Chapter 13 #2
Kinsley gave Darlene a moment to collect herself before pressing deeper.
The account matched the court transcripts and the original statement almost exactly, which in Kinsley’s experience could mean either an excellent memory or a story that had been rehearsed so many times it had calcified into a fixed shape.
But there were still details being left out, gaps that the original investigation had apparently never thought to explore.
“Thank you for being so thorough,” Kinsley said after a while.
“I know these aren’t easy memories to revisit.
Ms. Barrett, you mentioned that you were afraid Grant Tatlock would come after you, but I’d like you to think about something.
He didn’t call out to you. He didn’t chase you.
He didn’t try to flee the scene. When the police arrived, he was still there beside Iris’s body, and he didn’t resist arrest in the slightest. Does that sound like the behavior of someone who had just committed a murder and been caught in the act? ”
Darlene’s expression shifted from somber recollection to something closer to confusion. A small crease formed between her brows as she considered the question, tilting her head slightly as though hearing something she’d never been asked to listen for before.
“I... no one’s ever asked me that.” Darlene blinked rapidly, processing the implication. “I suppose I was afraid. I reacted on pure instinct. But you’re right. Grant never tried to approach me, not then and not after. He was just...there. Kneeling beside her. Almost like he was in shock.”
Kinsley noted the shift in language. Darlene had moved from describing Tatlock’s eyes as “wild” and “feral” to suggesting he might have been in shock.
The reframing was significant. It meant the memory wasn’t as fixed as it had initially appeared, and that the version Darlene had been telling herself for thirty years could bend under the right kind of pressure.
“You mentioned your daughter earlier,” Kinsley redirected gently. “What about a husband? Were you married back then?”
Darlene shook her head, a small, practiced movement that suggested she’d answered this question many times throughout her life.
“There’s never been a husband. It’s always been just Frannie and me.
” Darlene gestured vaguely around the kitchen.
“My parents bought this house for me a few weeks after Frannie was born. I know how that sounds, but they wanted to make sure their granddaughter was taken care of. I’m personally not wealthy like the Bells or the Kusmans.
Never have been. But we’ve always had enough, Frannie and I. ”
She nodded toward the pottery on the shelves.
“As you can see, I make pottery. I used to sell my pieces to some shops downtown, but the internet changed everything. I do quite well with my online sales now.”
Through an archway beyond the kitchen, Kinsley caught sight of what appeared to be a sunroom.
The space was flooded with afternoon light, illuminating two pottery wheels and several shelves of clay works at various stages of completion.
Some pieces were roughly formed, still bearing the marks of fingers and tools, while others awaited glazing, their surfaces smooth but unfinished.
Tools were carefully arranged on a nearby workbench, reflecting the ordered creativity of their owner.
The pottery wasn’t just a hobby. It was a livelihood, and Darlene had clearly built something substantial from it.
“I’d like to go back to that night, if you don’t mind,” Kinsley said, steering the conversation once more. “You mentioned walking from the block party to your house for the desserts. Did you see anyone else on the street during that walk?”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a small vertical line once again appeared between her brows.
She stared at Kinsley as though the question might be a trap, which was itself an interesting reaction.
An innocent inquiry about who else had been on the street shouldn’t have provoked wariness, and the fact that it did told Kinsley the answer mattered more than Darlene wanted it to.
“No one asked me that during the original investigation, either. I guess they were all so focused on what I saw inside the house.” Darlene seemed to be mentally retracing her steps from that evening, her gaze distant and unfocused.
“I did see a few people, now that I think about it, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Kinsley got the distinct impression that Darlene didn’t want to put anyone in the spotlight.
The vague phrasing, the qualifying language, the emphasis on nothing out of the ordinary.
She was minimizing before she’d even shared the details, and when it became clear she wasn’t going to volunteer names without prompting, Kinsley became more direct.
“Who did you see that night, Ms. Barrett?”
“Todd. Todd Kusman. Ginny’s husband.” Darlene delivered the name as though offering the least damaging option first. “He’d worked late that night. He was just getting home from the office.”
“Anyone else?”
“Mrs. Sadler,” Darlene said after another moment’s consideration. “She lived three doors down, but she passed away about ten years ago. I spotted her in front of me, walking slowly down the sidewalk on my side of the street.”
“And neither Todd nor Mrs. Sadler mentioned seeing anything unusual when they were questioned?” Kinsley asked. She didn’t recall their names appearing in the case file.
“I don’t think they were ever questioned,” Darlene replied with a frown.
The original investigation was looking increasingly narrow in its focus, potentially missing connections and alternative scenarios that a wider canvass of the neighborhood might have revealed.
Whether that was due to limited resources, pressure from the Bell family’s connections, or simple tunnel vision on the part of the investigating detective was something Kinsley hadn’t yet determined.
The lead detective on the case had long since retired from active duty, and tracking him down for a conversation about his methodology was already on her list.
Kinsley made a snap decision. She abandoned the gradual approach she’d been taking and went for a direct question that might shake loose something new.
“Ms. Barrett, were you aware that Iris was secretly recording private conversations and using those recordings to blackmail people?”
Kinsley could already imagine Captain Thompson’s reaction once he realized she’d disclosed that information to a witness, but she would deal with the fallout later today.
