“That’s what the undersheriff ordered.”
“That would be Cort Brewster, right?”
“He’s in charge temporarily,” Pescoli put in as she stepped off the porch herself.
“Can you give me an update on Sheriff Grayson?” Honey asked Pescoli in her cheery voice.
“Again, you can ask all your questions of the public information officer this evening,” Alvarez put in firmly before Pescoli could respond.
Honey wasn’t about to be denied. “You aren’t going to tell me anything? Like, how the judge was killed?”
Alvarez shook her head.
“Were the two attacks, one on the sheriff and then the judge, linked?”
Alvarez didn’t budge. “You can ask the public information officer.”
Honey glanced at Pescoli, who stared back. She must’ve seen the don’t-even-think-about-it censure in her eyes because she finally gave up and said, “Okay, Ralph,” to a hefty guy hauling a camera on his shoulders. “Let’s take some exteriors. House and grounds. I’ll give a short report and we’ll edit it in with footage from the conference.”
She was clearly disappointed but went about her business, standing in front of the house, talking into a microphone with snow falling all around her.
Pescoli and Alvarez talked to some of the members of the crime scene unit and then, once the news van was gone and the techs were packing it in, they headed out toward their vehicle. Just as they reached the street, a woman, dressed in a long black coat, hurried out of the house two doors down. Tall and wasp-thin, she was holding a broad-brimmed hat to her head as she walked swiftly through the swirling snow toward them.
“I’m Claudia Dubois, I live two doors down, right over there.” She pointed a long finger at the Georgian house from which she’d just appeared. Built of brick, with evenly spaced windows and pillars supporting a small front porch, it was more elaborately lit than the judge’s.
Pescoli and Alvarez had barely introduced themselves when she broke in, “I can’t tell you how devastated Barry and I are! That’s Doctor Baron Dubois. We adored Kathryn, and spent so much time wi
th her and her family while the kids were growing up. While George was alive, we would play cards or go to movies. Oh, my. Then things changed, of course. Kathryn moved on. Dabbled at dating.”
“Was she seeing anyone?”
“Now? Oh, Lord, I don’t know. She was always tightlipped about that sort of thing.” She was on a roll and wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “Winston, well, he always was an odd child, very withdrawn, and now he’s married to that awful woman. Kathryn didn’t like Cecilia much, let me tell you, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” She blinked rapidly, her lashes thick with mascara, her gray eyes shadowed. “It’s just such a shame!” Her hat threatened to blow off again and she clamped it down with a bony hand.
“What about her maid? She had one?” Alvarez asked.
“Donna? Oh, yes. Lovely girl.”
Pescoli asked, “Does Donna live around here?” Claudia, still holding tight to her hat, shrugged as if it didn’t matter. Her lips pursed and she declared, “I hope you catch that pervert!”
“What pervert?” Alvarez asked.
“The one who’s been stalking her. Or, us. I’m telling you it’s unnerving.”
“Who is he?” Alvarez demanded.
“Well, I don’t know his name or I would tell you,” she said, a little ticked. “We’ve seen him, in the park. He seems to be casing the houses. Ours. Kathryn’s. The Millers.” She indicated a tall house with a turret that stood between her house and the judge’s. It was dark aside from the Christmas lights. “The Millers, they’re still out of town. Skiing in Utah. Been gone since before Christmas.” Her hand went to her mouth. “I bet Velma doesn’t even know about Kathryn unless she saw it on the news . . . oh, my.” She was clearly worried sick. “But the man who was watching our houses . . . he obviously keyed in on Kathryn’s place.”
“This man. The stalker. You think he’s dangerous, that he could be the one who killed her?” Pescoli asked, making a note to check with the Millers as well as the other people on the block.
“I’m saying it’s a strong possibility.” She craned her head to look over her shoulder and across the street to the park.
Pescoli asked, “Did he ever talk to the judge, accost her?”
“No . . . not that she said to me.” Claudia faced them once more.
“Did he ever approach anyone that you know of?” Alvarez asked.
“No, no . . .” She bit the corner of her lip. “It was just . . . well, he acted so strange.”