by Terry Shames
“I’m curious how preachers get paid. Surely the church here in Jarrett Creek can’t pay him enough to get by on.”
“I don’t know. I know in the Catholic Church, they can get a hardship stipend, but they’re expected to live within their means.”
“He might be strapped for cash.”
“I wonder if it’s worth following him.”
“You know we don’t have the manpower to do that,” I say.
“Yes, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Suppose we got Ida Ruth and a few other people to keep an eye on him?” Seeing the look on my face, she throws up her hands. “I know, I know. It’s a terrible idea. I’m frustrated, that’s all.”
“Look, chances are he’s just a cad who sneaks around on his wife.”
“And thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
I agree, although I’m still troubled by my suspicion that he was the man I caught in Loretta’s house right after she disappeared. Breaking into someone’s home is not the action of a man who is innocent. And the question remains, how did he get in without a key?
“Dammit.”
Maria is startled. “What?”
“Something I forgot to do. I keep making stupid mistakes because I’m rattled. Don’t look at me like that. Has nothing to do with age.”
“I didn’t say a word. What did you forget?”
“Hold on. You’ll find out.”
I dial Scott Singletary’s cell number.
“Tell me something good,” he says.
“Question. When you stayed at your mom’s house, did you open a window?”
“Are you kidding? That’s why you’re calling?”
“Do you remember?”
Silence. I wait. “Yes, I did. It was stuffy and I was hot. I didn’t want to turn the air conditioning on because it was nice outside.”
“Did you lock it back up?”
“You’re asking because of the man who broke in.”
“Yes.”
He heaves a heavy sigh. “Chief Craddock, it’s likely I didn’t close the window. I was upset that . . .”
“I understand. But it does answer a question.”
“I apologize for the way I talked to you yesterday. Marcie says I was rude and I ought to be ashamed of myself.”
“We’re all on edge. I’m sorry as hell we haven’t gotten any further in the case. But we will.”
I get off the phone, and Maria nods. “One small question answered. That could be how the intruder got in.” Unless he got a key from Loretta.
CHAPTER 29
It’s late afternoon. Maria has gone home, and Dusty is starting to get antsy when Hogarth calls to fill me in on the woman who went missing. “Not much to tell. This morning the woman she works for called the department to say she hadn’t come into work. She said with what happened to Elaine Farquart, she was nervous because her employee was usually very reliable.”
“What did you find out?”
“She seems to have disappeared, like your lady in Jarrett Creek. I sent an officer over to her house, in case she was sick or had taken a fall and couldn’t get to the phone, but she wasn’t there. Everything looked fine, but her car was missing. We reached her daughter on her cell phone. She works over in Bryan at a pizza place. I went over there to question her, but she said she didn’t have any idea where her mother was.”
“Internet dating?”
“I asked if her mother was involved in any Internet dating sites. She said that was the last thing her mother would do, that she was very opposed to it.” He chuckles. “This is funny. She said her mother thinks women who do that are floozies.”
I laugh, thinking of Loretta as a floozy. “Husband?”
“She’s divorced, and her ex-husband lives in Beaumont. He’s remarried. We called him, and he said he hadn’t seen her in at least a year and hadn’t heard from her. He said they didn’t have much in the way of communication. I got the impression it was an unfriendly split.”
“So she disappeared like Elaine Farquart and Loretta Singletary but didn’t do any Internet dating.”
“Right. Like I said, the daughter didn’t seem particularly worried. I asked if her mother was inclined to go off and not call into work, and she said no, but her mother could be impulsive sometimes.”
“What’s your plan?”
“We’ll wait to see if she comes back on her own. I don’t like to do that, but with no indication of foul play, we don’t have any alternatives.”
“Did you happen to find out if the woman is a churchgoer?”
“It didn’t come up. Why?”
“I’ve got a situation here that might be related. I don’t want to jump the gun, so I won’t go into details. I’ll let you know if there’s more to tell.”
When I hang up, I have a mind to call Mr. Todd back to nudge him again, but I may get more cooperation if I give him more time. Suddenly I realize that I’m never going to hear back from the Baptist Church. They will stonewall. They will give me excuses. They will defend their minister as zealously as the Catholic Church defended its pedophile priests a while back.
There’s only one way I’m going to find out the truth about Becker’s actions, and that’s to confront him with what I know. Hanging back because I’m afraid it might have repercussions for Loretta’s safety is a coward’s stance. Becker has to explain himself, and I’m the one who has to force it. The question is where to have a meeting with him. I remember the way he strode into this office as if he owned the place. He’ll be the same at home—or maybe worse. Same with the church.
It has to be here. I’ll at least have the advantage of calling him in to talk rather than him choosing his time and place.
The other consideration is whether to do it now or wait until the morning. I’ve had a hard day, and I’m flagging. Tomorrow I’ll be fresher—but Becker will be too. I at least have the advantage of my anger at the church’s obfuscation.
I call his home, and Marlene answers.
“It was nice meeting you the other day,” I say. Not many people have an appreciation for my art collection.”
