“So there weren’t any lights in the stable?”
“They weren’t working.”
“The circuit breaker had flipped,” Rossi interjected.
“What?” Shannon asked.
“The reason the lights wouldn’t come on in the stable was that the bank of circuit breakers for the building had either tripped off, maybe because of the fire, I don’t know, or someone had switched them off intentionally. Did you flip the breakers?”
“No, of course not…”
Janowitz said, “The breakers had flipped in the kennels, too.”
Shannon’s heart nearly stopped. How premeditated had the attack been? How long had the guy been watching her? Walking on her property? Setting this up? She shivered as if the room temperature had dropped twenty degrees.
The arson wasn’t what was the most terrifying; she’d suspected that someone had intentionally set the blaze—a “firebug” as her father used to call them. But the fact that she, personally, had been targeted, that was something else.
“Ms. Flannery,” Detective Janowitz asked, her voice a little softer, “do you have any enemies, anyone who would want to hurt you?”
Shannon closed her eyes. A dozen names came to mind, people who had hurled insults at her. Slurs. Thought she’d literally “gotten away with murder” three years ago. She’d thought—no, hoped—that most of the bitterness and hatred had eased over the years…Now she wasn’t so sure. A headache pounded despite the IV drip with its painkiller. All the old feelings, the anger, the grief, the fear, converged on her again. Who would want to see her harmed? Where did she begin? Ryan’s family would be a good start. His mother, father and assorted cousins had sworn vengeance after the trial. His girlfriend, Wendy Ayers, had nearly spat on Shannon after the verdict was announced. Wendy clearly had considered Ryan hers even though Shannon was still married to him at the time of his death.
And there had been others as well, people he’d known, worked with, friends who couldn’t believe a man with his Irish charm and good looks could ever raise his voice, let alone his fist, to his wife…
Her stomach knotted with the memories. “You work with my brother, Shea. I think he can give you a list.”
Janowitz wasn’t about to be put off. She stepped a little closer, a pucker forming between her dark eyebrows. “But how about you? Who do you think would want to do you harm? An ex-lover, or someone you worked with? What about Nate Santana? He was supposed to be gone that night, but he suddenly showed up.”
“It wasn’t Nate,” Shannon said firmly, though deep inside, didn’t she, too, have questions about the man she’d hired, the man she’d spent so many hours with, the man who told her so little of his past? She knew he cared for her, though, and couldn’t believe he would be a part of this kind of violence…or could he?
“Are you involved with anyone?”
“No…not now. My ex-husband, Ryan Carlyle, is dead, but I’m sure you know all about that.”
“What about the father of the child you gave up for adoption?”
“Brendan?” She let out a quick little snort of disgust. “He took off when I told him I was pregnant, nearly fourteen years ago. Never heard from him again. His parents said he went to Central or South America.”
“No other boyfriends?”
She shook her head and felt herself color. “Nothing serious. I’ve been involved with two men since…since Ryan’s death. The first man, Reggie Maxwell, said he was from LA, turned out he lived over in Santa Rosa, with his wife and three kids. As soon as I found out, I ended it.” Her hand fisted at the memory, the fury and embarrassment of being duped.
“And the other guy?”
“Keith Lewellyn, a lawyer from San Francisco. Corporate law. We dated five, maybe six times. Neither of us was that interested in the other. It died a natural and quick death. The people who have the most ill feelings toward me are Ryan’s friends and family.”
Janowitz waited, pen poised.
Rossi stroked that bit of beard.
The recorder kept taping.
“I’m sure you realize that I was accused of murdering my husband,” she said quietly, her fingers twisting the hem of her sheet. “Donald Berringer was the lead prosecutor. I was found innocent but a lot of people weren’t happy with the verdict, including Berringer. For nearly a year I got hate mail and of course my husband’s family was up in arms.” She cleared her throat, looked directly at the two detectives. “I received death threats. I reported them.”
“Do you know who sent any of them?”
She grimaced, then told them about Ryan’s family, especially his first cousins, the Carlyle siblings, who had been so vocal in their belief that she had killed him. Liam had written letters to the editor of the local paper. Kevin had glared at her whenever he saw her, purposely intimidating her. Mary Beth, Shannon’s sister-in-law, had accused her of murder and testified against her. And e
ven the usually quiet Margaret had shunned her.