by Terry Shames
“Did you talk to the woman’s coworkers?”
“There’s just the two of them, the boss and the missing woman.”
“What kind of business?”
“It’s a hair salon.”
I freeze. It can’t be the same shop. I can’t believe I didn’t ask yesterday what kind of work the woman did. “What hair salon?”
“It’s called Darlene’s Beauty Shop. Not exactly a snappy name.”
“Hogarth, I have to talk to you.” Outside, Becker’s big Chrysler pulls into the lot. “That beauty shop is the same one that Elaine Farquart and Loretta Singletary went to.”
“I’ll be damned. How long have you known this?”
“It was in the credit card information I got from you. I didn’t follow up because, although they went to the same shop, they saw different hairdressers. I talked to both hairdressers, but I didn’t find out anything that looked like it ought to be pursued. So that I make no more assumptions, it’s Lucy Nettleman who’s missing?”
“That’s the one. How soon can you get up here?”
“It’ll be an hour. I have a person of interest coming in for an informal interview.”
“Who is it?”
Becker is just outside the door. “I’ll have to fill you in later. He’s walking in the door now”
“You’re holding out on me.”
“Not intentionally. I’ll get back to you.”
It’s a blustery day, wind kicking up and occasional swishes of rain showers. Reverend Arlen Becker walks in stamping his feet and brushing rain from his zip-up jacket.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask. “A glass of water?”
“You can tell me what the heck this is all about,” he says, bluster matching the weather.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to the chair next to my desk. He eyes it as if he’s going to refuse, but then he pulls it away from the desk and eases into it slowly as if to prove that he’s planning to resist every way he can.
“Where were you last night?” I decide that the shock treatment would work best.
“I don’t know that that’s any of your business.”
“It is if you’ve been up to no good.”
His lip curls. “I’m not sure I catch your drift.”
I printed off a copy of the photo he sent me along with the phony profile I made up. I take them out of the desk drawer and shove them over to him. He takes a long time to look at them, no doubt trying to figure out how to approach his protest.
“That’s my photo. How did you get a hold of it?”
“You see the profile of the woman there?”
“Yes, what does that have to do with me?”
“You replied to the profile on a dating website.”
“What if I did? There’s no law against that.”
“Normally, I’d say yes, that’s between you and your wife, and you and your church. But this is different.”
He has tried to stay cocky, but his bluster is deflating. “Different how?”
“I wrote that profile to smoke out men who might have replied to Loretta Singletary’s profile.”
He lets loose a nasty snicker. “Why would I be interested in an old biddy like that?”
“I can’t answer that. No more than I can answer why a man with a good wife like yours would be prowling around on the Internet looking for action. And why you would describe a loyal member of your congregation in such a mean way.” Before he can make something of that, I continue, “I have no idea where your taste in women lies. But that’s not important. What’s important is that one woman on that website is dead, and two more are missing—one of them from right here in town. And I want to know if you were involved with any of them.”
“I don’t know where you got the idea that I met any of those women. I never meet any of the women I contact on dating websites in person. I like to talk to them, that’s all. It’s no crime for me to want to have conversations with women.”
I don’t believe him, but there’s no way to prove otherwise at the moment. “What do you think would happen if your congregation found out you chatted up these women?”
“Is this a threat to get me to lay off Sanchez?”
“That’s the furthest thing from my mind. I just wonder what lengths you would go to make sure no one found out.” I’m trying to figure out whether he’s the man who broke into Loretta’s house.
“I certainly wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Would you sneak into somebody’s house and steal information about your activities?”
“If I knew they had information like that, I guess I might think of it, but I haven’t done that.”
“How did you hear that Loretta Singletary was missing?”
He clears his throat. He’s starting to get the hunted look that people get when they’re backed into a corner. “One of the church ladies must have told me.”
“And did she tell you that Loretta had been on a dating website— the same one you had been nosing around on? Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Before you answer, consider that I can find this information out other ways, and if you’re lying it won’t look good.”
“She may have mentioned it.”
“So, you knew there was a possibility that Loretta had seen your information on the website and recognized you.”
“How would she do that?”
“How do I know she didn’t ask for your photo and you sent it to her?”
“I told you I have no interest in somebody like her.”
“I only have your word for it. And last week I surprised somebody about your size who was rummaging around in her house. For all I know, you have her stashed somewhere and broke into her house to retrieve your photo.”
“Absolutely not!” He’s practically screaming. “You’re talking to the wrong man. I may chat up people online, but I don’t break into houses, and I certainly don’t kidnap people.”
“As I understand it, in the past, your relations with women in the workplace have consisted of a lot more than conversation. You’ve been fired from one job after another for harassing women. The fact is, I’m not sure what that consisted of—was it simply a matter of chasing women around the break room, or was it more serious? Was it assault? You tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you a thing. Those files are confidential, and I’ll have the hide of anybody who leaked them to you.”
