Chapter 6 - DENISE WALKERIt took Malcolm two days to find Denise.
He called an old number first.
Disconnected.
Nathan located an address through archived payroll records.
Malcolm drove himself.
No driver.
No assistant.
No warning.
Denise Walker lived in a modest brick townhouse near Matthews, twenty minutes from the Sterling estate and emotionally a world away.
She opened the door wearing scrubs.
Early fifties.
Hair pulled back.
Exhaustion around her eyes.
For several seconds she did not recognize Malcolm.
Then she did.
Her face closed.
“No.”
“Ms. Walker—”
“No.”
She began shutting the door.
Malcolm put no hand against it.
He simply said, “I think you were telling the truth.”
The door stopped.
Not opened.
Stopped.
Denise looked through the narrow gap.
“You think?”
“I know there are things I was told that don’t make sense.”
A humorless smile.
“Three years.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No,” Malcolm said. “Probably not.”
That answer surprised her.
Eventually she opened the door wider.
“You have five minutes.”
Her living room was small and spotless.
Family photographs.
A knitted blanket.
A television older than the one in Malcolm’s guest bedroom.
He remained standing until she told him to sit.
“I’m not here to ask you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I’m here to ask what happened.”
Denise laughed.
“You already decided what happened.”
“I let Colette decide.”
“Yes.”
“And that was wrong.”
Denise folded her arms.
“What changed?”
“Rosa.”
Concern replaced anger.
“What happened to Rosa?”
“My son hit her.”
Denise’s face went hard.
“He did what?”
“He slapped her. Then poured water over her.”
“And Colette?”
“Encouraged it.”
Denise closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
“You’re not surprised.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that woman believes money is proof of character.”
Malcolm absorbed that.
“Rosa told me to ask about you.”
Denise studied him.
Then said, “Six thousand dollars didn’t disappear.”
Malcolm leaned forward.
“What happened?”
“I found charges.”
“What charges?”
“Household card. Stores I knew weren’t for household supplies. Hotel charges. Something called Bellmere Lifestyle Services.”
The name meant nothing to him.
“I asked Colette if she wanted me to put them in a separate folder.”
“And?”
“She stared at me for about ten seconds. Next morning, she said cash was missing from the kitchen office.”
“How much?”
“Six thousand.”
“Did you ever handle that cash?”
“All the time. Grocery money. Petty cash. Tips. Repairs.”
“Did she search your belongings?”
“She searched my locker.”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
“Found an envelope with cash.”
“Six thousand?”
“Exactly.”
“Was it yours?”
“No.”
“Did you see her put it there?”
“No.”
“So you couldn’t prove—”
“Exactly.”
Denise leaned closer.
“She knew that.”
Malcolm thought of the email Nathan had archived.
“Did you confess?”
Denise stared.
“Is that what she told you?”
“Yes.”
“I told her I would never come back.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“With what? A rich woman saying she found cash in my things? Her husband backing her? Your attorneys?”
“I never spoke to an attorney about you.”
“She told me you had.”
Malcolm’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“She said if I made trouble, Sterling lawyers would bury me.”
“I never authorized that.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“Because if you had, you wouldn’t be sitting here looking like somebody hit you.”
Malcolm almost laughed.
But did not.
“Denise, did Colette ever put anything in writing?”
She stood.
For a moment Malcolm thought the conversation was over.
Instead she went to a desk.
Opened a drawer.
Removed an old folder.
“I kept everything because someday I wanted proof I wasn’t crazy.”
She handed him a printed email.
From Colette.
The night before Denise’s dismissal.
The message was brief.
Your position in this household depends on discretion. Remember whose house you’re working in and who people will believe if you create unnecessary conflict.
Malcolm read it twice.
“Why did she send this?”
“Because I told her I was going to ask you about the charges.”
Malcolm slowly looked up.
Exactly what Rosa had done.
Exactly what Rosa had been preparing to do.
“When did the money supposedly disappear?”
“The next morning.”
He felt cold.
Denise watched realization reach him.
“She didn’t fire me because of money, Mr. Sterling.”
“Malcolm.”
“No.”
The refusal was deliberate.
“You were Mr. Sterling when I worked there. You stayed Mr. Sterling when your wife called me a thief.”
He nodded.
Fair.
“She fired me because I saw something she didn’t want you to see.”
Malcolm folded the email carefully.
“May I copy this?”
“Yes.”
“And Denise…”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him for a long time.
Then said, “Sorry is useful when it changes what you do next.”
Malcolm nodded.
As he reached the door, Denise spoke again.
“Mr. Sterling.”
He turned.
“Rosa isn’t the first woman Colette tried to make look dishonest.”
He went still.
May you like
Denise continued.
“She’s just the first one you finally noticed.”
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