“It’s wonderful,” she says, with a warmth I wasn’t expecting. “I met your . . . colleague today. We had a nice chat. Although I must say I was curious why she came here. I had the feeling there was more to it than she let on.”
“Mrs. Becker, is your husband home?”
“Not at the moment. Can I have him call you?”
“Do you know where I might locate him?”
The silence stretches out. “Actually, I’m not sure where he is. He was going over to Bobtail to meet with the Baptist minister there, but that was around 2:30. He should be home soon.”
“Please ask him to give me a call right away.”
“Is everything all right?”
A strange question. “I need to ask him a few questions.”
“Listen, if . . . never mind.”
“I’ll expect to hear from him.”
That little moment at the end tells me all I need to know. Marlene Becker knows what her husband has done in the past. She wanted to make a preemptive excuse and couldn’t figure out how to do it. The poor woman.
I look online for the First Baptist Church in Bobtail. There’s no answer at the church number, but there’s a number for the minister, who is the person I want to talk to anyway.
“This is Reverend Wiley. How can I help?” He has a rough-shod voice, more like a country farmer than a preacher.
I ask him my question. He’s flustered, but the end result is that, no, he had no meeting with Arlen Becker today. “I’ve only met the man once at a regional meeting. I was surprised when he didn’t call on me when he moved here. That’s protocol. Oh, well, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. I’m gossiping, and that’s unseemly.”
I thank him for his time and hang up. He seems like a man I would like, forthright and self-aware without being self-deprecating.
“Dusty, looks like you and I
have to go stake out Reverend Becker’s house.”
His only answer is to start leaping with excitement when I head for the door. He’s not going to like this as much as he thinks he will.
When I drive up to Becker’s house, I can see he hasn’t arrived home because the garage door is open, and the only car inside is the one Marlene Becker drives. I position my truck down the block and settle in with Dusty’s head on my lap. I turn the radio on low to a country and western station for company.
My phone rings a couple of times, but one is a telemarketing call and the other is a wrong number.
At nine o’clock, it occurs to me that maybe I’m wrong and the Beckers only have one car, and he has been home all along. I call Marlene Becker. “I haven’t heard from your husband. Is he there?”
“I’m sorry. He’s been delayed. I told him you called, and he said he’d have to talk to you tomorrow.”
I decide to wait a little longer, curious to know whether he plans to come home at all.
At ten o’clock, Becker still isn’t home, and Dusty is yipping at me that he has had enough of this nonsense.
Back home, I feed Dusty first and top off Zelda’s cat food. I’ve taken to feeding her on top of a chest near my kitchen table; otherwise, Dusty would gobble up her food. She takes it as a sign of superiority and gazes at Dusty with disdain while she nibbles.
I poke around in the refrigerator and heat up leftover enchiladas that look like they’re still okay. I hardly pay attention to what I’m eating, and as soon as I finish, I head back to Becker’s place.
This time I decide to walk. It’s only a few blocks away, and it’s nice to stretch my legs in the cool night air. Dusty frisks alongside me. I’m glad I have a dog now.
The garage door is closed, and there is one lone light on upstairs. That doesn’t mean Becker has made it home. The garage door has panels of glass high up, but I’m tall enough to peer in. I tell Dusty to stay on the sidewalk, but he moves right with me as I walk up the driveway. I peer inside, and sure enough, there’s only one car. It looks like Marlene Becker has given up on her husband coming home tonight. I doubt it’s the first time her husband has done this.
Where is he? If he’s holding Loretta somewhere—and maybe the other woman who has newly disappeared—where is that? Has he rented a place? I’m tempted to rouse Marlene Becker and ask, but by now I’m pretty sure that she has made it her business to know as little as possible about his activities.
CHAPTER 30
Even when I get to bed late, I’m never one to lie around in the morning. As soon as I open my eyes, I’m itching to find out whether Becker got home last night. Shortly after seven o’clock, Dusty and I head back to Becker’s house on foot.
The garage door is still closed. It’s too early to knock on the door. I’m headed toward the driveway to take another look inside the garage when the door opens and Marlene Becker comes out fully dressed.
“Morning!” I call out.
She jumps like I’ve taken a shot at her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just out walking my dog.”
She stands frozen, so I say, “You’re out early. Big day?”
That moves her. She walks down the steps toward me with a peculiar look on her face. Instead of doing his usual excited dance to greet someone, Dusty sits down next to me, leaning on my leg.
When Marlene Becker is directly in front of me she says, “Don’t be coy with me. It doesn’t suit you.”
“You’re right. Where’s your husband?”
“I’m assuming he’s off doing what he has done for the entire twenty-eight years we’ve been married—off catting around with another woman.” Her gaze doesn’t falter.
I’m embarrassed on her behalf. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You knew. That’s why you sent that officer over here yesterday. You wanted her to nose around.” Her voice would freeze antifreeze.
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe you want something to hold over him so he’ll stop pushing to be part of that stupid goat rodeo.”
