Candida DeWitt had lived in Bryn Mawr and now she had died there. She had also been one of the chief suspects in a murder case in Philadelphia. She had also been killed in a way that made everyone—even the Bryn Mawr police—certain that she had been murdered by the same person who had murdered Paul Hazzard. Then there was her connection to the death of Jacqueline Isherwood Hazzard. Then there was—
Gregor Demarkian tried to remain calm in the front seat of Russell Donahue’s car as it pulled into Candida DeWitt’s driveway and coasted down the gravel to the other cars assembled at Candida’s front door. It was an unmarked car this time. Russell hadn’t thought it was the best idea to come into somebody else’s jurisdiction with sirens blasting. Down by the door there were plenty of marked cars with their lights pulsing in the darkening evening. Bryn Mawr had pulled out all the stops.
Russell Donahue slowed to a crawl, looking for a place to park.
“For God’s sake. They’ve got the whole department out here. You’d think somebody had shot the president.”
“Fred Scherrer,” Gregor suggested.
Russell nodded. “Yeah. Maybe. Scherrer doesn’t make me too happy either. Do you mind a bit of a walk? I can’t get any closer than this without blocking something.”
Gregor didn’t mind a bit of a walk. Russell pulled the car to a stop and they got out. This close, Gregor could see that the front door to Candida’s house was wide open. Men went in and out of them at irregular intervals, looking grim. A slight man in a trench coat came to stand on the front porch. He looked in their direction, squinted a little, then nodded to himself. Then he began walking toward them.
“Fred Scherrer,” Gregor Demarkian said again to Russell Donahue. “You did say Scherrer called the Bryn Mawr police and not us?”
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything, Gregor. He might also have called us. I wasn’t the person taking the calls.”
Fred Scherrer was walking toward them. It was as cold as Gregor could ever remember it being, in Philadelphia or anywhere else. He wished he were in the habit of wearing a hat. He pulled the collar of his coat up behind his ears and wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck.
Fred Scherrer didn’t seem to notice the cold. His trench coat was wide open. His hands were in his pockets, but he took them out often to adjust his coat or stroke his face. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Gregor wondered about all the nervous mannerisms. Was Fred Scherrer always like this? How did it affect juries? He was an extremely successful defense attorney. He had to be doing something right.
Fred Scherrer stopped in the middle of the driveway and let Gregor and Russell walk the rest of the way to him.
“Mr. Demarkian?” he said. “I believe we met last night.”
“Briefly.”
Scherrer turned to Russell Donahue. “I saw you last night too. I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”
“Russell Donahue. Detective first grade.”
“Good, good. There’s a guy in there from Bryn Mawr Homicide who’s making no sense at all, but maybe that’s normal. Nobody seemed to be making much sense last night either. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been this… close to it all, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” Russell Donahue said. Gregor said nothing.
“Close to it all in more ways than one,” Fred Scherrer said. “Did you know I was staying here for the weekend?”
“Yes,” Russell said quickly.
“I’ve been staying in the guest room,” Fred Scherrer said, “but that was mostly a technicality. If—this—hadn’t happened, I would probably have changed rooms by the end of the weekend.”
“Oh,” Russell Donahue said.
“I’m not going on and on about my private life for no reason,” Fred Scherrer said. “I want you to know what was going on up front. They think I’m hiding something.” Fred jerked his head back in the direction of Candida’s front door. “They think I killed her in a jealous rage and now I’m trying to make it look like she was somebody else’s victim. They probably think I killed Paul too.”
“Did you?” Gregor Demarkian asked.
Fred Scherrer smiled grimly. “If I’d wanted to kill Paul Hazzard, I could have done it four years ago, when I directed his defense after he was charged with his wife’s murder. Trust me, that would have been much more effective than stabbing him six times, even if he hadn’t gotten the death penalty. It would also have been much safer.”
“Something could have happened between that time and this,” Gregor Demarkian said.