Let Darkness Come Read Free

as a lump swells in his throat. “Go on.”
    She closes her eyes again. “I went in and shook him, but the minute I touched him I knew something was wrong. His face was blue, and his skin…felt like rubber. I stepped back and picked up the phone to call 911. The woman asked if Jeff was breathing, and I said I didn’t think so. She asked if I knew how to do CPR, and I said I thought I could, but she’d better send someone. I tried to pump his chest, but it didn’t work. The next thing I knew, men were pounding on the door, so I let them in.”
    â€œDid he act sick last night? Did he complain of a headache, anything?”
    Her eyes fly up at him like a pair of bluebirds flushed from a shrub, then she looks away. “He was fine last night. He was…strong enough.”
    Antonio drops his hand to her arm as an older man in a blue overcoat comes out of the house and walks toward them. He studies Antonio and thrusts his hand forward. “Mr. Tomassi? I’m Mark Malone, Homicide.”
    Antonio nods, pleased that the fellow knows his name. “Detective, do you know my daughter-in-law? Erin Tomassi.”
    The cop looks at Erin, his eyes crinkling in sympathy.“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, ma’am. I’d be happy to let you inside, but first I was wondering if you had a moment to answer a few questions.”
    Erin blinks, then glances at Antonio. “Do I?”
    He pats her arm. “You will always have time to cooperate with the police. I’ll wait until you’re finished, then we’ll gather your things and get you settled at the house. We’re going to take care of you.”
    Erin smiles her thanks as the detective pulls a small notebook from an inner coat pocket and flips it open. “Mrs. Tomassi, Dispatch has a record of your 911 call placed at 9:05. According to the EMTs first on the scene, your husband was unresponsive when they arrived. The medical examiner has tentatively put the time of death at around 2:00 a.m.”
    Erin shudders, as if she can’t bear to know she spent most of the night sleeping beside a dead man.
    The detective licks the tip of his pen, then props one foot on the end of the garden bench. “I hate to intrude at a time like this, but I need to know—had your husband been under any kind of professional care?”
    Erin widens her eyes. “Like…a doctor?”
    â€œA therapist, perhaps? A psychologist or counselor?”
    Antonio opens his mouth to protest, but the detective cuts him off with a sidelong glance.
    Erin shakes her head. “Jeffrey wasn’t the sort to unburden himself in front of anyone.”
    â€œSo he wasn’t seeing a counselor?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he ever mention suicide?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œHas anyone in the family ever committed suicide?”
    She glances at Antonio, then shakes her head. “Never.”
    â€œWas your husband a heavy drinker?”
    â€œNot really. We were out last night at a fundraising event, but he had very little to drink. Maybe one glass of wine, early in the evening.”
    â€œWas he on any medication?”
    â€œOnly his insulin. He’s a diabetic.”
    â€œTo your knowledge, did he ever use recreational drugs?”
    â€œNo, he did not.” Her voice is uninflected, pushed through the pale face she wears like a mask. “Jeffrey was a committed public servant. He would never want to set a bad example by using drugs.”
    â€œAny change in his routine lately? Any deviation in sleeping habits, eating routines, a lack of interest in his work?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAny loss of interest in his favorite activities or his family?”
    She closes her eyes. “No. I doubt you could find a more attentive and involved man than Jeffrey.”
    â€œInvolved in his work?”
    â€œInvolved in everything. He never did anything by half measures.”
    The detective scribbles something