“I could get in trouble for this.” She looked from one police officer to another. “All right, his name is Mr. Walter Peters, and he rents the conference room under the company Lakewood Properties, Inc. He really is a great customer, always prompt in payment, I heard our accountant mentioning it last month. Also, he’s neat and keeps the conference room clean.”

“Is it possible to get his home address?”

Chapter Forty-Five

When Theo and Dorland arrived at Mr. Peter’s residence they had difficulty finding a space to park, for cars surrounded the drive and all spots along the street were occupied.

“It looks as if the Peter’s family is having a party,” remarked Dorland. As he said this, another car drove past and parked, partially blocking the street. A husband, wife, and two children, all dressed in dark clothing, walked toward the house.

“I don’t think it’s a party, Dorland, not so early in the day. I think we’ve stumbled upon a funeral. Do you think this is related to Sharon? Would he have a funeral for her?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

They went up to the large house and knocked on the finely etched glass door. They waited for a few moments but no one answered. Theo turned the handle and found it unlocked. Many voices came from within the house. They walked through the grand foyer and into the living room. It was a funeral, but not for Sharon. A large picture of a woman was displayed on an easel. In front, on a small round table, sat papers with details of the deceased—Marjorie Peters. Were they looking at two deaths?

“Excuse me,” Theo asked one of the men standing nearby, “we are looking for Mr. Walter Peters. Have you seen him?”

The man pointed at the fireplace where a man in his forties stood with his arm around a young girl about the age of eleven or twelve. “There he is.”

“Thank you.”

They walked to Walter, who was accepting condolences. Theo joined the line and when he finally faced him, said, “I too am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Peters said without any change in expression. “Thank you for coming. It would have meant a great deal to her.”

“Mr. Peters, my name is Theo Blackwell, Detective Chief Inspector Blackwell. I’m wondering if you had a couple of minutes to answer a few questions.”

He looked at them blankly. “What is it about? Is it related to my wife’s death?”

“We didn’t know your wife had passed away until we arrived. We actually would like to talk to you about another important matter. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

“It’s really not a good time.” His daughter began to cry.

“All right,” said Theo. He took his card from his pocket and handed it to the grieving man. “Please call me as soon as you can. It’s really important.” Theo tapped Dorland’s arm as they walked away. “If he doesn’t ring us by tomorrow, we’ll return.”

On the way from the house, Theo asked the man he had talked to before, “Excuse me, can you tell me how Mrs. Peters died?”

“She had a heart attack.” He seemed shocked that someone would ask.

“And when did this happen?”

“Saturday afternoon.”

“Are you sure?”

The man glared at him. “Of course I’m sure. Who are you?”

Theo didn’t reply. He didn’t want to say too much until he had a chance to speak with Mr. Peters.

The man stood there, open-mouthed, as they walked away.

Mr. Peters did not call the detectives back the next day, so Theo and Dorland returned to the house. Only two cars sat in the drive. Theo pulled in behind them. An old woman opened the door when they rang the bell.

After making introductions and showing ID, the woman replied, “Let me see if Mr. Peters is available.”

A few minutes later she returned and escorted them to his library. Mr. Peters sat alone on the sofa looking through cards of consolation.

“Mr. Peters,” Theo started, “we’re sorry to have to come at a time like this, and you may find our questions impertinent.”

“Does any of this have to do with my wife’s death?”

“No. We’re here about a young woman named Sharon Yoder. Have you heard of her?”

Mr. Peters sat there quietly. “I know her. She has come to a few of my lectures,” he whispered. “Why do you ask?”

“So you didn’t know her well.”

He didn’t reply.

“The reason we’re asking is because we found a picture of you on her bedside table. We’re sure it’s you in the photo.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, that’s me. Why are you asking these questions?”

“We found Sharon dead in her apartment earlier this week. She had been stabbed.”

He dropped the cards onto the floor. “I don’t understand. How could this have happened? I don’t understand.” He kept shaking his head repeatedly. “I don’t understand. Is this your idea of a sick joke?” He rose and went over to the patio door that led from the library into the back garden. “When did she die?”

“On Saturday.”

“That’s the day my wife died. How can this have happened? No, this isn’t happening.”

“How did your wife die?”

“She had a heart attack,” he replied slowly, rubbing his head, trying to take it all in. “I mean, she’s always had problems with her heart. Are you saying she’s been murdered too?”

“We haven’t considered the possibility that these two deaths are connected. But, we need to know, has there been any sort of threat against you or your family or Ms. Yoder?”

“No. This is all ridiculous.”

“Were you having a relationship with Ms. Yoder?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone know about it?”

“No, we were very careful.”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Almost eight months.”

“Are you sure your wife never suspected?”

He remained quiet for a few minutes in contemplation. “I don’t think so. She never said anything to me. We were having problems—that’s not why I started the affair, but it contributed to the continuation of it. My wife, she never . . . she worked a lot. It was one source of angst between the two of us. I wanted her to work less, she worked more.”

“We saw you yesterday with a young girl, was that your daughter?”

“No. She was the daughter of my wife’s brother, but we’re very close. He will often stay here with us, he’s currently going through a nasty divorce and he takes refuge with us here. My wife and her niece got on well. Why do you ask?”

“Will your wife undergo an autopsy?”

“No, there was no reason to. She had a heart attack at her office, in front of one of her patients. Her last words were, ‘I’m having a heart attack.’”

Theo sighed. There was a part of him that wanted the two deaths to be linked. It would provide more to go on. “I’m sure the two deaths were unrelated, but we may need to perform an autopsy in the future. Will she be buried or cremated?”

“Buried. Tomorrow.”

“Well, then. I may have to ask you to hold off on the burial for a day or two.” He instructed Dorland to take down the information as to where the body was being held. Dorland left the room to use the phone. “It’s too much of a coincidence that they both died on the same day.”

Mr. Peters nodded.

“What were you doing when your wife and Ms. Yoder died?”

“You think I murdered them?”

He sat back stunned. It was like it was the first time he had considered the fact.

“I was at work all day,” he finally whispered. “We had to work Saturday and none of the employees were happy about it. They can verify.”

“Thank you,” replied Blackwell. “Before we go, we need to know: was Sharon the only person you were having an affair with? There were no other women?”

“No. Only Sharon and she was my first.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

Chapter Forty-Six

The ninth floor of the office complex where Sharon Yoder worked was extremely busy. People were coming and going, and everyone was talking. Talking to co-workers, talking on their mobiles, and talking to themselves. Theo shifted uneasily at the reception counter. He had stopped in for a haircut before coming, and both short and long pieces of hair were sticking out from his olive-colored dress shirt. He wished he’d stopped by home and changed before trying the workplace.