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“If that's convenient.”

She led me through the narrow doorway into the office, where the sounds of the salon softened behind us. A telephone sat beside the appointment ledger, and invoices were stacked neatly on one corner of the desk. Joann remained standing, her hands resting on the edge of the desk as though she needed something solid beneath them.

I took out my notebook, although I had no intention of turning this into an interrogation in the middle of her working day. The check was a piece of the financial trail we'd been following, and I wanted to understand why Harvey had paid her such a substantial amount after years of keeping their shared history quiet.

Joann looked at my notebook and then at me.

“I didn't mean to kill him.”

The words came out so abruptly that, for a moment, I wasn't certain I'd heard her correctly. I didn't answer. Her shoulders rose with a shaky breath, and she looked toward the door as if she'd only just remembered that we weren't alone in the building.

“I didn't go there intending to hurt him,” she continued. “I was angry. I had every reason to be angry, but I never intended for him to die.”

I put my notebook down on the desk without opening it. There was a time for asking questions, but this wasn't it. Joann had begun speaking on her own, and I wasn't going to prompt her into saying more simply because I wanted answers.

“What happened was an accident,” she said. “At least, the part that killed him was. I shoved him. He fell backward and hit his head on the edge of the stage. Then he staggered forward and went down on his face. I checked him, but he wasn't responding. I knew he'd hit his head badly.”

Her fingers tightened against the desk.

“I should have called for help. I know that. Instead, I panicked. I ran toward the marina, and I left him there.”

The preliminary medical findings had already established that Harvey died from blunt-force trauma to the back of his head. Joann's account gave that finding a context we hadn't had before: the confrontation, the shove, and the fall against the stage. I didn't need to revisit the medical report to understand the significance of what she was telling me.

I also wasn't going to assume that her description of the incident settled every question about what had happened. Her statement would need to be documented properly, and the evidence would still have to be considered alongside it. But she had just admitted to shoving Harvey, described the fall that caused his fatal injury, and acknowledged leaving him there without calling for help. I had enough to act on. I wasn't going to let her continue talking for another twenty minutes before taking the necessary steps.

“Joann Minotte, I'm placing you under arrest in connection with the death of Harvey Sinclair.”

Her face went pale. For a moment, she looked as though she might say something else, but then her shoulders sagged, and she looked resigned.

I stepped closer and took her hands. “Bring your hands behind your back, palms and fingers together almost as if you're praying.”

She stared at me, bewildered by the request, but did as I asked.

“That's it.” I secured the handcuffs, taking care not to twist her wrists unnecessarily. “If you can keep your hands in that position, with your wrists relaxed, the cuffs won't be quite so uncomfortable. Don't force it if you feel any pain, though. Let me know.”

Her eyes shone with tears. “You're being kind to me.”

“I'm doing my job, Joann.” I checked the fit of the cuffs before stepping back. “And I'm going to make sure you understand your rights before we go any further.”

I advised her of her rights, speaking clearly and giving her time to listen.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have a lawyer present before and during any questioning. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions, or not make any statements. Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

I didn't ask her to explain the incident again or invite her to continue. Her spontaneous statements had given me sufficient grounds to make the arrest, and I wasn't about to risk turning the situation into custodial questioning.

But Joann wasn't finished talking.

“He'd been trying to put things right,” she said, her voice trembling. “That's what he told me. He said he had heart disease, that he was on medication, and that he'd decided he needed to settle some old debts before he met the Big Man Upstairs. As though a check could make everything he'd done disappear.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. It was louder than before, and I glanced toward the half-open office door. I could hear the salon outside, but the voices had quieted. Someone had stopped a dryer, and the sudden absence of its hum made the space beyond the doorway seem closer.

“He wanted to make himself feel better. That was what it was really about. He wanted to believe he could straighten out his accounts, say a few things that sounded sincere, and leave the rest of us to deal with whatever he couldn't put right.”

She looked down, then seemed to remember that I had secured her hands behind her. Her shoulders drew in, and her voice grew higher.

“The money was mine and Shelby's. We'd saved it together. Harvey convinced Shelby to trust him with it because he promised her an investment, something that would make us all better off. He talked about the returns we'd receive, about how much money we could make if we were patient. He knew exactly what to say to her. She believed him because she loved him.”