Richard Bell had been present when the duffel bag of cash was discovered, and he was under the impression that Kinsley would keep the details under wraps while she completed her preliminary investigation.
Sharing them with a neighbor was a calculated risk, but Kinsley had learned that such gambles were often the difference between an investigation that moved and one that stalled.
She was glad she’d taken it. Darlene’s body language transformed instantly.
Her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive posture, her shoulders rose, and her spine pressed flat against the chair back.
The soft reminiscence that had colored her features seconds ago disappeared, replaced by a wariness that tightened the skin around her eyes and hardened her mouth.
“You’re talking about Iris’s desire to become some type of investigative journalist,” Darlene said dismissively, but the slight downward inflection at the end betrayed the effort behind the casualness.
She was working to minimize, the same way she’d minimized the names on the street.
“Eden was furious when she discovered that Iris had been secretly recording some of her luncheons with her charitable board members. From my understanding, Iris promised her mother that she would stop invading people’s privacy. ”
Kinsley maintained steady eye contact, letting the silence stretch between them until the kitchen clock’s ticking became the loudest sound in the room. Darlene held out for several seconds, then shifted in her chair.
“We found twenty-seven cassette tapes hidden in the Bell attic,” Kinsley explained, her tone conversational despite the tension that now filled the space between them.
“If Iris promised her mother she would stop taping private conversations, she didn’t keep that promise.
She recorded conversations with family members, friends, neighbors, school administrators, and from what I can tell, anyone who came within range of her recorders. ”
Darlene’s fingers curled tightly around her upper arms, her knuckles whitening with pressure. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she remained silent.
“Forensics also discovered a duffel bag hidden behind a false wall in one of the bedroom closets. It contained approximately ten thousand dollars in cash.”
“I don’t know anything about a bag full of money,” Darlene said quickly, the denial arriving fast enough to suggest it was genuine.
“But you did know about the recordings.” Kinsley seized on the partial admission implied by the specificity of Darlene’s denial. “Didn’t you, Ms. Barrett?”
“Yes,” Darlene admitted after clearing her throat. The admission came out dry and reluctant. “Word had gotten around, and she wasn’t exactly subtle about it, at least not with certain people.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.” Darlene dropped her gaze to the pointed toe of her right heel. “Iris upset a lot of people in the neighborhood, but it was Grant who was leaning over her body that night, going through her pockets.”
“Ms. Barrett, please don’t make my job harder than it needs to be. Whatever it is you’re not telling me, I’ll find out eventually. I’d rather hear it from you.”
“Fine, but will you give me your word that you won’t say where you heard this?
” Darlene uncrossed her legs and planted the soles of her heels flat on the kitchen tile, a small act of defiance that suggested she was done being cooperative on Kinsley’s terms. She couldn’t offer that guarantee, and she was no longer inclined to guide this woman gently through the rest of the interview.
Darlene seemed to sense the shift, because she gave a small huff of irritation before continuing.
“Fine. If you must know, Iris had recorded Ginny on the phone with her personal trainer. Ginny and Todd were having some marital issues back then. Ginny didn’t want Todd finding out about the affair. ”
“How was Iris able to record such a conversation?”
“I don’t know, but Iris confronted Ginny with the recording.
Apparently, she’d said some pretty explicit things on that call, and Iris told her she’d play it for Todd unless Ginny gave her something in return.
” Darlene lifted her chin with a defensiveness that hadn’t been present earlier, as though disclosing her friend’s secret had shifted something fundamental in the room.
“Not money, though. Jewelry. Ruby earrings and a matching necklace that Todd had given Ginny for their tenth anniversary. They were expensive pieces.”
“And Ginny gave them to her?”
“What choice did she have?” Darlene’s loyalty to her friend was unmistakable.
“Iris was a seventeen-year-old girl with nothing to lose, and trust me, she’d smile sweetly while twisting the knife.
She knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew exactly how much power she held over people who had everything to protect. ”
“Yet you didn’t share any of this with the detective investigating the case thirty years ago,” Kinsley pointed out. She didn’t bother softening the observation. The time for gentle handling had passed. “Did Iris blackmail anyone else that you know of?”
“I can’t say for certain, but there were always rumors to that effect,” Darlene said, shifting in her chair as though preparing to bring the interview to an end.
“Look, Iris might have been a rebellious teenager. And yes, she was wrong to use private conversations as leverage against people. But no one deserves to die like that. No one deserves to be found at the bottom of a staircase with their head split open.”
The way Darlene’s voice caught on the last sentence told Kinsley the emotion was genuine. Whatever else Darlene Barrett was holding back, her sorrow over Iris’s death was real. Kinsley sat quietly for a moment, turning over the second half of their conversation in her mind.
Darlene had known about the recordings.
She’d known about the blackmail.
She’d protected her friend Ginny’s secret for three decades. And she’d presented all of it only under direct pressure, which meant there was likely more she hadn’t offered yet.
One thing stood out, and Kinsley wasn’t sure whether the omission had been intentional or not.
Darlene had described Iris’s blackmail of Ginny in vivid detail, with the kind of specificity that came from firsthand knowledge rather than secondhand gossip.
She’d known what was on the recording, what Iris had demanded in return, and how Ginny had felt about it.
There was one more question worth asking.
“Did Iris want something from you, Ms. Barrett?”