A Death in Katy

Anne stood in the door and looked up into Martin’s face as if searching for something in his eyes. He hoped what he felt wasn’t being reflected in them.

“Mrs. Reynolds?” he began the official notification. “Is your husband Jacob Reynolds?”

Her eyes flickered for a moment to the back of the house. “Yes, I’m Anne Reynolds, Jake’s wife.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Jake’s dead, isn’t he?”

Martin studied her troubled face. Reading faces had meant the difference between life and death more than one time for him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He spoke softly. “May I come in? I’m Detective Martin O’Connell, with the Harris County Sheriff’s office.” He showed her his badge and ID, and she looked at it for a few moments.

Anne nodded, stood to the side and let him pass, and then she closed the door. He followed her to the back of the house where the kitchen and den were located. Signaling him to wait, she picked up the phone from the kitchen counter.

“Connie, I need to send the kids to you for a while.” She listened as Connie answered. “I’ll call you when you can send them back. No, Jake isn’t home, but it’s about him. Thanks.” She hung up, put the phone back on the counter, walked over to the den, and shut off the television using the remote.

“Hey, kids.” Her voice sounded steady. “I need you to go see Miss Connie. She has a treat she wants to share with you.”

The kids got up and raced back down the hall and out the front door. As the door shut, Anne sunk onto one of the couches in the den. Martin sat next to her.

“Was it a traffic accident?” She searched his face. She clasped her hands together as if to keep them from fidgeting.

He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, your husband was found this afternoon, dead in a room at the Katy Inn. He’d been shot.” He paused to let this sink in.

Anne sat and stared at him as if she didn’t understand his words.

“Ma’am, did you understand me?” Martin asked, concern showing in his voice.

“Yes. The woman he picked up last night killed him.” It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was flat and lifeless as she stared at her now-still hands.

Martin looked at her. There is more going on in this house than I’d imagined. Maybe the wife did do it.

“You knew he was at the hotel last night?” He leaned back to get a better look at her. He’d been sitting too close to her.

Anne looked up and shook her head. “No, I just assumed when he didn’t come home last night he was with someone. But I didn’t know where.”

“You knew your husband was with someone at a motel last night?” Martin asked.

“Jake’s has been cheating on me for over a year. About three months ago, he started to spend the night out.” Her body sagged against the couch.

“Have you ever heard the name Kathy Grayson before?” He read the name off his BlackBerry.

“No, he never told me their names, and he rarely saw any of the girls a second time.” She paused and turned incredibly sad eyes to him. “Was she pretty?” she whispered.

Martin answered before he thought about it. “Not as beautiful as you.” He blushed and looked over her head. Damn. I shouldn’t have said that.

Anne looked up, gratitude on her face. He attempted to regain his professionalism.

“How do you know about his girlfriends?”

Anne paused. “Jake told me about all his women. He enjoyed telling me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He wanted to hurt me, you see. He hated me. So he’d compare them to me and tell me why they were so much better than…” She stopped and swallowed, as if unable to continue.

Martin couldn’t believe his ears. The sick bastard must have been nuts. If she were my woman—damn, where did that come from?

He cleared his throat. “So he didn’t tell you their names?”

“No, he didn’t care about names. He only cared about humiliating me. So he would pick up a different girl, have sex with her, and then tell me how she was better. Pretty sick, huh?” She tried to smile, but her eyes refused the attempt, and she broke eye contact.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he started.

“Call me Anne, please.”

“Anne, your husband was found dead along with the girl he was with last night. They were both shot to death.” He watched for her reaction.

“She’s dead too?” She sounded puzzled. “Was it a robbery?”

“There doesn’t seem to be anything taken from either victim.”

Anne thought for a minute and then sighed. “That means I’m a suspect, right? You think I did it, don’t you?” She sat back against the cushions of the sofa.

“We’re very early in the investigation process, Anne, and we haven’t reached any conclusions. Everyone involved will be questioned,” Martin assured her.

“I guess I shouldn’t have told you about Jake’s women. It makes a very good motive.” She sat up straighter and turned to him. “Detective, I didn’t kill my husband. I stopped caring about him eight months ago. My only concern has been for my children. They adored him and he adored them. He was a good father and, until a year ago, a good husband.”

