The Faraday home, by contrast, was a study in understatement. Most of the house itself wasn’t visible from the street, because of multiple large trees. After parking, they walked through the gate, showing their ID to the officer standing guard out front, before wandering up the long driveway.
When the house came into view, Jessie’s opinion didn’t change. It was enormous—three stories high and stretching the length of five of Jessie’s houses placed side by side. But the contemporary, minimalist design was all about restrained gray and white tile exteriors, mixed with stonework that blended in unobtrusively. It was beautiful without calling attention to itself.
“This feels like the home of a corporate or tax attorney,” Jessie said as they approached the front door. “I don’t get criminal or entertainment lawyer vibes off a place like this. Do we know who Henry Faraday represents?”
“The website for his firm was pretty vague,” Valentine said. “I was hoping our liaison would be able to fill in some of the blanks.”
“May I help you?” asked the officer blocking the front door.
“We’re from HSS,” Valentine said, holding up her badge. “We were told to ask for Sergeant Stafford.”
“He’s in the living room,” the officer said. “Straight back down the hallway, then make a left at the big painting of flowers.”
They followed his instructions, passing a series of paintings that Jessie guessed each cost more than her and Valentine’s combined salary. When they reached the “big painting of flowers,” which Jessie thought she might have once seen in a textbook from her college art history class, they looked left.
Though the contemporary ambiance persisted, the living room couldn’t help but feel more like a set piece. It was almost as big as the Central Station bullpen, with two seating sections—one formal with cashmere sofas and another more casual area, with a TV and magazines on a coffee table—and a big window to a separate bar area. French doors led out to a large porch, where multiple officers were congregated.
A short officer with thinning black hair and a doughy face who was standing by the bar, eyeing them, put down the papers he was holding and walked over.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Norm Stafford, BHPD.”
“You know who we are?” Valentine asked guardedly.
“I know who she is,” Stafford said, nodding in Jessie’s direction. “You’d have to be living under a rock in this town not to know Jessie Hunt. And since you’re with her, that must make you Detective Susannah Valentine. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong, Sergeant,” Jessie told him hoping to start off this relationship on a positive note. “I know we’re late to the party, but we were hoping you could give us the rundown on what you know so far.”
“I’d be happy to,” he said, leading them in the direction of the porch, where a chalk outline had been drawn on the tile. “This is where the body was found. She was taken to the medical examiner before we knew you folks were taking over the case, but there’s extensive video for you to review.”
“We’ll definitely check it out,” Valentine said. “In the meantime, give us your impressions.”
Stafford nodded. “According to her husband, who says he didn’t disturb the scene other than to check to see if she was alive, Julianne Faraday was face down on the terrace tile when he found her. Apparently, one door was open. The wind was repeatedly knocking the door closed before it slowly opened up again. The banging sound is what drew him back here. That’s how we found it when we arrived. There was also a half-empty glass of wine on the table there. It’s been taken for analysis.”
“Any sign of forced entry?” Valentine asked.
“None,” Stafford said. “And the alarm was turned off. Faraday says it was that way when he got home. We’re confirming that with the security company now, as well as when the outer gate and garage door were opened.”
“Did he offer an alibi?” Jessie wondered.
“Yeah, and it sounds like a good one,” Stafford replied, stepping back inside the living room and moving over to one of the couches. “He said that he was at his downtown office until around 3:30 this morning prepping for a case that goes to trial later this morning. He gave us the names of half a dozen lawyers who were supposedly with him. He also handed over his phone and said we could search his car. We’re checking the GPS data for both. But if they all match, he’ll likely be in the clear.”
“Why do you say that?” Jessie asked, surprised at the certainty in the sergeant’s voice.
“The medical examiner obviously couldn’t pin down a time of death yet,” Stafford said with a little more caution now, “but he estimated that it was at least six hours prior to his initial check of the body at 4:45 a.m. That would put the time of death before 11 p.m. last night, when Faraday had about six alibi witnesses.”
“When does the M.E. expect to have more preliminary results?” Jessie asked.
Stafford looked at his watch. “It’s closing in on 9 a.m. now,” he said, doing mental math in his head. “I’d suggest that you check in with him in the next half hour. Meanwhile, we’re also trying to get exterior footage of the house from the security company. I’ll keep the pressure on them. We can see which one of them comes up with useful information first.”
“Is this some kind of game to you, Sergeant?” Valentine asked sharply.
Stafford looked taken aback. “No, Detective,” he replied defensively. “I was just trying to be collaborative.”
Jessie almost groaned audibly. Things had been going so well. But Susannah Valentine invariably felt the need to assert herself, no matter the situation.
“We appreciate that,” Jessie said before her partner could respond. “Speaking of collaboration, let’s get down to the meat of it. We all know why HSS was assigned to this case. Tell us what you know about the other woman who died nearby.”
Stafford gave an uncomfortable sideways glance at Valentine before focusing his attention on Jessie. “I wasn’t assigned to that case,” he said carefully, “but I looked over the notes briefly. Here’s what I can tell you. Her name was Lydia Philbin. She lived about half a mile from here. She was filthy rich, too, though that’s not saying much in these parts. She was found at home too. In her case, the autopsy revealed poison in her system. The M.E. found some mild swelling at the injection site. Obviously, he’ll be checking for all of that with Faraday as well. We’re having the Philbin case file pulled for you. It should be waiting when you get the M.E.’s.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Jessie said, deliberately not looking at Valentine to see if she’d cooled off or not. “I think that while we wait for that preliminary report to be ready, our best bet is to talk to Henry Faraday. Before we do that, we had some confusion that I was hoping you could clear up. Do you know what kind of lawyer he is?”
“No, ma’am,” Stafford said, clearly hesitant to offer his unvarnished take after Valentine’s brushback. “I do believe that his work is civil rather than criminal, but beyond that, it was hard to get much more out of him.”