Angel of the Dark

“The better the picture we can build up of your life together, the easier it’ll be for us to figure out who might have done this. And why.”

She considered this, nodding thoughtfully. “All right. Well, what would you like to know?”

“Let’s begin at the beginning. How did the two of you meet?”

“At an art class at UCLA.”

Her eyes lit up at the memory and Danny thought, My God, she really did love him.

“It wasn’t a regular degree course or anything. Just a night class I was taking. I used to enjoy art when I was in high school. Not that I was ever very good at it.” It astonished Danny how such a gorgeous

woman could have so little self-confidence, but Angela Jakes always seemed to be putting herself down.

“Where did you go to high school?” he asked idly.

“Beverly Hills High. Why?”

“No reason. Just curious. It’s a bad habit we detectives have.”

“Of course.” She smiled again. Danny’s stomach flipped like a pancake. “Anyway, Andrew came to UCLA to give a talk about the art business. How to get a gallery to look at your work, that sort of thing. What attracts collectors. He was so smart and funny. We just clicked right away.”

Danny tried to picture Old Man Jakes and an even younger version of Angela “just clicking.” It wasn’t easy.

“Did your husband have any enemies that you were aware of?”

“None.” Her tone was firm, almost defiant.

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure. Andrew was a sweetheart. Everybody loved him.”

Not everybody. Danny tried another tack. “On the night of the murder, I don’t know if you remember this, but you kept saying something.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. You repeated the same words over and over.”

She looked at him blankly.

“‘I have no life.’ That was the phrase you used. Can you think why you might have said that?”

She hesitated. “Not really. Only that when I met Andrew, he gave me a life. He rescued me. So perhaps I said ‘I have no life’ because I knew it was the end.”

“The end?”

“The end of the peace and happiness I had known with Andrew. But I don’t remember saying those words, Detective. I don’t remember anything except Andrew and the blood. And you.”

“You say your husband rescued you? From what?” asked Danny.

Angela stared awkwardly into her lap. “An unhappy situation.”

Danny knew he ought to press her, but he couldn’t bear to upset her again. Clearly she didn’t want to talk about it. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

“I see. And what about you, Mrs. Jakes?”

“Me?”

“Was there anyone who might conceivably have held a grudge against you, personally?”