lost.
He went to the closet and opened the doors, revealing several pairs of jeans, T-shirts, sweaters, and shoes that would fit a nine-year-old girl. All were gray.
'Why?' Dan asked. 'What did he hope to prove? What effect was he after with the girl?'
The woman shook her head, too distraught to speak.
'And something else I wonder,' Dan said. 'All of this, six years of it, took more money than he had when he cleaned out your joint bank accounts and left you. A lot more. Yet he wasn't working anywhere. He never went out. Maybe Wilhelm Hoffritz gave him money. But there must have been others who contributed as well. Who? Who was financing this work?'
'I've no idea.'
'And why?' he wondered.
'And where have they taken Melanie?' she asked. 'And what are they doing to her now?'
5
The kitchen wasn't exactly filthy, but it wasn't clean, either. Stacks of dirty dishes filled the sink. Crumbs littered the table that stood by the room's only window.
Laura sat at the table and brushed some of the crumbs aside. She was eager to look at the log of Dylan's experiments with Melanie. Haldane wasn't ready to give it to her. He held it — a ledger-size book bound in imitation brown leather — and paced around the kitchen as he talked.
Rain struck the window and streamed down the glass. When an occasional flicker of lightning brightened the night and passed through the window, it briefly projected the random rippling patterns of water from the glass onto the walls, which made the room seem as amorphous and semitransparent as a mirage.
'I want to know a lot more about your husband,' Haldane said, pacing.
'Like what?'
'Like why you decided to divorce him.'
'Is that relevant?'
'Could be.'
'How?'
'For one thing, if there was another woman involved, then maybe she can tell us more about what he was doing here. Maybe she can even tell us who killed him.'
'There was no other woman.'
'Then why did you decide to divorce him?'
'It was just that ... I no longer loved him.'
'But you had loved him once.'
'Yes. But he wasn't the man I married.'
'How had he changed?'
She sighed. 'He didn't. He was never the man I married. I only thought he was. Later, as time went by, I realized how thoroughly I'd misunderstood him, right from the start.'
Haldane stopped pacing, leaned against a counter, crossing his arms on his chest, still holding the log book. 'Just how had you misunderstood him?'
'Well ... first, you have to understand something about me. In high school and college, I was never a particularly popular girl. Never had any dates.'
'I find that difficult to believe.'
She blushed. She wished she could control it, but couldn't. 'It's true. I was crushingly shy. Avoided boys. Avoided everyone. Never had any close girlfriends, either.'
'Didn't anyone tell you about the right mouthwash and dandruff shampoo?'
She smiled at his attempt to put her at ease, but she was never comfortable talking about herself. 'I didn't want anyone to get to know me because I figured they'd dislike me, and I couldn't stand rejection.'
'Why should they dislike you?'
'Oh ... because I wouldn't be witty enough or bright enough or pretty enough to suit them.'
'Well, I can't say whether or not you're witty, but then David Letterman would have trouble coming up with one-liners in this place. But you're clearly intelligent. After all, you earned a doctorate. And I don't see how you could look in a mirror and think you were anything less than beautiful.'
She glanced up from the crumb-carpeted table. The lieutenant's gaze was direct, engaging, warm, though neither bold nor suggestive. His attitude was merely that of a policeman, making an observation, stating a fact.
He went to the closet and opened the doors, revealing several pairs of jeans, T-shirts, sweaters, and shoes that would fit a nine-year-old girl. All were gray.
'Why?' Dan asked. 'What did he hope to prove? What effect was he after with the girl?'
The woman shook her head, too distraught to speak.
'And something else I wonder,' Dan said. 'All of this, six years of it, took more money than he had when he cleaned out your joint bank accounts and left you. A lot more. Yet he wasn't working anywhere. He never went out. Maybe Wilhelm Hoffritz gave him money. But there must have been others who contributed as well. Who? Who was financing this work?'
'I've no idea.'
'And why?' he wondered.
'And where have they taken Melanie?' she asked. 'And what are they doing to her now?'
5
The kitchen wasn't exactly filthy, but it wasn't clean, either. Stacks of dirty dishes filled the sink. Crumbs littered the table that stood by the room's only window.
Laura sat at the table and brushed some of the crumbs aside. She was eager to look at the log of Dylan's experiments with Melanie. Haldane wasn't ready to give it to her. He held it — a ledger-size book bound in imitation brown leather — and paced around the kitchen as he talked.
Rain struck the window and streamed down the glass. When an occasional flicker of lightning brightened the night and passed through the window, it briefly projected the random rippling patterns of water from the glass onto the walls, which made the room seem as amorphous and semitransparent as a mirage.
'I want to know a lot more about your husband,' Haldane said, pacing.
'Like what?'
'Like why you decided to divorce him.'
'Is that relevant?'
'Could be.'
'How?'
'For one thing, if there was another woman involved, then maybe she can tell us more about what he was doing here. Maybe she can even tell us who killed him.'
'There was no other woman.'
'Then why did you decide to divorce him?'
'It was just that ... I no longer loved him.'
'But you had loved him once.'
'Yes. But he wasn't the man I married.'
'How had he changed?'
She sighed. 'He didn't. He was never the man I married. I only thought he was. Later, as time went by, I realized how thoroughly I'd misunderstood him, right from the start.'
Haldane stopped pacing, leaned against a counter, crossing his arms on his chest, still holding the log book. 'Just how had you misunderstood him?'
'Well ... first, you have to understand something about me. In high school and college, I was never a particularly popular girl. Never had any dates.'
'I find that difficult to believe.'
She blushed. She wished she could control it, but couldn't. 'It's true. I was crushingly shy. Avoided boys. Avoided everyone. Never had any close girlfriends, either.'
'Didn't anyone tell you about the right mouthwash and dandruff shampoo?'
She smiled at his attempt to put her at ease, but she was never comfortable talking about herself. 'I didn't want anyone to get to know me because I figured they'd dislike me, and I couldn't stand rejection.'
'Why should they dislike you?'
'Oh ... because I wouldn't be witty enough or bright enough or pretty enough to suit them.'
'Well, I can't say whether or not you're witty, but then David Letterman would have trouble coming up with one-liners in this place. But you're clearly intelligent. After all, you earned a doctorate. And I don't see how you could look in a mirror and think you were anything less than beautiful.'
She glanced up from the crumb-carpeted table. The lieutenant's gaze was direct, engaging, warm, though neither bold nor suggestive. His attitude was merely that of a policeman, making an observation, stating a fact.
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