Foremost in Diane's mind as she followed Kurt McVeigh through the forest was that she should probably have worn different shoes. Louboutins and hiking trails do not a good combination make. Only slightly less prominent in her thoughts, as she trailed him up a steep embankment, was how nice his ass looked in faded denim. After all, it was right there in front of her; she could hardly fail to notice.
She did, however, fail to notice the loose rock in her path and when her foot connected with it, she and the rock both started sliding backwards down the hill. "Ahhh," she cried out, her hands flying out in front of her as attempted to regain her balance.
"Whoa there," Kurt said, turning around and grabbing her outstretched hands. "You alright?" he asked when she stopped flailing.
"Yes, I think so," she said, still holding tight to his hands while she made sure she wasn't about to topple backwards down the slope.
"Should have worn boots," Kurt commented.
"You think?" she asked, impatiently dropping his hands only to slip backward another inch until he grabbed her elbow to stop her.
"Maybe you should go first," he suggested. "I'll stay back here to cushion your fall."
He stood aside so she could move around him to continue up the hill and, without the previous distractions, she was able to make it to the top without further incident. She turned back, about to point out how well she could manage in heels after all, to find McVeigh with a rather glazed look on his face. Apparently he had found the same advantages as she in bringing up the rear.
"Seems my...attire...was suitable after all," she quipped, resisting the urge to wink.
A bemused blink followed by a lopsided smirk were answer enough.
After a brief moment, Diane mentally shook herself and gestured off to the right. "The crime scene is just over here." She led him off the marked trail to a triangular area still cordoned off by police tape attached to three large pine trees.
Kurt pulled out his crime scene photos and held them up in comparison to the scene in order to orient himself, while Diane described what Daisy and Karen had already told her.
"According to our client, she and her husband were out for a walk when Mr. Patterson thought he saw someone through the trees. They had ongoing issues with trespassers, so he called out and then went off the trail to follow."
"Good way to get shot," McVeigh said under his breath.
"Well…yes, as it turned out," Diane said. "I assume you're thinking of poachers, and that is Mrs. Patterson's belief as well. We are certainly looking into that angle, but thus far we've turned up nothing."
McVeigh shook his head. "Not many poachers use handguns, Ms. Lockhart. He was shot with a .38." He approached one of the three trees from just outside the crime scene tape, held up a photograph and then pointed at a spot on the ground. "He was standing here, facing north, when he was shot. Fell, hit his head on that tree on the way down."
"Yes. Karen says she was approaching him from the left when she heard the shot. She screamed, dropped to the ground, and covered her head. When, after a few moments, there were no more shots, she got up and discovered her husband had been hit."
McVeigh pulled out a tape measure, and went to work measuring, making notes, and checking things with some sort of instrument, while Diane walked around the immediate vicinity, taking care not to lose sight of the crime scene. It was early, not yet noon, but the day was gloomy and with the leafy canopy blocking the sun overhead, she could easily have believed it was early evening.
The trees were quite dense when one ventured off the trail, the ground covered with dried leaves, pine needles, and low-growing plant life. And probably teeming with bugs underneath that, Diane thought as she stepped back on the cleared path. She should probably buy some sort of hiking boots in case she needed to come out here again.
A glance over her shoulder told her McVeigh was still performing his ballistics voodoo, so she walked a little further along the path, smiling when she spied a chattering chipmunk high in a tree.
"Hello there," she said to it quietly. It wouldn't do to let McVeigh hear her talking to the wildlife like some sort of Disney princess. She followed the chipmunk for a few more feet down the path until her attention was captured by something else up ahead of her on the trail.
A flash of white moved through the trees, like someone wearing a white shirt or jacket dashing through the woods. Someone, perhaps, who didn't want to be seen by the official looking people working around the crime scene?
She picked up her pace, attempting to get closer, to see if she could get a better look, but they were moving quickly, far too quickly for her to catch, hindered as she was by her high heels and the rough terrain.
"Wait," she called, "Who's there?" But no one answered, and she had completely lost sight of the flash of white, whatever, or whomever, it had been.
She turned around, shivering as a sudden cool breeze slid over her bare arms. The crime scene, and Kurt McVeigh, were no longer in sight. But she wasn't lost, she told herself. She just had to follow the path back. She hadn't turned at any point, or at least, she didn't think she had.
Wrapping her arms around herself she started walking back the way she came. Sure enough, after only a few minutes she could once again see the yellow police tape wrapped around the trees. McVeigh, however, was nowhere to be seen.
She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr Eames." Cary took the seat the older man indicated, as John and Karen Patterson's business partner sat opposite him at one end of the long steel and glass boardroom table.
"Of course," he said. "This is just all such a shock. I'd like to help in any way I can."
"Thank you," Cary said as he pulled a pad and pen from his bag. "Anything you could tell me about John Patterson, his recent activities, his relationships, could potentially be helpful to us in defending Mrs. Patterson."
Mr Eames sat back in his seat, his arms folded over his ample midsection. "I suppose Karen told you that John and I have been friends most of our lives. We went to high school together, then college. Started this company together. He was like a brother to me."
"Yes, she mentioned that."
Eames lifted one large hand to his face, rubbing his temples with his thumb and index finger. "Which is what makes what I have to tell you so difficult. By the way, Is everything I tell you going to get back to Karen?"
"Only if it's something we can use in court, sir."
Eames nodded, his hand dropping away from his face to land on the table in front of him. "What Karen probably didn't tell you, as I assume she didn't know, is that John and I haven't been on the best of terms lately. In fact, we've taken the first steps towards dissolving our partnership."
Cary looked up, startled, his pen poised and inch above the paper, mid-word. "Why is that, sir?"
Eames rose and stepped away from the table, turning to a large window over-looking the city. "John and I started this company when we were first out of school, gave it everything we had, made it into a success. And look around you; we're damned good at what we do." He turned back around, gesturing to the frames lining the walls of the boardroom, photographs of beautiful homes and towering office buildings, presumably examples of their work.
"I'm sure that's true, sir," Cary said.
"And it was fun back then, building the business, making lots of money doing what we loved. I don't know, maybe it's just that we're not young any more, we're tired, but It's not fun any more, Mr. Agos. The stress, the deadlines, the demanding clients: they've all taken their toll on our friendship. John and I, the last year or so, we're like that married couple who has been together for too long, who don't even really like each other any more, but who are so intertwined, they don't know how to separate."
"But you figured out how."
Arthur Eames nodded. "John contacted an attorney to see about dissolving the partnership. We were going to meet with her tomorrow, see what she had to say. It was just time, that's all."
"And Mrs. Patterson didn't know any of this?"
"My understanding was no, he hadn't told her yet. And if she didn't mention it to you, that seems to confirm it. Karen runs our interior design department, which is quite separate, administratively, from John and I, and the architecture side of things. My breaking away wouldn't affect her much, and John didn't want to worry her unnecessarily."
"And you would prefer she not know, now."
"Well, there doesn't seem to be any reason for it now, does there, son? With John gone, I obviously won't be going anywhere."
A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, favourites and follows. I hope you all are enjoying.