by Beverly Long
“I’ll see if he’s available,” Thistle said, standing up.
A.L. ignored the stalling tactic. He settled back in his chair. “But first, I’ve got one more question for you. Can you walk me through your day on Tuesday, May 10?”
Thistle considered A.L.’s question before responding. “I left the city early, probably around 6:00 a.m., because I had an eleven o’clock meeting downstate in Springfield with State Representative Meyer. We’re interested in him supporting some legislation that will make it easier for us to get construction permits. That went until around three, and then I drove home.”
That was information that could be verified. “Thank you,” A.L. said.
Thistle left the room. A.L. checked his watch. Made a note of the time and the details of his conversation with Thistle. He’d been surprised to learn that Mallor had a connection to the area. But it actually helped explain why Poisen had become interested in the Gizer Hotel in the first place.
Twelve minutes later, the door opened again. A.L. stood. Thistle entered, followed by the antithesis of Thistle. The man wore an expensive-looking gray suit, the coat buttoned. His black shoes were shiny enough that they wouldn’t have been allowed in a Catholic girls’ school.
“Detective McKittridge, Sean Mallor,” Thistle said, making introductions. Then he stepped back through the doorway, closing the door behind him.
When Mallor extended his arm for a shake, A.L. could see monogrammed cuffs on his finely striped shirt. The guy flashed a smile, his teeth so white and perfect that A.L. was confident that he had a mouthful of veneers. His hair was dark and cut close to his head.
“Detective McKittridge?” he said, his voice showing none of the irritation that had been evident in Thistle’s tone.
“Mr. Mallor. I appreciate your time.”
“Of course,” the man said.
Sean Mallor was well-maintained but older than A.L. had anticipated, given that Thistle had shared that he had a four-year-old daughter. He’d been expecting a thirtysomething, but close up, he could tell that Mallor was probably in his fifties. There were lines and bags under his eyes and sunspots on his hands.
“May I get you a cup of coffee?” Mallor asked.
“No, thank you.”
“You don’t mind if I do, I hope,” he said easily, and busied himself pouring coffee from the thermal pot on the sideboard table. When he sat back down at the table, he sipped.
He didn’t ask why A.L. was here. In the twelve minutes it had taken him to appear, A.L. figured that Thistle had brought Mallor up to speed. But since he’d not been all that forthcoming with Thistle, A.L. knew that the man had to be brimming with questions. But he was playing his cards close.
A.L. decided it was time to shake the tree. “I’m investigating the murders of four women that have occurred in the Baywood area within the last two months.”
Mallor nodded.
“I understand you were raised near Baywood.”
“That’s correct,” Mallor said. “Born and raised in Smithville. I left there more than thirty years ago when I got my first real job in Chicago after college.”
“Do you still have family in the area?”
Mallor tilted his chin down. “I think you know that I do. My ex-wife and my daughter live there. Darcy is from there and moved back to live with her parents after the divorce.”
“No other family?”
“No.”
“Mr. Mallor, how old are you?”
“Fifty-six.”
“And how old is your ex-wife?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“When were you married?”
“Seven years ago. I was forty-nine and she was twenty.”
And he’d gone bat-shit crazy about Golf Course John, who was a mere six years older than Traci. Mallor’s in-laws must have wanted to weigh him down and drop him into the Wisconsin River.
“How long have you been divorced?”
“Three years. Our daughter was one.”
A.L. pondered his next question, but Mallor seemed willing to fill in the blanks. “Look, Detective McKittridge. I understand that you might not see a twenty-nine-year age difference as appropriate. And you’re probably thinking midlife crisis. And maybe it was. But I met Darcy when I was in the area. We hit it off, and while I wasn’t really interested in another relationship, because my first marriage had ended less than five years earlier, things took their own course. Darcy and I were married nine months after we met, and we moved to Chicago. Which might have been a mistake. You see, my children from my first marriage weren’t thrilled that their new stepmother was younger than they were. My daughter was actually a little more understanding than my son, who took every opportunity to find fault with Darcy.”
Had his children seen something that Mallor had been oblivious to? Maybe that Darcy was using Sean Mallor as her ticket out of small-town boredom into big-city fascination? But if so, why would she return to Smithville? “Is that why your marriage broke up?”
Mallor shrugged. “Are you married, Detective McKittridge?”
A.L. could tell him it was none of his business. “Divorced.”
“Then you know. There’s rarely one reason a marriage ends. Was the relationship with my adult children a part of it? Sure. Was the stress of having a newborn in the house, well after I’d thought that ship had left the dock, part of it? Maybe. Was it the age difference? My friends think so. Was it that she missed Smithville and I’d gratefully shaken that dust off my shoes? I don’t know.”
For the first time, A.L. caught the bitterness. Mallor wasn’t as easygoing about the dissolution of the marriage as he let on initially. Was he angry with his ex? Angry enough to take it out on other unsuspecting women? “Mr. Mallor, I understand that it was you who first brought the Gizer Hotel to the attention of the rest of the Poisen Group. Is that true?”
“Yes. As a kid, Baywood was the town where we did our shopping. When I found out the hotel was for sale, I thought the location had great potential.”
“Who did you find out from?”
Mallor hesitated. “I don’t remember.”
It was the first time he’d not been perfectly smooth, leading A.L. to believe that he might be lying. Why? “Did the fact that it was near your second ex-wife and child have any bearing on the decision?”
“No.”
A.L. didn’t believe that. Traci was at the center of his decision making. Jacqui, while not at the center, hovered at the edges, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. “Mr. Mallor, do the names Leisha Fowler, Marsha Knight, LeAnn Jacobs and Jane Picus mean anything to you?”
“I assume they are the dead women you mentioned at the onset of our conversation.”
