I got the message and came right over.”
“Couldn’t it have waited till morning?” she asked.
“Yes. It could have. But I was planning to take my kids fishing today. I wanted to wrap it up tonight so I’d have the day to myself.” He sighed. “Best laid plans.”
The woman seemed to look right through him. “I’m sure Abigail Reese didn’t plan on getting killed, either.”
It was at best a sarcastic remark, and he could have argued the point. But for the moment, at least, she held the power. Better to let that lie, wait for her to realize she’d stepped out of line, and be ready to take advantage when she apologized.
“Point taken, Detective.”
But she didn’t apologize. She didn’t even seem to care that she might have crossed a line. Dangerous woman. She continued looking right through him and asked, “Weren’t you afraid that coming into the house this late at night would wake the nanny?”
He shook his head, fists clenching inside his pockets. “Abby didn’t have the best hearing. She wasn’t stone deaf or anything, but I’ve come and gone before while she was sleeping.”
“And you have a key, and you know the alarm code.”
“Yes, exactly for purposes like this. The senator has an office at the back of the house.”
She didn’t say anything but simply turned to look at the brass dead bolt. Damn! He hadn’t thought of that. There was no evidence of tampering. Shit!
She turned to him again. “Was the alarm on when you got here?”
He thought rapidly, then decided the truth was best on this one. “No.”
“Did you find that odd?”
“Not necessarily. Abby sometimes forgets about it.” That, too, was true. Grant had complained about it once, because he was concerned that she forgot it when his children were home.
“And you know that how?”
“Because the senator complained to me about it once.”
She nodded, for the moment giving him the feeling she was accepting his explanations. “How did you enter?”
“Through the front door. As I always do.”
“And then?”
“I turned on the foyer lights and headed back toward the office. But as I was passing the living room—” He broke off, and this time he wasn’t pretending anything. His throat tightened, and his face stiffened with the memory. “I…smelled it.”
She nodded again. She knew what he meant, apparently. “Then?”
“I turned on the lights, and…my God…” He couldn’t continue. He honestly couldn’t continue as he recalled those first few minutes when he had stared into an abattoir and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It had been so alien to his experience that for a while the images wouldn’t even resolve into anything recognizable. And then…
He turned sharply away from the detective, forcing himself to draw steadying breaths, not wanting her or anyone else to see him break down. The ugliness. The horror. There were no words.
“Mr. Connally,” said the woman behind him, “how long was it before you called us?”
2
Grant watched the water drip from his face into the sink. The bitter taste was still strong in his mouth, despite two rinses of mouthwash. The face he saw in the mirror had neither the energy of youth nor the wisdom of age. It was pale, drawn, eyes red-rimmed.
He drew a deep breath. He had to do something.
What would he tell the girls? They’d called Abby last night, before bed, just to say hi, they’d said. He couldn’t remember a night when they’d been away from Abby and hadn’t called her. It was as much a part of their bedtime ritual as hugs and brushing their teeth and him tucking them in. What would he tell them?
He had to get back to Tampa. That much was certain. Call his parents. That was the next step. Tell them what had happened and ask them to take the girls. One thing at a time, he told himself. One thing at a time.
His father’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Dad,” he began, and stopped. Saying that one word broke the last wall of reserve. Sobs tore from his chest.
“Son? What’s wrong?”
“Abby…Abby.”
His father knew. His father had always known. “Oh, son. Oh.”
In the background, Grant heard his mother stirring, asking what was wrong. “Dad, can I bring the girls home?”
The answer was immediate and reassuring. “Come home, son. Bring the girls. Your mother and I will start getting ready now.”
“I loved her,” Grant said, his voice breaking.
“We all did, Grant. Bring the girls. We’ll be ready.”
Jerry Connally shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, Detective. I mean, I know it’s the wrong thing to do, but I looked through the house first, to see if he— I’m guessing he’s a man—was still here. I could tell she was dead, but I checked anyway.”
“Before or after you checked the house?” Karen asked.
“I think before. I’m not sure.” He paused. “It’s funny. I’ve seen in a hundred TV shows where someone finds a dead body and panics and does something stupid. I always thought it was a bad plot device. And I guess I went and did the same damn thing.”
“So you approached the body?”
“Yes. I tried to find a pulse.” He looked down at his hand and shuddered. He met her eyes. “You check the pulse in the neck. That’s where it’s strongest. Easiest to find. I…”
Karen watched his ashen features. It wasn’t hard to see what had happened. Looking at a horrific wound was bad enough. Touching it would turn even the strongest of stomachs. She merely nodded and let him talk.
He seemed to study the floor for a moment. “I guess I checked her and then the house. Those footprints would be mine. Some of them, anyway. Maybe some of his, too. I just don’t know, Detective. I wish I did.”
He was a man transformed, Karen thought. Either he was a hell of an actor or the scene really had horrified him. Neither would prove his guilt or innocence. But the emotions rang true.
“You checked the house and then called?”
She saw the pause flicker over his face. Something he was keeping back. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to say. “I think I tried to call Senator Lawrence first. I don’t know what time that was, but my cell phone records would show it.”
“You called the senator
