arrived.”
“I don’t know,” he said, voice wavering. Maybe, Pamela thought, she could reason with him—or at least gather some pertinent information.
“What did you fight about?” she asked.
“The amount of time I was spending on the campaign,” he replied. “Nothing new. We were fighting about it more and more, but that night it blew up.”
“Had you ever spent the night in your office before?”
“No, that was the first time. It wasn’t comfortable. I hated every minute of it and all I wanted to do was apologize and go home.”
“Did anyone on your staff know you spent the night in your office?”
“I don’t know—maybe. Even if they did, they wouldn’t necessarily assume it was because Stacy and I were having marital troubles. I didn’t really discuss things like that with anyone—even Martin—although I guess he figured out that Stacy was peeved with me about all the extra duties he was piling on.”
“Take me through your movements from your fight with Stacy until the next day when you returned home and found her.”
“Oh, god,” he sighed, obviously not relishing remembering, let alone describing the events. “We had a pretty loud screaming battle that night. She ordered me out and I just left—didn’t even pack a bag. It was lucky that I keep an extra shirt in my office and a razor or I would have been a mess at the rally the next day.”
“So, after you fought, you went directly to your office. Was anyone there?”
“No, it was about eleven at night. The place was dark.”
“What about the next morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I felt just terrible. I kept debating whether I should call her and apologize, but I decided I’d wait and talk to her in person the next day after she got home from work. I wish now I’d called her earlier–maybe this wouldn’t have happened . . . .”
“Not necessarily,” said Pamela. “You don’t know the reason Stacy was killed. If a murderer is determined, they won’t stop until they accomplish their goal. It might not have done any good no matter what you did.”
“But her last memory of me wouldn’t be filled with hatred.”
“James,” said Pamela, attempting to reach through the glass window and only succeeding in touching his finger tips with hers. “I have a feeling her memories of you were all good ones. And here I’m speaking as a woman and a wife. You have to have faith in that thought. Your fight was because of circumstances caused by your campaign—not some innate personality defect of yours that she couldn’t tolerate. I’m guessing that in time the two of you would have worked out your differences.”
“Maybe,” he replied.
“Hold that idea in your heart and concentrate on doing the most positive thing you can do now for your wife—find her killer.”
“All right.” He looked at her with the same sad face, but his gaze was now direct.
“When you woke up in your office the next morning, what happened then?”
“Not much. It was a regular day. Martin came in first. We did regular law office stuff—and a lot of campaign activities. Later in the afternoon, some volunteers arrived to help get ready for the rally. Then around four we all piled in our cars and headed for the rally.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about the rally?”
“No, we’d done several before and this one seemed about the same. Of course, the media showed up—and Brewster and his crowd. But other than that, nothing seemed strange to me.”
“Did you speak to or see Stacy at all during the day?”
“No, I was giving her time to cool down. I planned to see her after the rally when I went home. I knew she’d be there before me probably. She usually gets home from her job at the DA’s office around four. Oh, but she did call me right after the rally ended. That’s what sent me home so fast.”
“She called you?”
“Yes, I told the police. She
“I don’t know,” he said, voice wavering. Maybe, Pamela thought, she could reason with him—or at least gather some pertinent information.
“What did you fight about?” she asked.
“The amount of time I was spending on the campaign,” he replied. “Nothing new. We were fighting about it more and more, but that night it blew up.”
“Had you ever spent the night in your office before?”
“No, that was the first time. It wasn’t comfortable. I hated every minute of it and all I wanted to do was apologize and go home.”
“Did anyone on your staff know you spent the night in your office?”
“I don’t know—maybe. Even if they did, they wouldn’t necessarily assume it was because Stacy and I were having marital troubles. I didn’t really discuss things like that with anyone—even Martin—although I guess he figured out that Stacy was peeved with me about all the extra duties he was piling on.”
“Take me through your movements from your fight with Stacy until the next day when you returned home and found her.”
“Oh, god,” he sighed, obviously not relishing remembering, let alone describing the events. “We had a pretty loud screaming battle that night. She ordered me out and I just left—didn’t even pack a bag. It was lucky that I keep an extra shirt in my office and a razor or I would have been a mess at the rally the next day.”
“So, after you fought, you went directly to your office. Was anyone there?”
“No, it was about eleven at night. The place was dark.”
“What about the next morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I felt just terrible. I kept debating whether I should call her and apologize, but I decided I’d wait and talk to her in person the next day after she got home from work. I wish now I’d called her earlier–maybe this wouldn’t have happened . . . .”
“Not necessarily,” said Pamela. “You don’t know the reason Stacy was killed. If a murderer is determined, they won’t stop until they accomplish their goal. It might not have done any good no matter what you did.”
“But her last memory of me wouldn’t be filled with hatred.”
“James,” said Pamela, attempting to reach through the glass window and only succeeding in touching his finger tips with hers. “I have a feeling her memories of you were all good ones. And here I’m speaking as a woman and a wife. You have to have faith in that thought. Your fight was because of circumstances caused by your campaign—not some innate personality defect of yours that she couldn’t tolerate. I’m guessing that in time the two of you would have worked out your differences.”
“Maybe,” he replied.
“Hold that idea in your heart and concentrate on doing the most positive thing you can do now for your wife—find her killer.”
“All right.” He looked at her with the same sad face, but his gaze was now direct.
“When you woke up in your office the next morning, what happened then?”
“Not much. It was a regular day. Martin came in first. We did regular law office stuff—and a lot of campaign activities. Later in the afternoon, some volunteers arrived to help get ready for the rally. Then around four we all piled in our cars and headed for the rally.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about the rally?”
“No, we’d done several before and this one seemed about the same. Of course, the media showed up—and Brewster and his crowd. But other than that, nothing seemed strange to me.”
“Did you speak to or see Stacy at all during the day?”
“No, I was giving her time to cool down. I planned to see her after the rally when I went home. I knew she’d be there before me probably. She usually gets home from her job at the DA’s office around four. Oh, but she did call me right after the rally ended. That’s what sent me home so fast.”
“She called you?”
“Yes, I told the police. She
Similar Books
