Chapter Forty-Three
Present
Elena and Detective Church found Florence Talbot in the upstairs drawing room, sitting in one of the upholstered chairs next to the fireplace. Ransom Towers sat across from her on the tufted sofa. Both had their afternoon tea in front of them; they were going through the household accounts.
“Darling, I thought you went for a run,” Ransom said when they entered the room.
“I did, but I had to cut it short. It’s so hot out I can hardly breathe,” Elena said. She crossed over to her husband and gave him a small peck on the cheek before sitting next to him. “Anyway, look who I ran into on the terrace on my way back.”
“Detective Church,” Ransom said, sounding less than pleased to see him.
Church nodded his head. “Senator.” He looked over at Florence. “How are you today, Florence?” he asked.
“Tired,” she said, giving him a weary smile. “I’ve had two maids quit this week, and hiring has been a nightmare. I just interviewed a girl who had two visible body piercings and a face tattoo. At this rate, I shall have to scrub the toilets myself.”
Church smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Detective,” Ransom said. “Has something happened? Is there news?”
“They’ve identified the second body,” Elena said.
“They have?” Ransom said. He looked over at Detective Church expectantly. “Who is it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information,” Church said.
“Well, why the hell not?” Ransom said.
Elena placed a calming hand on Ransom’s forearm. “Temper,” she said softly.
Ransom exhaled sharply. “I apologize, Detective. I’m normally a very patient man. But I’ve been patient for forty years now, and I fear if I practice any more patience, I’ll be dead and buried before the answers come.”
“I understand,” Church said. “And I promise you you’ll have your answers soon enough. But for now, I’m not authorized to divulge that.”
“Well, why come here at all, then?” Ransom said. “Just to bait us?”
“He came to speak with me, dear,” Elena said.
Ransom glanced over at her, a crease between his brows. “What?”
“He found out about the whole Ana Rojas bit,” Elena explained. “It’s fine. I explained everything.”
Ransom glared back at Detective Church. “What does Ana Rojas have to do with my sister?” he asked.
“Nothing, it turns out,” Church said.
“Forgive me, Detective,” Ransom said. “But my patience has run out. If you’ve finished interrogating my wife and you cannot tell us any pertinent information about the second body or the case, then what are you still doing here?”
“I need to speak with Florence,” Church said.
“Absolutely not,” Ransom said.
Elena put her hand on her husband’s arm, but this time he was too angry to heed her.
“This is unconscionable,” Ransom said to Church. “You come into my house, you harass my wife, you refuse to give us any information, and now you want to do the same with Mrs. Talbot? I won’t allow it.”
“With all due respect, Senator,” Church said, “that’s not up to you.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Florence said. “I don’t mind.”
Ransom seethed. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But you’ll talk to her here. You have five minutes, Detective, and then my patience will have officially run out.” Ransom glanced at his watch, marking the time.
Detective Church took the armchair next to Florence. He leaned forward and set his tape recorder on the side table between them. “Do you mind if I record this?” he asked.
“Why would I mind?” Florence said.
“Very good,” Church said, hitting Record. “I was speaking with Mrs. Towers just now, and it got me thinking that you and I have never had a proper interview. Recorded, and all that.”
“No, we haven’t,” Florence said, as if she were well aware of the fact and, on top of that, disapproved. “I must admit I was starting to feel a little left out.”
Detective Church smiled. “I’ve come at this case from every angle, Florence, just like those who worked it before me,” he said.
“I’ve cycled through all the regular motives.
I’ve considered jealousy and greed. I’ve looked at what one might do for self-preservation, the lengths someone might go to protect their own self-interests.
But there was one motive that I hadn’t considered, one that all of us overlooked.
And perhaps it is the most powerful motivator of all. ”
“And what, pray tell, is that, Detective?” Florence asked.
“Love,” Church said.
“Love,” Florence repeated. “I don’t think I follow.”
“Yes, get to the point,” Ransom said. He checked his watch. “Four minutes, Detective.”
Church shifted in his seat. “Let me try to come at this another way,” he said.
“This whole time, we’ve been looking at Saoirse as the primary victim.
Who would want to hurt her? What would someone gain from her death?
But what if we’ve been looking at this all wrong?
What if Saoirse was never supposed to be a victim at all? ”
Florence didn’t flinch; she held his gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ransom interrupted.
“What are you saying?” Ransom asked. “That Saoirse was just collateral damage?”
“Yes,” Church said. “The second body that was discovered—what if that was actually the first body, the first victim?” His mind shot back to the phone call he’d just received identifying the remains.
He wasn’t yet authorized to divulge that information, and he had just blatantly refused to do so, but now, he had to make a gamble.