“This has nothing to do with the goat rodeo. Where were you going just now? You have somewhere to be?”
“I was going for a drive if you must know. I thought I’d head for San Antonio and maybe do a little shopping. That’s what I usually do when Arlen has found himself a new woman to spend time with.”
“You mind if we go inside and talk for a few minutes?”
“Very few. I don’t want to be here when Arlen comes home.”
“Then you can come to my house or down to headquarters.”
“I’ll come to your house. That way if he passes the police station on his way home, he won’t see my car there.”
At my house, I sit her down in the kitchen and whip up scrambled eggs and toast. She watches me as if I’m an alien creature. My guess is her husband has never turned a hand in the kitchen.
“Why do you stay with him?” I ask when we’re seated.
“My marriage vows were for better or worse. I’m a Christian, and I don’t believe in divorce.”
“You don’t have to divorce him to leave him.”
She picks at the eggs. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But every time he strays, he swears it’s the last time.” She gives a bitter laugh. “I used to think when he got older he’d lose his interest in playing around. No such luck.”
“Has your husband ever hurt you physically?”
“No. That’s not him. He just likes . . . variety.”
“Has any woman ever accused him of hurting her?”
She lays her fork down and folds her hands in her lap. She looks puzzled. “Not that I know of, but I try not to know too much. These are strange questions.”
“I know they are. But I have specific reasons for asking them, and I’d rather ask him directly. I’d like to get his cell number from you, and then you’re free to go.”
She writes down the number and then calls Dusty to her side. She leans down to ruffle his ears. It’s the first time she seems to have noticed that he is in the room. “Arlen doesn’t like dogs. Maybe I’ll get one.” She gets up and says, “I suppose I’ll see you around.”
After she leaves, I’m on automatic, washing up the dishes and getting ready to confront Arlen Becker.
My phone rings, and I see that it’s Maria. I don’t answer it, but it reminds me that I didn’t call Wendy last night. Being a lawman can be all-consuming. My wife Jeanne used to get annoyed when my whole attention was focused on a case. It was one reason that I quit the law and went into the oil business with her brother. Turned out that being a land man for an oil company was consuming in a different way. I traveled more than I wanted to, but it was part of the job. One thing Jeanne knew she never had to worry about, though, was me straying with another woman.
When Becker answers his phone, “This is Reverend Becker,” his tone is so oily that if he were standing in front of me, I might be tempted to hit him.
“This is Chief Craddock. I’d like to meet with you down at the station.”
“I’m not sure that’s necessary. I’ve been rethinking my position on the rodeo. It was suggested to me that perhaps I’ve been too hasty. Maybe next year will be a better time for me to sit down with Sanchez.” It isn’t lost on me that he calls Father Sanchez by his last name without the religious title.
“This concerns another matter.”
“Oh, and what would that be?”
“It’s best if you come in and we’ll talk. Say an hour?”
He doesn’t reply right away, and I can picture him frowning, outraged that he doesn’t have the upper hand. “Uh, I’m busy this morning. How about two o’clock.”
“I’ll expect you at ten.”
“Well, I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do.”
I get into headquarters and find both Maria and Connor there. They’re squabbling as usual, this time with opposite opinions of a movie I never heard of, and I’m not in the mood.
“Look, you two need to get straight with each other. Go have a margarita together one night after work.”
They look at me as if I’ve suggested they run off to a motel together. Naturally, it’s Maria who speaks up. “What are you so grumpy about?” Connor would never get up the nerve to ask the question that way.
“Where do you stand on the Mosley case? Did you take the files back to the courthouse? Have you given up on it?”
“I’ve decided to write it up and turn it over to the Department of Public Safety. They have to decide whether to go after Mosley. He lives out in Amarillo now, and he’s out of our jurisdiction.”
“And the files?”
She looks murderous. “I have to take them back.”
“This morning would be good. I need the room at ten o’clock.”
“For what?” She isn’t being sulky; she’s alert.
“Arlen Becker is coming in.”
Her eyes get wide. I know she’d like to sit in, but she knows it’s best if I talk to him alone.
“Coming in for what?” Connor says. “He’s the Baptist preacher, isn’t he?”
“Does Connor get to stay while you talk to him?” Maria asks. “Connor, what have you got that can take you out of the office?”
“A call came in this morning from Pansy Wilkins. She said there was another wild party next door last night. I’ll go over and talk to those boys.”
We all know that to Pansy, a wild party means somebody was sitting out on his porch drinking a beer and talking on his cell phone. But having Connor follow up will keep him out of the office.
“How long do we have to be gone?” Maria says.
“I’d say it’s safe to come back at 11:00. But if you drive up and see a strange car outside, keep on going.”
I must have come across pretty stern because both of them scramble out pronto. They’ve barely left when I get a call from Hogarth in Bobtail.
“That woman still hasn’t shown up,” he says.
“What’s your plan?”
“Plan? Ha! The usual. Fingerprints, looking through her computer, etc. Daughter gave us permission, but she still doesn’t seem all that concerned.”