On Harrow Hill

She didn’t answer, speaking into the phone instead. “This is Lorinda Russell. Call me to set a time for the arrival of your crew.” She tapped another icon, laid the phone on the coffee table, waited pointedly for Morgan and Gurney to settle themselves on the couch, then sat in an armchair facing them.

“Did you know that blood is considered a form of hazardous waste?”

Morgan blinked in apparent confusion.

“Finding a competent cleaning company has been a challenge,” she said, her eyes on Gurney. “Some don’t want to deal with bloodstains at all, and only one was willing to deal with this amount of blood. But I’m sure you’re more familiar with the problem than I am.”

In his two-plus decades in the NYPD’s busy homicide division, Gurney had encountered many reactions to the murder of a spouse, but never one like this.

She went on in an even voice. “The blood needs to be removed completely, without a trace, before I can go back in that house.” Her gaze lingered another few seconds on Gurney. There was a flicker of something challenging in her ­expression—something he’d observed in individuals who enjoyed competition.

She switched her attention to Morgan. “Where do things stand with your investigation?”

“At the moment we’re processing evidence. Lab work is underway. We’re gathering video files from private and municipal security cameras in the area. Officers are canvassing nearby residents. Everything possible is being done, and we hope—”

She cut him off. “In other words, right now you know nothing.”

Morgan looked embarrassed. “Lorinda, everything is being done that can—”

“How about you, Detective Gurney? Any input?”

“Just questions.”

“Ask them.” Her fingers began to tap quietly on the arm of her chair.

“In the period leading up to the attack, were there—”

“The murder.”

He raised a curious eyebrow.

“I prefer clarity. It wasn’t just an attack.”

“Okay. The murder. Were you aware of any conflicts in your husband’s business or personal life that could be connected to what happened here?”

She uttered a sharp sound that could have been a cough or a laugh. “Angus’s life was nothing but conflict. He was a warrior. His most endearing trait. But it creates enemies.”

“Any that might be willing to kill him?”

“I’m sure quite a few.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“If you mean anyone that leaps to mind immediately, that would be our wretched neighbor, Chandler Aspern. But I’d be more concerned about the ones that don’t come to mind, wouldn’t you?”

“Aspern comes to mind because of the lease disagreement?”

“That, and because he and Angus hated each other. Quite openly. If it was Chandler who’d been murdered, Angus would be everyone’s favorite suspect. I went through all of this with Detective Slovak yesterday. You should read his report.” She looked with some annoyance at Morgan, then back at Gurney. “Let me ask you something. How much danger do you think I’m in?”

“The killer was in the bedroom next to yours. If you were a target, you’d be dead.”

“So you think I’m safe?”

“Probably.”

“But I shouldn’t bet my life on it?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Her fingers stopped tapping. She was regarding Gurney now as if he were a mystery to be solved. “There’s something bothering you. What is it?”

“I find it interesting that you have no security cameras, no alarms.”

“That’s being rectified. I was on the phone this morning arranging for the installation of a state-of-the-art system.”

“Good idea.”

“Are you being sarcastic—implying it would have been a good idea before Angus was murdered?”

“It certainly would have been a good idea,” said Gurney blandly. “But I’m guessing it was never seriously considered. What I’ve been told about Angus makes me think of someone I knew a long time ago—a powerful man with a lot of enemies and no alarm system. He regarded an alarm as a sign of fear, and fear was an emotion he’d never acknowledge in himself. Fear was the emotion he inspired in others.”

She was looking at him with real interest. “What happened?”

“He underestimated one of his enemies.”

She smiled but said nothing.

Gurney switched gears. “When was the last time Billy Tate was in your house?”

“Four years ago, not long before he was incarcerated. But he wasn’t actually in the house. He was at the front door, demanding payment for some job Angus had hired him to do, but which he didn’t do very well. Angus refused to pay him. That’s what led to the threats and the assault conviction that put him in prison.”

“When was he released?”

She looked at Morgan.

“A year and four months ago.”

Gurney asked her if she’d seen Tate since his release.

She said she hadn’t.

He decided to switch gears again. “Did Angus have a regular time each night when he got up to go to the bathroom?”

“I have no idea.”

“His being up, moving around in the bathroom, that wouldn’t wake you?”

“No.”

“You’re a sound sleeper?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if he was in the habit of getting up more than once?”