"We'll go by the University after we meet with Edwards,” Raj said, when Sarah answered his impatient knock on her front door. She'd made a point of locking it, and he'd made his irritation plain when she finally let him in. “I want to talk to Trish's roommate, too,” he continued. “You can call ahead and make sure she's there."
Sarah gave him a dark look. “Who put you in charge of this partnership? Maybe I had something else in mind."
"Did you?” he asked curiously.
She pursed her lips in annoyance and stomped over to pick up her coat from the back of the couch where she'd thrown it earlier. “No,” she snapped and began yanking the coat up her arms. She was surprised when Raj took it from her, sliding it over her arms gracefully, his hands remaining on her shoulders a few seconds too long.
She shivered and he lifted his hands immediately.
"We'll take my car,” he said, holding the door open. He cocked one eyebrow. “That is, unless you have another plan?"
She stuck out her tongue as she walked past him, startling a short bark of real laughter from him. Apparently even Raj could be surprised. Good to know.
It was a half hour drive to the Edwards's house, which was a sprawling ranch-style on a big double lot out in one of Buffalo's many suburbs. This particular suburb had a faux-country theme, with white rail fences and wide stretches of lawn that would hold six houses in other parts of the county.
"Do the Edwards have children?” Sarah asked as they pulled into the U-shaped driveway.
"No. They have careers.” He glanced over to find her eying the house doubtfully. “You don't approve?"
"I don't really care either way, as long as they're happy. It's just, I look at this huge house and try to imagine the two of them roaming around inside. They could probably go days without seeing each other."
"Maybe that's what's happened. Maybe Estelle's actually working somewhere inside the house and Dr. Edwards doesn't even know it.” He turned off the engine. “Let's go."
The house was all lit up, both inside and out. It was a single story, probably with a basement, but the ceilings were high and the windows took advantage of that, reaching from close to the ground to nearly the roof line. Tall double doors were flanked by clouded cut glass panes, and they could see someone moving around inside when they rang the doorbell.
"I'll take the lead,” Sarah said. “He's probably upset, and a woman—"
Raj snorted. “For all you know this guy killed his wife. The husband's always the prime suspect in cases like this."
She eyed him thoughtfully. “You're either a big fan of cop shows . . .” Raj rolled his eyes. “Or you haven't told me all of your secrets."
He gave her a dry look.
"Okay, so you haven't told me any of your secrets. But you will,” she said confidently. “People always—"
The front door opened, interrupting whatever it was that people always did in Sarah's world. Donald Edwards was only a bit shorter than Raj, but looked half his weight. Brown corduroy slacks, a white shirt and a gray wool cardigan hung loosely on a heavy-boned frame, as if he'd either been ill or lost weight recently. His hair was black and cut close to his head, liberally sprinkled with strands of silver.
"Doctor Edwards?” Sarah said. “I'm Sarah Stratton. I believe you're expecting us?” She held out a hand, which Edwards stared at blankly, as if he didn't know quite what to do with it. When he finally responded, it was slow and methodical, a loose grip that he released almost immediately.
Sarah gave Raj a troubled glance.
"Raymond Gregor,” Raj said, holding out his hand in turn. Edwards's handshake came faster this time, as if having done it already with Sarah, he was reminded of the proper response. Long thin fingers wrapped around Raj's and he could feel the heat and pulse beneath the man's skin.
They waited for Edwards to say something, to invite them in or maybe send them away. “Detective Scavetti told us he'd called you?” Raj reminded him.
The man's brown eyes shifted to him and he nodded. “Yes, of course. Come in,” he said. He walked away from the door, giving them room to enter. His voice was dry with disuse. This was either a man in deep mourning for his missing wife, or one who was hitting the pharmaceuticals a little too hard.
They followed him into a sitting area just beyond the foyer. It was an odd room, big and high-ceilinged, with a sunken center that featured an L-shaped couch and several chairs, as well as a fireplace. A wide screen television sat to one side, positioned so that it was inconvenient to almost every seat in the room. Edwards sat in a chair far too small for his height and gestured toward the adjacent couch.
Sarah sat on the edge of the cushion, radiating concern, her knees together, hands clasped, body leaning slightly forward. Raj sat on the arm of the couch close to her. He wasn't getting a clear vibe from Edwards and it made him nervous.
"Is she dead?” Edwards's face held no expression. He didn't even glance at Raj, but stared at Sarah, as if knowing she was the one who would deliver the bad news.
"No! Oh, no, Dr. Edwards.” Sarah reached out one hand to touch his knobby, corduroy-clothed knee. Raj had to restrain himself from snatching her hand back when it lingered long enough for her to say, “I'm so sorry. We're not here for that."
Edwards's whole body seemed to collapse. Raj smelled the tears before he saw them leaking from beneath the man's closed eyelids. Scavetti had been wrong about this half of the Edwards marriage. This man loved his wife.
"I'm so sorry. Detective Scavetti should have told you,” Sarah added grimly. “We don't—"