and stood to go home.
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