a hallway to an empty classroom where Carl Logan, the chief of police, and Hoppy Durden, ace homicide detective, were waiting with two technicians from the crime lab.
Quick introductions were made, with Butler taking charge. First, they wanted to videotape the statements from Bruce, Bob, and Nick, so a camera and lights were set up in one corner. Bruce and Nick went first. While they answered the same questions, Bob walked across the hall with the two technicians. Using a fourteen-inch laptop, they began working on a composite photo of Ingrid. Butler interviewed Polly and quizzed her about the family and as much of Nelson’s background as possible. He did not ask her about the current novel. When she asked if they found the hard drive, he wouldn’t answer. Half an hour later, the technicians printed a color rendering of Ingrid, and Bob was amazed at the likeness. He warned them, though, that the blond hair was fake.
The woman, whoever she was, looked to be around forty, as Bob had been saying, with high cheekbones, twinkling hazel eyes, long blond hair on the darker side, a comely smile that would invite men of all ages to sit right down and buy her a drink. Gawking at the composite, Bruce found it hard to believe that this lovely creature was capable of such a vicious murder. Poison, maybe, but not a beating with a blunt weapon.
Polly was asked if she wanted to view any of the photographs of her brother on his patio. She said no, she was not ready for that. Butler briefly reviewed the autopsy findings with Bruce and Polly, and downplayed the gruesome parts. Not surprisingly, they had so far found no witnesses, no neighbors who saw anyone coming or going during the storm.
All the neighbors were gone, Bruce thought, but said nothing. He listened as he and Nick were fingerprinted. Because Bob was a felon, his were already on file.
When the videotaping was finished, they gathered around a folding table littered with files and reports. Butler summarized what was already known and what they expected to soon learn. They’d found blood on two walls, on the bathroom vanity, and in the rugs. All samples were at the lab to be matched against Nelson’s. They had also lifted many fingerprints but analyzing those would take time. They were trying to get information from the Hilton—registration records, surveillance footage, and so on, but for obvious reasons that was being delayed. As life returned to normal, they would gather info from other nearby hotels and condo rentals in an effort to identify Ingrid, but Butler spoke as though he knew that effort would be fruitless.
Before the meeting, Bruce had decided that the best tactic going in was to say as little as possible. The police didn’t know much anyway, and asking a dozen questions would a) yield few answers, and b) only alienate Butler and Logan. They were tired and irritated to be working on a Sunday morning, and it became obvious that the review session was only a formality. Butler made his biggest mistake when he said, “We’ve examined the golf clubs and fireplace hardware and everything else in the condo that could’ve been used as a murder weapon, and so far nothing. Assuming, of course, it was a murder.”
Polly quickly asked, “You think it was something other than murder?”
“Perhaps. There was a lot of stuff in the air, Ms. McCann.”
Logan jumped in with “Having now survived a Category 4, Ms. McCann, I can assure you that the amount of debris and junk falling and blowing around in all directions is hard to imagine. You have to see it to believe it. We think it’s possible that your brother got hit more than once with limbs, pieces of the roof, or maybe bricks, who knows?”
Bruce took a deep breath, as did Bob and Nick. Polly gritted her teeth and said nothing.
Butler knew they were not happy with this and said, “But we’re not sure, and we’ll investigate everything. It’ll take some time, as always.”
Bruce cleared his throat and asked, “What about the hard drive from his