hallway outside her room. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
He lowers his head to her hand and plants a kiss on her pale knuckles, then follows us into the hall.
“Did your lawyer inform you of what’s been going on?” Patel asks.
“Not really.” Michael shoves his hands in his jeans. “He just said I was free to go, and Colleen was here. I came as fast as I could.”
“Your girlfriend suffered a traumatic incident,” Patel says dryly. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
At the mention of her name, we all look into Colleen’s room.
“Although she’s been in and out of consciousness since she arrived here,” my partner goes on, “the recording she had on her phone, along with Rachael’s testimony, gave us a good picture of what happened. I’m sure she’ll share all the details when she’s feeling stronger, but from what we can piece together, Dean Lewis murdered your wife. It sounds like jealousy drove him to it. Apparently he and Joanna were having an affair, and he couldn’t handle the fact that she wouldn’t run away with him.”
“Dean killed Joanna?” Michael shakes his head. “No. Not possible.”
“Afraid it’s true,” I respond. “Your wife’s wedding ring was found in one of the cabinets in his parking garage. There were a few shovels in there as well. We’re waiting on DNA results, but we’re fairly certain we’ve found the murder weapon.”
Michael blinks at me, disbelieving.
“We still have to fill in some holes,” Patel continues. “Dean Lewis’s body was discovered in the wine cellar of your home. There was a near-lethal dose of sedatives in his veins. Looks like he and your girlfriend got into some kind of scuffle. Maybe she confronted him with what she suspected and he knew he had to silence her. The gist of it is that he had some kind of a psychotic break and fell down the stairs. Cracked his head on the tile. Knocked him out cold. When Rachael saw the smoke and came in to rescue your wife—”
“Rachael?” Michael repeats, seemingly having trouble catching his breath. “Rachael pulled Colleen from the fire?”
Patel’s eyes shift to mine, as if to ask which one of us should handle this part.
“That’s right. Rachael said she was on her way to San Francisco when she realized she’d forgotten something at home. She turned around, drove back, and noticed the smoke. It’s too bad she didn’t arrive sooner. Another few minutes might’ve made the difference in saving your home.”
“My lawyer told me about Ravenwood,” Michael says grimly.
“You can always rebuild,” I offer, though I know it’s not helpful. Patel and I had visited the smoking ruins that morning. There wasn’t much left. “We’re still waiting for the fire department to determine the cause, but they’re pretty sure it started in the kitchen.”
“None of that matters now,” Michael says, and I believe him. “I don’t give a damn about Ravenwood, or the property, and I don’t give a damn about Dean—not if he did what you say he did. The doctors say Colleen has some bruising, and her leg is broken, but other than that, she and the baby are going to be fine. That’s the most important thing.” He pauses, and then asks, “How’s Rachael? Is she okay?”
“They admitted her overnight, as a precaution,” I answer. “She left earlier today. No major injuries, but she’s spooked.”
“Pulling your friend out of a fire—and having to leave somebody else behind—might do that to you,” Patel interjects.
“She gave us a number for us to reach her if we had any questions,” I add. “From what I understand, she’s left her husband. She’ll be staying in the city for now.”
Michael blows out a shaky breath. I swear he appears twenty years older than the day we met.
“So, what now?” he asks, staring into her room.
“We’ll finish our investigation, tie up any loose ends,” I say. “They’ll keep Colleen here for observation, to make