"Thanks," Nick said. "This is Deputy Hysell-"
"I knew Tamara," Hysell interrupted. "Lovely girl. I'm a few years older. We met skating. She was better than I was. And pretty as a picture. Sweet, too." Is it possible for this guy to shut his mouth? Nick stormed mentally. "This is a real tragedy, Warren."
Warren Hunt looked blankly at Hysell, clearly having no idea who this chatterbox was. Nick ignored his deputy. "Do I smell coffee?"
Relief shone on Hunt's face. "Yes. Would you like some?"
"Sure would. Black."
"Deputy…"
"Hysell. I'd like some, too. Cream. Or milk, but not too much. No sugar."
When Warren went into the kitchen, Nick forced himself to sound mild. "Hysell, let me do the talking for now." Hysell immediately looked sullen. "I'll give you a signal if I want you to spring something on him."
Some of the deputy's irritation dissipated, although Nick hadn't specified what Hysell was to "spring" on Hunt. It didn't matter. Hysell walked to the fireplace and fell into a deep study of an oil painting hanging above the mantel, an act clearly meant to communicate nonchalance to Hunt.
Warren entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee. Hysell took his with merely a nod. Nick sipped and smiled. "Good." Hunt looked relieved again. Nick sat down on the couch. "Sorry to inconvenience you this morning, Dr. Hunt. I know you're probably busy with funeral arrangements."
Warren took a seat on a wing-backed chair. "Actually Tamara's father and sister are handling all that. They wanted to and I thought it might be therapeutic."
"I see. Well, I just have a few questions for you, things you told me yesterday but I need to confirm." Nick gave him an offhand look. "Everyone was pretty upset after just getting the news. I want to make sure I have everything straight."
"Certainly. I understand." Warren seemed to relax and crossed an ankle over a knee. "How can I help you?"
"I understand that you were attending a three-day convention in Cleveland."
"Yes. It began Thursday morning at nine. I left Wednesday evening and stayed at the Hyatt where the convention was being held. Saturday night we had a banquet. I planned to wrap up a few things Sunday and be back here by five or six o'clock. Then I got the call about Tamara…" He took a deep, shuddery breath.
"Why didn't your wife go with you?"
Warren blinked at him. "What?"
"Why didn't your wife go with you to Cleveland? Wouldn't she have enjoyed shopping, dining out, that kind of thing?"
"No." Warren 's fingers began to tap lightly on the arm of the chair. 'Tamara was shy, almost reclusive. Oh, if the trip had just been a little weekend excursion for the two of us, she would have loved it. But she didn't want to be thrown in the midst of all those people. There was a cocktail party Wednesday night and the banquet Saturday. She hated that kind of thing."
"I see." Nick withdrew a notebook from his pocket and pretended to check it, although he knew its contents by heart. "The banquet was held the night of your wife's murder."
"That's right."
"You sat between Dr. Forbes Evans and Dr. Charles Feldman."
"Yes."
"You arrived at seven and left around ten."
"Yes."
"Hmmm. Well, here I have a problem because Dr. Evans says he returned to his room around eight-ten and you were getting ready to leave."
"Forbes is elderly. He was exhausted and embarrassed about darting away from the banquet so early, so I said I was leaving, too. But I didn't."
"That was considerate of you. But Dr. Feldman says he actually went back upstairs with you at eight-twenty."
Warren 's tapping fingers went still. "He's mistaken."
"His wife says he called her around eight-thirty from his room."
"I don't know when he called his wife, but we did not leave the banquet that early. Anyway, what difference does it make?"
"Time of death, Dr. Hunt. The M.E. places your wife's time of death between eight and ten."
"That's fairly vague."
"Unfortunately in real life they can't be as accurate as on television where the M.E. can place time of death within fifteen minutes." Nick gave him a casual smile. "Impossible."
Warren smiled back woodenly. "Of course."
"Nice ship model you got here," Hysell intervened. Nick had an urge to bash him over the head with something heavy.
Warren Hunt looked completely confused. "Ship model?"
"Here on your mantel. It's the Mercy, isn't it?"
"The Mercy? Why, yes, I believe it is. Had it so long I forgot."
"Did you build it?"
"Build it? No. I have no interest in ships. Tamara picked it up somewhere." He looked at Nick. "Now what's all this about Tamara's time of death?"
Nick took a deep breath, trying to maintain his cool. He'd have a few choice words for Hysell when they got outside. He was also furious with Warren Hunt for playing dumb with him. Did he actually think that would work? "The time of death is very important, Dr. Hunt. You see it's fifty-five miles from here to Cleveland. You could drive that in less than an hour, which means if you and Dr. Feldman left the banquet at eight-twenty, you could have been back in Port Ariel by nine-twenty."
"By nine-twenty? Yes, I suppose I could. But why?" Warren 's eyes widened. "So I could slash my wife's throat?"
"It's a possibility we have to consider," Nick answered calmly.
"But that's preposterous! I was at the hotel all evening."
"Did anyone see you after you left the dining room?"
"I don't know. Surely someone did. A colleague. A maid. I believe I ordered a brandy from room service around eleven. No, that was the night before. Anyway, I called my wife at ten. My message is on our answering machine."
"But you didn't call from your room at the Hyatt. We checked the phone records."
"You did? Why would you do that? Oh, this ridiculous suspicion of me." Warren shook his head as if baffled and slightly amused by Nick's stupidity. "I called from my car phone, Sheriff Meredith."
"That would explain it," Nick said agreeably.
Warren managed another shaky smile. "Yes, you check my car phone records and you'll find a record of the call."
"Good." Nick paused. "Except you said you were in your room all evening."
Warren 's smile disappeared. "Well, I was. But I went out. Briefly." Nick looked at him questioningly. "To see a friend."
"And what would that friend's name be?"
"Is this really important, Sheriff?"
Nick finally gave him a hard stare. "I thought I'd already conveyed its importance, Dr. Hunt. Your wife was murdered last night. We're talking about your alibi."
Warren Hunt's carefully shaved upper lip now sported beads of sweat. "All right. But I'd appreciate your keeping this information confidential." Nick remained silent. "A female colleague- of mine was at the conference. Dr. Lorraine Glover. We decided to meet for a drink at a little bar away from the hotel."
"Why not the hotel bar?"
"We wanted some place more private."
"More private!"
Warren 's face had turned bright red. "Well, you see…" He took a deep breath. "Oh, hell. Now isn't the time for lies. Lorraine and I had an affair two years ago. It's not something I'm proud of. It's the only time I've ever been unfaithful to my wife, but Lorraine and I just… well, we just did something stupid."
"And you were going to do something stupid again?"
"No! It was just a drink for old times' sake. But back when we were having the affair, another psychologist named Henry Simon found out about it. The man is a toad. A dis grace to the profession. Anyway, he'd been after Lorraine for years and he didn't take rejection well. When he found out about the two of us, he told everyone. Lorraine 's husband almost left her."
"And Tamara?"
"She never heard about us."
"Another advantage to her being such a homebody. And a good reason for you not to encourage her to attend the convention."