I slam my hand down on the desk. “What I’m telling you is that the little I do know gets me mighty interested in the coincidence of you being on the same small-town website as the women who have gone missing. And if you don’t think I’m going to pursue this, you’re mistaken.”
“You don’t have any proof of this. You’re trying to pin something on me to get the glory.”
“No sir, you’re the one who’s worried about glory. I don’t want to pin anything on anybody. I want to find my friend Loretta, and I’m going to turn your life upside down until I make sure you aren’t the person I’m looking for. If you don’t want to cooperate, that’s your business. But one way or another, I’m going to find out. The first thing I’m going to do is talk to the FBI and tell them everything I know about you and let them take it from there. Glory? Forget it.”
His eyes are bugging out of his head, and I can’t tell whether his red face is due to fear or fury. It doesn’t much matter to me. He’s my only lead.
“You can’t get away with this,” he says. “You’re messing with my privacy. I have a right to privacy under the law.”
“I don’t think you understand. Your privacy doesn’t mean a thing if I suspect you of kidnapping these women. Another one has disappeared, and you were gone overnight. Why shouldn’t I think you’re the one who has abducted them?”
He’s breathing hard, and his eyes are cold. “I was with a friend last night. She’ll vouch for me.”
I pull out a pen and pad and point to it. “Name and phone number. And the hours you were with her.”
His eyes narrow. �
��Who are you answerable to? Who do I report you to for overstepping?”
“You can talk to the sheriff in Bobtail, but I guarantee he’s as interested in finding out what happened to those women as I am. You realize that even if you did spend last night with a woman, you are still not off the hook. The minute I saw the photograph you sent me, I knew you were up to no good. And everything points in that direction. You think the sheriff is going to hold your hand and tell you that because you’re a Baptist minister you’ve got special privileges?”
His eyes dart from me to the wall behind me and back. He’s trapped, but so am I. I keep flashing back to the news Hogarth told me—that the missing woman is from Darlene’s Beauty Shop. It doesn’t make sense. Three women all connected through a hair salon. Why would that have anything to do with this minister? Just because he’s a snake, guilty of running around on his wife, doesn’t mean he’s a kidnapper or a killer.
“Look, call the woman I was with. All right? But don’t tell my wife. She doesn’t deserve what I’ve done.”
“I don’t have to tell your wife. She already knows. What do you think she thought when you didn’t come home last night? That you were out visiting the sick? She knows you better than that. You’ve humiliated her every chance you’ve gotten, and you’re right, she doesn’t deserve that.”
He’s rocking back and forth, looking ashamed. But he has been here before. Whatever demon drives him to make a fool of himself and humiliate his wife by pursuing women, this episode is not likely to change things. His shame only lasts a few seconds. “That’s between my wife and me,” he says, jaw jutting out.
“I’m still not convinced you don’t have those women, and I’m going to keep a good eye on you.”
“What is it you want? You want me to lay off Sanchez? Is he your good pal and you’re going to blackmail me to keep him happy?”
“I want to see the last of you regardless of whether you’re guilty. What you do about Father Sanchez and the goat rodeo is of no interest to me.” I get up. “You’re free to go, but like I said, I’ll have an eye on your every move.”
He springs to his feet. “How do you think you’re going to do that? Small-town cop like you with your little half-time force, that little Mexican girl and the chubby half-wit as backup?”
I think of petty things I could say to him—that Maria is worth ten of him and that Connor is every bit as smart as he is—but he’s right, I can’t really keep an eye on him. Except. Except, like Maria suggested earlier today, if the Baptist ladies happened to know that I needed a few eyes on him, I wouldn’t have to tell them why; they’d be intrigued enough to get right on it.
“Why are you smiling?” He’s suspicious.
“You don’t have any idea what a small town is like, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
What I mean is that he thinks he can get away with the same kind of nonsense in a small town that he did in a city without people finding out. He’s sadly mistaken. “Never mind. Just watch your step, that’s all.”
CHAPTER 31
“I think I might be losing my mind,” I say to Hogarth. I can’t get over that I didn’t ask you relevant questions about the new missing woman. It could have saved us time.”
“I take it your man didn’t pan out?”
“He’s a creep, but probably not our creep.”
“Who is he?”
“If I tell you, you won’t believe it. It’s the Baptist preacher.”
“Whoa!” His eyebrows shoot up. “How did you figure that?”
I tell him how I laid a trap on the dating website and Becker stumbled into it.
“He’s not the first preacher who hid behind his religion. And he’s not the first to turn out to be an adulterer. But murder? That’s a stretch.”
“You’re right. I didn’t get how he fit in with women connected through the beauty salon, but at the time, it was my best shot at a suspect.”
“We may not be any better off with this new disappearance. It’s hard to put together what connects her with the other two missing women because she didn’t do online dating, and only Loretta was her client. You ready to go ask a few questions at the salon?”
Maria had come back from Bobtail when I was ready to leave, and I had left Dusty with her, so we go in Hogarth’s squad car. I appreciate that he’s willing to count me in on the questioning. When I thank him, he says, “Tell you the truth, I’m glad for the help. We’ve lost two officers in the last couple of months. One retired and one took a job in Austin. We’re short-handed.”
