Free (1995) The Oath by Frank Peretti Page B

someone so emotionally involved—”
    “That will be enough!” A couple who was sitting nearby looked their way. “I’ll be responsible for my emotions, Deputy,” Steve growled. “You’d better concern yourself with how Evie must be feeling right now and how you treated her! Couldn’t you see how frail she is? How could you go in there asking questions about knives and blood and how well their marriage was doing? She just lost her husband, remember?”
    Tracy purposely paused a moment to calm the situation down. Then she tried to present a rational, professional position. “I had to ask particular questions as a matter of routine. We have to cover all contingencies.”
    “Like how her marriage was doing? Do you think for one moment—”
    “What I think is immaterial. I have a job to do.” Her tone was formal as she said, “You’re a professional. You know how important objectivity is in a situation like this, am I right?”
    Steve wanted to lash back, but yanked his own leash and held it. She was right. He was offended and defensive for Evelyn’s sake, and he was letting his feelings rule the moment. Tracy was in control; he wasn’t. He took a breath and forced himself back into his professional role. It was like putting on a pair of tight shoes. “Yes. You’re right. You’re right, sort of.”
    “Sort of?”
    “Personal feelings aside, the idea of complicity on Evie’s part is . . . well, it’s untenable, unthinkable.”
    “And it seems you’re having trouble blaming a bear, too.”
    “I’m—” He wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. “I’m willing to accept any hard evidence.” Then he narrowed his gaze. “Which raises the question of the autopsy report . . .”
    He noticed her cringe slightly. “Steve . . .”
    “Is there additional evidence I still don’t know about?”
    She took time to formulate an answer. “Maybe you do need to read that report for yourself.”
    “Maybe I need to view the remains for myself.”
    She emphasized, “Maybe you need to read the report and evaluate it first.”
    He accepted that. “Do you have it with you?”
    She took the report from her folder. It was a document about thirty pages thick, held together with a large clip.
    He took it but didn’t look at it. “I’ll read it before I confer with Marcus.”
    “Just keep in mind your relationship to the victim.”
    “I’m aware of my relationship to the victim.” Who do you think you are, my baby-sitter?
    “All right.”
    “All I want is the answer to our questions—before you get any wrong ideas.”
    She was clearly offended. “Steve, I am not jumping to any conclusions. I do have questions, though!”
    “So I observed!”
    She drew a breath, held it, then gave a long sigh. “Okay, Steve, you’re the expert. Tell me what happened.”
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
    “How is it that only Cliff was killed, and only his blood was on Evelyn’s clothes, and Evelyn wasn’t injured at all? If Evelyn came so close to the attack that she got Cliff’s blood all over her, why wasn’t she attacked as well? How did her hunting knife get broken, and how is it that she remembers everything else in such detail, even what they had for dinner, and what time they ate, and the order of events up to the crucial time in question, and then . . . ding, she’s in dreamland?”
    Steve had thought about that, too. “The attack was over by the time she got there. Upon finding what was left of Cliff, she went hysterical—we have the truck driver’s testimony as to her disturbed mental state—and having gone hysterical, she . . . well, who knows what she may have done? Maybe she was embracing what was left or trying to put him back together; I don’t know. But the hysteria is well established, I think, and explanation enough for her memory lapse. As for the knife, how do we know she didn’t break the blade when she attacked the truck?”
    “The driver said the blade was already