He took a deep breath. “Salvador Santos,” he said.
Again, Florence opened her mouth to say something, but Ransom cut in.
“Saoirse’s tutor?” Ransom said. “He’s the second body?”
Church kept his attention on Florence. “He was very suddenly and unceremoniously let go, from what I understand.”
Florence’s eyes flitted from Detective Church to Ransom.
“No official reason was ever given for the sudden end of Mr. Santos’s employment,” Church said, “but one thing is clear: Salvador Santos was promptly removed from the premises, the payroll, and the party guest list. It begs the question—what sort of misconduct would require such drastic actions? And why would they be kept so hush-hush?” Church asked.
“Florence, were Mr. Santos and Saoirse having an illicit romantic relationship? Were they sleeping together?”
Across the room, Ransom Towers stood up.
“There is a line, Detective, and you have crossed it,” he said, fuming.
“My family has endured enough abuse from your department over the course of your investigation. I will not sit idly by and let you slander my sister’s name with your wild, unfounded allegations. ”
Detective Church looked back over at Florence, a whisper of hope in his chest that she would answer his question, but she only stared indignantly back at him.
“I’ve had just about enough,” Florence said.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Talbot,” Ransom went on. “I will remove Detective Church from the premises myself.”
“I’ve had just about enough of the interruptions,” Florence went on, heatedly. She looked pointedly at Ransom. “Detective Church and I are trying to have a conversation, and I would very much like to finish it.”
“But, Mrs. Talbot,” Ransom said, confused.
“Ransom, please,” Florence said curtly. “Sit down and be quiet. You need to hear this too.”
Ransom looked dumbfounded. Florence gave him a stern look, and he sat back down on the sofa like a chastened child. She turned her stern gaze on Elena next, who looked equally confused but made no move to protest.
“Now, Detective Church,” Florence said, looking at him expectantly. “You were saying?”
Church cleared his throat. He didn’t understand this turn of events, but he wasn’t about to question it.
“Mr. Santos was the perfect victim in many ways,” Church went on.
“He had no family to miss him. He lived an itinerant lifestyle. He was no longer under Senator Towers’s employment or on his guest list. He wasn’t supposed to be here that night, so no one gave any thought as to his absence.
And,” Church said, “he had a peanut allergy, which you would have certainly known about.”
“I am very meticulous about the household’s dietary restrictions, yes,” Florence said.
“You loved Saoirse,” Church said. “More than anything. More than you loved even yourself. You caught Mr. Santos and Saoirse trying to run away together that night, didn’t you?
And you couldn’t bear to see it happen, to see Saoirse taken away by that man.
So you took care of him, made it so he couldn’t take her away.
You gave no thought to yourself, of what it would do to you, or the potential consequences. You did it to save her.”
Florence was silent for a moment.
All these years, she had carried this secret of what she had done silently, by herself. How strange it must be, Church thought, to have someone finally speak it aloud to her. For someone to finally know and for her to be able to talk about it. It must be freeing, in a way.
“I knew what would happen if they ran away together,” Florence said.
“I’ve seen firsthand what happens when a man marries a woman under false pretenses, for his own selfish reasons.
What happens when he takes her away from her family.
What a man is allowed to do to a woman. I’ve lived it.
I wouldn’t let it happen again. Especially not to her. ”
Across the room, Ransom Towers let out a breath. “Mrs. Talbot, what are you saying?” he asked.
Detective Church ignored him and remained intently focused on Florence. “You had the best of intentions,” he said. “You wanted to protect her, to save her. But something went wrong.”
“I sent her off to change her clothes,” Florence said. “She was soaked to the bone. I didn’t want her to catch a cold. And I dealt with . . . that man . . . while she was gone.”
“And what happened next?” Church asked. “Did Saoirse come back before you were expecting her? Did she see what you had done?”
Florence shook her head. “No,” she said. “I dragged Mr. Santos’s body into the next room, hid him under my bed so she wouldn’t see. She never knew.”
Church was puzzled by this. “So the two of you didn’t get into an altercation regarding Mr. Santos?” he asked. “You didn’t—maybe, in a fit of desperation, the heat of the moment—inadvertently harm Miss Towers?”
He had been so sure that this was the direction her confession was headed—that Saoirse had discovered what Florence had done and Florence had had no choice but to kill her, too, to keep anyone from finding out.
“No,” Florence said, shaking her head adamantly. “No, never. I would never harm a hair on that child’s head. Never, never.”
Church leaned forward, on the edge of his chair now. “Then, what exactly did happen to Saoirse, Florence?”
Florence had tears in her eyes. She took a deep breath.
“The very worst thing,” Florence said, her voice full of despair. “The very worst thing that could happen, did.”