The Whispering Room

She gave a visible start. “You’re saying…he was murdered?”

“I’m very sorry,” Evangeline said softly.

“But…” Her expression went blank again. “That’s not possible. It’s just not.”

Murder happened to other people.

“Is there someone you’d like us to call? Family or friends you’d like to have come and stay with you right now?” Evangeline asked.

“Stay with me? I don’t know….” She couldn’t seem to form a clear thought. She skimmed her fingers down one arm. “Colette and my daughter are here….” She closed her eyes briefly. “Oh, God. How am I going to tell Maisie? She adores Paul….”

Her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled as she lost the struggle for self-control. “God,” she whispered on a sob and put her hands to her face as if she could somehow forcibly stem the tide of raw emotion that bubbled up her throat and spilled over from her eyes.

Evangeline fumbled for a tissue in her purse and handed it across the coffee table to the crying woman. Meredith Courtland took it gratefully and after a moment, she dabbed at her eyes as she turned to look out the French doors at her daughter.

In the ensuing silence, every sound in the house seemed magnified. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. The soft humming of the maid upstairs.

And into that awful silence came the high-pitched laughter of Paul Courtland’s little girl as she splashed happily in the shallow end of the pool.

Meredith drew a deep, shuddering breath and folded the tissue into a neat little square on one thigh. But her eyes never left her child.

“I wondered if something was wrong when he didn’t come by for Maisie on Sunday,” she finally said. “They always spend the afternoon together, and he never missed a single Sunday. Never. He loved being with her. He was a wonderful father.” She paused to unfold the tissue as painstakingly as she had creased it. “A lousy husband, but a great father.”

Evangeline and Mitchell shared a look.

“You and Mr. Courtland were divorced, then?” Mitchell asked carefully.

“Separated. He moved out a few months ago. He has a place in the Warehouse District. A loft.” Her head was still turned away, but there was no mistaking the bitter, derisive edge to her tone. She may as well have informed them he’d moved into a whorehouse for all the scorn that dripped from her voice. “I guess the Garden District just wasn’t a cool or hip enough address for him anymore.”

Evangeline and Mitchell exchanged another glance. Mitchell’s nod was almost imperceptible.

“Do you have his current address?” Evangeline asked.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. It’s just off Notre Dame, I think. I don’t know the street number. I’ve never been over there. When I needed to get in touch with him, I called his cell phone or the office.”

She was still watching her daughter, and Evangeline studied her profile. There was a lot of anger beneath that cool surface. Was Meredith Courtland the kind of woman who would retaliate against a husband who had rejected her and her lifestyle?

It was hard to imagine, especially considering the way Paul Courtland had died. But then, Evangeline had seen a lot of things that were hard to imagine.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Sunday before last. He came over early so that he could take Maisie to a movie she’d been begging to see. They had dinner afterward and then he brought her home.”

“You had no contact with him after that? Not even a phone conversation?”

She shook her head. “We rarely talked on the phone once he moved out. And we only saw each other when he came by for Maisie. But as I said, I did think it strange when he didn’t show up for her on Sunday last. I called his office the next day, but Lisa, his assistant, said he’d taken a few days off. I just assumed he’d gone out of town and forgotten to tell me. That wasn’t like him, but then…a lot of things he’d done in the past several months weren’t like him.”

“Such as?”

She gestured helplessly. “Moving out. Leaving his family. A year ago, I could never have imagined we’d be separated. Let alone…” She shook her head. “This all just seems like a bad dream.”

Evangeline gave her a moment. “How did he seem the last time you saw him?”

She turned with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“His demeanor. His mood. Did you notice anything about him that was out of the ordinary? Did he seem worried or anxious? Anything at all that you can remember?”

“Not really. He may have been a little preoccupied, but that wasn’t unusual for Paul. He had a case that was about to go to trial, and he always got a little strung out before going into court.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. Her nails had completely shredded the tissue. “I just don’t understand,” she whispered. “Who would want to kill him?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“I’ve been sitting here going over it in my mind. None of what you’ve told me makes any sense. You said his body was found in the Lower Ninth Ward. Why would Paul go there? Everyone knows how dangerous that area is. I can’t imagine that he would have a client in that part of town. Maybe…Is it possible this could be just some terrible mistake?” she asked in a hopeful voice, but her hands were balled into fists, and when she looked up, the pain in her eyes struck Evangeline anew.

My God, she thought. Is that how I looked?

Evangeline didn’t have to try to put herself in the distraught woman’s place. She’d been there herself. She knew exactly how Meredith Courtland felt.

Except she and Johnny had still been together at the time of his death. He had remained, until the very end, the love of her life.

“Identification was found on the body,” she said. “It’s highly unlikely there’s been a mistake.”

“But…” Meredith’s voice trailed off, as if she finally realized the futility of false hope.

“I know this has been a terrible shock for you, and I’m so sorry we have to burden you with all these questions at a time like this,” Evangeline said. “But the sooner we get them out of the way, the sooner we’ll be able to figure out what happened.”

Meredith nodded. Her blue eyes were brimming again. “Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to help. Paul and I had our differences, but he was…I still cared about him.” The latter she said with a catch in her throat. “I want you to find who did this. I want you to make them pay,” she said fiercely.

Outside the French doors, Maisie Courtland began to sing again, off-key and at the top of her lungs. She was a beautiful, happy child whose life, from this day forward, would never be the same.

J.D. had been born after Johnny’s death. Evangeline’s son had never even seen his father, never had the chance to know him, but maybe it was better that way.

Maybe you can’t miss what you’ve never had.

“Mrs. Courtland…” Mitchell leaned forward, his gaze searching the woman’s face. “Did your husband ever receive any threats?”

“What kind of threats?”

“Guys in prison have a tendency to blame their lawyers,” he explained. “Did your husband ever have any problems with disgruntled clients?”

“Not that I know of. But…even if he did, he probably wouldn’t have mentioned them to me. Paul was…He used to be very protective.” She swallowed and glanced away.

“What about his coworkers? Did he get along with the other attorneys at his firm?”

“Paul was the rainmaker. Everyone loved him.”

Now it was Evangeline who leaned forward, her gaze scouring Meredith Courtland’s smooth, tanned face. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted your husband dead?”

She blinked, as if confused by the directness of the question, and then her expression hardened. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You think I had something to do with this. The spouse is always the prime suspect. Especially when there’s an impending divorce.”