11 The Suspect by John Lescroart

Author:John Lescroart
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: John Lescroart
Published: 2011-01-05T09:04:52+00:00

Tw ent y-t wo

Gina parked her Jetta in her space under her building and, making sure that the garage door had closed behind her, took the inside stairs to the back door of her condo. Walking up the short hall, turning lights on all the way, she went directly to her kitchen and opened the freezer section of her refrigerator, where she had a stash of commercially frozen dinners as well as several labeled plastic containers of her own preparations.

The largest of these was a deep, square Tupperware holder with a piece of tape on the side that read lasagna/sausage and she pulled that out, took off the cover, re-covered the dish with a paper towel and stuck it in the microwave, setting the timer for ten minutes. She walked over to the bar area and flicked on the radio which, since David, she’d kept tuned to classical.

To the strains of a flute and guitar performance, she went to her bedroom, took off her clothes and got into a hot shower. Gina considered herself a no-nonsense person, and never more so than when she showered. In five minutes, she was clean and dry again except for her hair, which she toweled for half a minute, then combed out damp. From her dresser, she grabbed an old comfortable pair of blue jeans and one of David’s white button-down dress shirts, washed over the years now to a frayed near-translucence, soft as silk.

Back in the kitchen nook, barefoot, she opened one of the straw bottles of Chianti that she’d bought at Cost Plus a month before, and poured herself a glass. She laid out a regular setting, complete with placemat, cloth napkin, fork, knife, pepper and salt, Tabasco and Parmesan cheese on the small table by the front window, and had just finished watering her early blooming Christmas cactus in its tiny pot on the same table when the microwave beeped.

She brought the steaming lasagna over to her place. It wouldn’t be cool enough to eat for a few more minutes, but Gina sat down anyway, picked up her wineglass, took a healthy drink from it. The guitar and flute on the radio had given way to chamber music, perhaps a Mozart concerto. She sat back, let out a long, deep breath and took another sip of Chianti, smaller this time, and started going over the events of the last couple of hours in her mind.

She’d finally convinced Stuart that he had no choice, that he had to give himself up. In his presence at the motel, she’d called Juhle on his cell phone and told him that she was ready to surrender her client. How about tomorrow, say 10:00 a.m.?

She also wanted to make clear to the inspector that Stuart was not now and had never been armed. He’d simply taken some money from his safe for random expenses and had to take out the box of ammunition to get at it; then in his haste to get out on the road he’d forgotten to put it back.

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