She stood and went to the wall unit housing a large television, a DVD player, and a large selection of DVDs. She searched the DVDs, pulled one out, and inserted it into the machine. Then she picked up the remote and turned it all on.

“Detective, this is my husband, my real husband, the man I once loved. I don’t know who the man became over the last year.” She sat back down on the couch next to Martin.

They watched a home video of Jake and the kids at the beach. Judging from the way the kids looked, this was probably at least two years ago. Jake played with them in the surf, buried in the sand by them, and swam in the ocean with them. Then he gave the camera to Matthew to film as he and Anne stood together. The camera wobbled as the boy filmed his parents. Jake picked Anne up, threatening to dump her in the ocean, and she laughingly yelled for help and clung to him. They kissed and played in the surf. They looked like any other couple, in love with each other and enjoying their kids on a family vacation.

For some reason, as Martin watched the video, a spark of jealousy burned in his chest. Jacob Reynolds had had it all, the beautiful wife and adorable kids, and he threw it away.

Pointing to the television, she said, “That was my husband, Detective. I loved that man. That man I would have…” She paused. “The man in the hotel room wasn’t my husband. I don’t know who he was, who he’d become. I only know I didn’t love him anymore. But I didn’t hate him. Not enough to kill him, or to kill some poor girl he picked up.”

“You know, this doesn’t look good,” he began. “If anything, someone might think you’d be angry he was with someone else. Furious.”

“I didn’t kill Jake, Detective.” Her voice was clear and strong.

“Can I ask you a few more questions?” He looked at his notes.

“Yes, go ahead. We might as well get this over.” She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

“Where were you last night between midnight and 3:00 a.m.?”

“Here, in bed asleep. I stopped waiting up for him months ago.” She watched the detective as he wrote.

“So you could have left and no one would have known.”

“I could have but I didn’t. I would never leave my children alone, not for a minute.” Her voice rose and he could sense her anger. Oddly, he didn’t want her to be mad at him.

“These questions have to be asked. Do you own a gun?”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t allow it. Jake wasn’t into guns either. Having a gun for home protection is pointless.”

“Why is that, Anne?” He looked at her as she leaned forward trying to explain to him. She looked into his eyes and bit her lower lip.

“We have children, Detective. Do you have children?”

“No, I’ve never been married.” She blinked and glanced at his left hand, checking for the ring. The one that wasn’t there, and had never been there, as witnessed by the absence of a tan line.

“Well, if I were married to someone like you, a detective, and you carried a gun, which I assume you do?” She paused for his answer.

“Yes.” He opened his jacket to show her the shoulder holster and his weapon. She glanced at it and then looked back at his face.

“Then I would insist as soon as you came home, the gun would be unloaded and locked up. Either in a lockbox or with a trigger lock.” He nodded his understanding. “So, if someone breaks into your house and your gun is locked up, unloaded, and put away, that doesn’t give you much time to defend yourself, does it?”

Martin smiled. “With kids, it would be the safe thing to do.”

“I doubt you lock up your gun once you go home. You probably sleep with it somewhere close by.” This time it was her turn to smile.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I keep it on the nightstand, next to the bed.”

“See, where you could reach it quickly. However, if you had a wife and kids, that would change. Kids are too curious, and never do what you tell them. People with kids who don’t lock up their weapons are asking for trouble. So, no, I don’t have a gun, and I’ve never even held a gun, much less fired one.”

Martin wondered if that was true. The close up shot at the motel door anyone could have done, but hitting the woman in the bed had taken some skill.

“Is that all, Detective O’Connell?” Her gaze searched his.

“Yes, for now. But if anything comes up, or if I have any further questions, may I call you?” He stood.

“Yes, please.” She rose and then hesitated. “Could you be honest with me, Detective? Do I need to get a lawyer?”

“It’s always a good idea to have legal representation, Anne.”

She held out her hand and he took it. Her hand was cool and soft to his touch. He didn’t want to let go. Damn.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to have Connie send the kids back. I have to tell them…their father is dead.” Here at the last, her voice broke. Her eyes welled with tears, and it seemed she might collapse. Martin took her by the elbow to steady her. She reached out, placed her hand on his chest to steady herself, felt the hardness under his shirt, and looked up at his face, brows knitted together in question.

“My Kevlar vest.” She smelled so good. “Bulletproof.” Their gazes locked, six inches apart.

“Oh, I see.”