“I have it,” I said when he answered.
“I’m right around the corner. I’ll pick you up in half a minute.”
Judge Harris Roth lived in Ruby Estates, about half a mile down the road from the Sharps. Just a short walk for the judge to get some action, I thought sourly as we drove past the sweeping staircase and ostentatious landscaping of the Sharp residence. Roth’s house wasn’t on the lake-front like Davis Sharp’s, but he had a double lot that was still mostly woods in the back half. The house itself was large but didn’t have the feel of plantation-wannabe that Sharp’s did. The Roth house reminded me of an English country home—a two-story structure with stone exterior. I could see myself living in a place like this—lovely, tranquil, and quiet.
But not so tranquil right now. An ambulance with lights flashing was just pulling out of the long driveway as we approached. Ryan and I exchanged a troubled look.
“Bad feeling,” he stated.
“Ditto,” I replied.
My bad feeling wasn’t helped by the sight of another ambulance by the house.
“Very bad feeling,” I said.
Ryan parked out of the way of the ambulance. We got out and jogged up the broad front steps. I had the strong impression I wasn’t going to need the buccal swab warrant after all.
The door was wide open, so we walked right in. Inside, we could see paramedics clustered around a supine figure. A blond woman I didn’t recognize stood off to the side, wringing her hands.
It was Harris Roth on the floor. Quite dead too, though I doubted that the paramedics had accepted the fact yet. But I could feel it.
“He’s not the one,” I said to Ryan in a low, rough voice. “Not unless he ripped his own essence out.”
Ryan swore under his breath. I forced myself to step closer to the body so that I could approach the woman. “Ma’am? I’m Detective Gillian with Beaulac PD. Can you please tell me who you are and what’s going on?”
The woman gulped and gave me a jerky nod. “I’m Connie Cavendish. I live across the street,” she gestured with a fluttering hand in a direction toward the front door, “and I’m friends with Rachel. We sometimes walk together. Oh, my God, is he going to be okay?”
“The paramedics are working on him. He’s going to be fine,” I lied. I took her gently by the arm and steered her in the direction I figured the kitchen to be. Fortunately I’d guessed correctly, and a few seconds later I directed her into a chair at the kitchen table. “Ms. Cavendish, can you tell me what happened?”
Connie Cavendish twisted her hands together. “They … Rachel and Harris had a big fight. It’s been so hard for them ever since Brian killed his wife and himself.” She gulped and her eyes grew wide. “I mean, that’s what everyone thought happened.”
I fought the urge to shake her. “Yes, ma’am. What happened here? Where is Rachel Roth now?”
Connie took a shuddering breath. “I was in my house and I heard someone screaming. I looked out my door and Rachel was in the front yard, totally hysterical. So I ran to see what was wrong.” She rubbed her arms, eyes still wide. “I couldn’t understand her at first. Then finally I got that someone had called Harris to tell him that the police were on their way, about Carol.” She paused to give Ryan and me an almost-accusing stare. I returned the look with a steely-eyed one of my own, and she dropped her gaze back to her hands in her lap. “Rachel heard it, heard the conversation. She said she and Harris got into a fight.” Connie’s lip quivered. “Rachel kept saying, ‘He killed his own son to protect himself, he killed her and killed his son.’” Her shoulders shook, and she looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “What kind of monster would kill his own son?”
I was beginning to suspect what kind of monster, and I was fairly positive that it wasn’t Harris Roth. “Where is Rachel now?”
“Oh, God. She was shrieking about him killing his son, then said that he’d collapsed, so I ran to the house and saw that he was on the floor. I … I guess he had a heart attack during the argument. I called 911. Poor Rachel was so hysterical. Full-blown panic attack. I didn’t have any of my Xanax with me, and I couldn’t find any in her bathroom here.” The woman looked utterly appalled and baffled that anyone wouldn’t have a ready supply of Xanax in their house. “So I called 911 again and told them that they needed to send another ambulance. They left a few minutes ago with her.”
I turned and hurried to the living room. Ryan stood beyond the kitchen, arms folded across his chest and a dark expression on his face. “It’s Rachel?”
“Has to be. Hang on a sec.” I moved over to where Harris lay on the floor. The paramedics had ceased their efforts to revive him, so I didn’t feel too bad about pushing in and crouching by the body. I ignored the startled looks as I quickly rummaged through the dead man’s pockets.
My hand closed on what I was looking for. “I’m with the PD. I’m just borrowing this,” I explained to the staring paramedics, then I sprang to my feet and returned to Ryan. I jerked my head toward the front door, and together we ran back to his car. “Harris didn’t kill his own son. She killed Brian, cleaning up her husband’s mess after he screwed up and accidentally killed his girlfriend.”
Ryan made a face. “He really was fucking his son’s wife?”
I snorted. “From what I hear, he was fucking anything in a skirt.” Another realization hit me. “Crap, including Laurent’s secretary, I betcha.”
Ryan gave me a questioning look as we climbed into his car.
“I know Laurent wouldn’t have called and warned Roth. He hates him. Thought he was dirty and a lecherous slimeball.”
“Sounds like a good judge of character.”
“No kidding! And I know that my sergeant wouldn’t have called him, so the only other person who knew was Laurent’s secretary. Who happens to be young, pretty, and ambitious.”
Ryan glanced at the cell phone I’d retrieved from Harris’s pocket. “Taking up thieving, are we?”