Now that they sat side by side, waiting for the appearance of the lieutenant, Jo was not feeling entirely bolstered by the presence of this counselor.
She glanced around the room as they waited for Morgan to appear. Giving us time to stew, she thought, as she half-seriously checked for the spotlight Morgan might turn on her face while demanding her answers. She found only fluorescents, high on the ceiling and useless for zeroing in on guilty suspects. Surely Earnest C. will prevent any attempts at bullying, Jo assured herself. And Morgan wouldn’t unnerve her because she wasn’t hiding anything.
She looked around for signs of the lieutenant’s personal life, such as family photos, but then remembered Javonne Barnett had said he was single. Single-divorced or single-never-married? Either way, she saw no photos of children. If he had none, weren’t there nieces and nephews he might care about? What about friends? The walls were bare of softball team photos and even awards. The room contained nothing beyond essentials, and the effect was cold. Probably, she thought, exactly what he intended.
The door opened, and Morgan strode in. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
Jo’s lawyer stood up and held out his hand. “Earnest C. Ainsworthy, representing Mrs. McAllister.” They shook hands, and both sat down, the lieutenant behind his gray metal desk.
“Okay, then,” Morgan said. He opened a file he had brought in with him and scanned it for a few moments before looking up.
“Mrs. McAllister, your husband, Michael McAllister, was killed in an explosion.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Jo said it calmly, though the familiar pain sucked at her heart to think of that day.
“What exactly happened?”
What was this about? Jo wondered. She glanced at Ainsworthy, but he offered no advice, so she answered as evenly as she could, “We don’t know precisely, but Mike worked with acetylene tanks. He did metal sculptures. Something malfunctioned and caused the explosion. That’s all we know.”
“Something malfunctioned.” Morgan looked at her as if expecting more.
“Yes.”
“Was that a highly unusual thing? I mean, I presume there are safeguards against that kind of thing happening.”
“Yes, I thought so too. As I said, after looking into it, no one could tell me what went wrong. The explosion and fire destroyed nearly everything, so it was impossible to determine. Why are you asking me this?”
“So there was an investigation? The authorities in New York City searched for a reason for this explosion?”
“Yes, of course.” From his frequent glances at the file, Jo was certain he had copies of the reports before him. But why?
“You and your husband shared this loft that was destroyed.”
“Yes, we did.”
“For how many years?”
Jo thought back. “I believe, about five years.”
“And your husband worked at his metal sculptures, with acetylene tanks for those five years?”
“Yes, he did.”
“There was no problem before this?”
“Obviously not.”
“How did you and your husband get along?”
“Lieutenant Morgan, what does all this have to do with Kyle Sandborn?” Jo could feel her temper rising. Was that what Morgan wanted, though? The thought unfortunately ratcheted her anger even higher. She looked at Ainsworthy for help, but he made no objection to Morgan’s line of questioning, his hands folded calmly over his high mound of belly. His eyes seemed focused on the front edge of Morgan’s desk.
“Did you and your husband have marital problems?” Morgan asked.
“No!”
“You received payment of his life insurance, and shortly after that, you moved here.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you know exactly how much that payment was, and how thinly it had to be stretched in my efforts to start a new life. I did not set up my husband’s death, a husband I dearly loved, in case you care, in order to live a life of luxury here in Abbotsville.”
Morgan simply looked at her for a few
She glanced around the room as they waited for Morgan to appear. Giving us time to stew, she thought, as she half-seriously checked for the spotlight Morgan might turn on her face while demanding her answers. She found only fluorescents, high on the ceiling and useless for zeroing in on guilty suspects. Surely Earnest C. will prevent any attempts at bullying, Jo assured herself. And Morgan wouldn’t unnerve her because she wasn’t hiding anything.
She looked around for signs of the lieutenant’s personal life, such as family photos, but then remembered Javonne Barnett had said he was single. Single-divorced or single-never-married? Either way, she saw no photos of children. If he had none, weren’t there nieces and nephews he might care about? What about friends? The walls were bare of softball team photos and even awards. The room contained nothing beyond essentials, and the effect was cold. Probably, she thought, exactly what he intended.
The door opened, and Morgan strode in. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
Jo’s lawyer stood up and held out his hand. “Earnest C. Ainsworthy, representing Mrs. McAllister.” They shook hands, and both sat down, the lieutenant behind his gray metal desk.
“Okay, then,” Morgan said. He opened a file he had brought in with him and scanned it for a few moments before looking up.
“Mrs. McAllister, your husband, Michael McAllister, was killed in an explosion.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Jo said it calmly, though the familiar pain sucked at her heart to think of that day.
“What exactly happened?”
What was this about? Jo wondered. She glanced at Ainsworthy, but he offered no advice, so she answered as evenly as she could, “We don’t know precisely, but Mike worked with acetylene tanks. He did metal sculptures. Something malfunctioned and caused the explosion. That’s all we know.”
“Something malfunctioned.” Morgan looked at her as if expecting more.
“Yes.”
“Was that a highly unusual thing? I mean, I presume there are safeguards against that kind of thing happening.”
“Yes, I thought so too. As I said, after looking into it, no one could tell me what went wrong. The explosion and fire destroyed nearly everything, so it was impossible to determine. Why are you asking me this?”
“So there was an investigation? The authorities in New York City searched for a reason for this explosion?”
“Yes, of course.” From his frequent glances at the file, Jo was certain he had copies of the reports before him. But why?
“You and your husband shared this loft that was destroyed.”
“Yes, we did.”
“For how many years?”
Jo thought back. “I believe, about five years.”
“And your husband worked at his metal sculptures, with acetylene tanks for those five years?”
“Yes, he did.”
“There was no problem before this?”
“Obviously not.”
“How did you and your husband get along?”
“Lieutenant Morgan, what does all this have to do with Kyle Sandborn?” Jo could feel her temper rising. Was that what Morgan wanted, though? The thought unfortunately ratcheted her anger even higher. She looked at Ainsworthy for help, but he made no objection to Morgan’s line of questioning, his hands folded calmly over his high mound of belly. His eyes seemed focused on the front edge of Morgan’s desk.
“Did you and your husband have marital problems?” Morgan asked.
“No!”
“You received payment of his life insurance, and shortly after that, you moved here.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you know exactly how much that payment was, and how thinly it had to be stretched in my efforts to start a new life. I did not set up my husband’s death, a husband I dearly loved, in case you care, in order to live a life of luxury here in Abbotsville.”
Morgan simply looked at her for a few
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