We get to the salon and find a dozen women standing in the front yard in small groups, many of them holding cups of coffee. They grow silent when they see Hogarth and me walk in through the gate. One of them, who seems to have been appointed leader, marches over to us. “What are the police going to do about this? We are all scared to death. First poor Elaine Farquart, and now Lucy has gone missing.” She takes in my uniform. “And I understand a woman disappeared from Jarrett Creek too. This is a disgrace.”
Hogarth takes off his hat. He looks older without it. “Ma’am, we’re not even sure Lucy Nettleman is officially missing. She may have had to take a quick trip, or she may have had an accident. We’re looking into it.”
“A quick trip? That’s ridiculous.” The woman is around Loretta’s age, sharp-featured with ice blue eyes and a pointed chin. She’s wearing a lot of makeup and jewelry. “Lucy needs this job. She wouldn’t go off without telling Darlene.”
“Ma’am, believe me, we’re doing everything we can to find her.” He glances at me uneasily and then raises his voice and speaks to address them. “I want all of you to think of any information you have that might be pertinent with regard to Lucy Nettleman. Anything that you think might have a bearing on where she might be, even if it seems insignificant, please tell me now or call me at police headquarters. You can talk to anyone there, and they’ll get the information to me.”
In the salon, it’s business as usual. Darlene is shampooing a woman and says she’ll be with us right away. As soon as she rinses her client’s hair, she says to her, “Patti, you’re going to have to wait a couple of minutes while I talk to these officers about Lucy.”
Patti waves her away. “You take all the time you need.”
Darlene takes us back to a room that she uses as an office and tells us to take a seat on the folding chairs next to the desk. “I’m going out of my mind with worry. It’s not like Lucy to disappear like this. I’ve had to cancel all her appointments. She wouldn’t just not show up unless something happened to her. I’m scared that the same person who took Elaine and Loretta has taken her.”
“Let’s don’t jump to conclusions,” Hogarth says. He asks her when she last saw Lucy.
“She left work late Wednesday. She doesn’t usually work past five-thirty, but she had a couple of ladies who begged her to take care of them. Then yesterday she’d didn’t show up. Didn’t call . . .”
“How did she seem Wednesday? Was there anything unusual going on? Her mood the same as usual?”
Darlene covers her mouth with her hand, blinking hard while she thinks. “I swear I don’t remember a thing that was different. We’re busy. We don’t have a lot of time to make small talk. But we do talk to our ladies, so maybe one of her clients could tell you more.”
“We need to get a list of the clients who had appointments with her that day.”
“And if she’s particularly friendly with any of her clients, even if they weren’t with her that day, it might be good for us to talk to them,” I say.
“Okay, that’s a good thought,” she says. She draws a breath as if she’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. Hogarth catches it.
“What is it you’re thinking?”
“Well, I don’t know that she has a lot of friends. I’ll tell you, she was like a whipped dog when she first came to work here, humiliated by her husband like she was. She didn’t want to chat much with anybody. People came to her
anyway because she’s a really good stylist. They were willing to overlook her not being friendly. But gradually she warmed up. I don’t know that she made really good friends with anyone though. That’s all I’m saying.”
“So, the last time you talked to her was Wednesday?”
“That’s right. Now let me get you that list. Do you want all the clients she has seen recently or just her regulars?”
“Let’s start with the regulars.”
She consults her calendar and jots down names and phone numbers. I’m glad she’s organized.
“Did you ever hear that Ms. Nettleman was dating anyone?”
“Heavens, no. I think she’s pretty much off men. She’s bitter.”
“Have you talked to her daughter?”
Darlene frowns. “I haven’t.”
“When we talked to her, she didn’t seem all that worried about her mamma.”
“I’ve only met her a few times. She’s an odd girl. She’s as mad at her daddy as her mother is. If you ask me, they’d be better off putting their bitterness in the past and moving on. They’d be happier.” She gives a cluck of laughter. “Well, they didn’t ask me, so I mind my own business.”
She hands over the list of Lucy’s clients, and we get up to leave.
“Now let me ask you a question,” Darlene says. “Did the police go out to Lucy’s house to check on her? I worried that maybe she had fallen or was sick.”
“Yes, ma’am, we went out there,” Hogarth says. “We did that first thing. When we were in the house, we checked in case she had left some clue as to where she had gone, but there was nothing. We left a note telling her we were concerned and to contact us if she returned.”
Hogarth and I stop at a sandwich shop in a strip mall nearby and eat a quick lunch. Back at Bobtail Police Department, he turns over half the list of Lucy’s forty regular customers to one of his junior officers.
I call Maria to tell her where I am and what I’ve been doing. “I have a list of Lucy’s clients I’d like you to call and find out if they can tell you anything about her. Like if they know whether she dated or was happy working there. Anything that could give us a lead one way or the other. I’ll fax the list over to you, and you can call me if you get any interesting responses.”