“Yes. Do you know any of these women?”
“I don’t think so.”
That was an interesting answer. “Don’t think so?” A.L. repeated.
“I meet a lot of people, Detective. I’m not very good with names, unfortunately.”
“Maybe if I showed you a picture?”
“Sure,” Mallor said.
A.L. pulled up the photos on his phone that the families had provided of the women in happier times. He leaned forward, so that Mallor could see his phone. Started with Leisha Fowler. Finished with Jane Picus. Gave him ten or so seconds to study each one.
“Nothing is jumping out at me,” Mallor said.
“I want to make sure I understand,” A.L. said. “Do you recognize any of these women?”
Mallor shook his head. “No. Sorry.” He looked at his watch. “Listen, I’m ten minutes late for a meeting that I need to be at.”
“Just one more thing, Mr. Mallor. Can you walk me through your day on Tuesday, May 10?”
He sighed loudly. “Let me think. I took the train to work. Participated via conference call in a meeting that Dwayne had with State
Representative Meyer. Took my secretary out for lunch for her birthday. Came back to the office, jumped back on the conference call and then took the train home.”
“Why didn’t you go to Springfield with your partner?”
“I’ve been having some vertigo issues, and oddly enough, car travel aggravates the symptoms. That’s why I’ve been taking the train to and from work. Is there anything else?”
A.L. thought there might be. But first he intended to do some research on Sean Mallor, to make sure he was asking the right questions. “No. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course.” Mallor stood and motioned toward the door. He walked A.L. back to the lobby. “Have a good day,” he said, and turned before A.L. could reply.
A.L. stalled until the door had closed behind Mallor before turning to the woman at the desk. “Miss, Mr. Mallor mentioned that the two of you went out to lunch on Tuesday, May 10. Is that correct?”
She smiled. “For my birthday. And he gave me a pearl necklace. He’s a very generous boss.”
More pearls, thought A.L. It made him wonder if Rena had worked out her issues with Gabe. “And did you both come back to the office and work throughout the afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw him in the afternoon?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay, thank you,” he said. “Could I have your name, please, and a contact number?” He pulled out his notebook.
She looked uncomfortable. Nobody ever liked to go on the record.
“Kelly Peach.” She rattled off her contact number. He wrote it down, plus entered it into his phone. He dialed. Her phone, which was on her desk, started buzzing. “Just wanted to make sure I had it right,” he said.
He opened the door. The trip to Chicago had probably been worth it, even if he hadn’t had Liz in the car.
Back in his SUV, he sat in the parking garage and called Rena.
“How did it go with Liz?” she asked before he could get a word out.
“About what I expected. Not what I’d hoped.”
“I’m sorry, A.L.”
Him, too. “How did it go at city hall?”
“They’re working on a list of residents of the Gizer Hotel and a separate list of people who applied to live there but were rejected. Hoping to have something by tomorrow.”
“Okay. Let me tell you about Poisen Group,” he said. He filled her in on what he’d learned about Dwayne Thistle and Sean Mallor.
“You think anything is there?” she asked.
“We need to check their alibis. I’m going to call the state rep. Make sure that there was a meeting and that Thistle participated in person and Mallor was on the phone. If he regularly rides the train, he’s probably not buying a ticket every day, he’s likely using a monthly pass. I’ll make sure that was scanned coming and going that day. Hell, maybe I’ll even figure out who his doctor is and see if the vertigo is legitimate.”
“Is he...something?” Rena asked.
“Something what?” A.L. asked.
“Something that would attract a woman so much younger than he is?”
“He didn’t turn me on,” A.L. said.
“You know what I mean.”
“He’s smooth,” A.L. admitted. “Only once did he let just a trace of bitterness show. And honestly, in retrospect, that might have been intentional. Like he anticipated that I would expect that and he wanted to deliver it up to me.”
“Or maybe that’s you overthinking it.”
She might be right. But given that they were six days out from the next murder and they still had not located Tess Lyons, he’d overthink. What he didn’t want to do was overlook. “I think you need to talk to Darcy Mallor. You can ask her yourself whether Sean was all that and a bag of chips.”
* * *
Rena had no trouble finding Darcy Mallor’s address in Smithville. Once she had it plugged into her GPS, she put on some tunes, and hit the highway. Twenty-six minutes later she was parked outside the two-story, white-sided house. It was a nice place, with a big front yard and a bigger backyard. The lots in the neighborhood were probably at least an acre. Behind Darcy’s house, there was a big swing set that looked fairly new and a tire swing that appeared well-used hanging from a huge oak tree.
Rena got out and knocked on the door. It swung open. A young woman with dark hair, wearing cut-off blue-jean shorts and a Packers T-shirt stood there. Her feet were bare.
“Darcy Mallor?” Rena asked.
“Yes?”
“Detective Morgan, Baywood Police Department.” Rena showed her badge. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“About?”
“Your ex-husband, Sean.”
“Is he okay?”
There was real concern in the young woman’s tone. “Yes,” Rena assured her. “May I come in?”
“I guess.” She stepped back.
Rena could hear the television in another room and judged it to be some kind of kid show. Darcy led her into the kitchen and took a seat at the oak table. Rooster wallpaper covered the soffit. “Is there anyone else in the house?” Rena asked.
“Just my daughter.”
“Your parents?”
She didn’t seem surprised that Rena knew that she lived with her parents. “At work.”
Rena could see that the coffeepot on the counter was half-full, but Darcy did not offer Rena a beverage. “My partner, Detective McKittridge, had a conversation with your ex-husband this morning. Are you aware of that?”
The woman shook her head. “I haven’t talked to Sean for a couple of weeks—he FaceTimes with Ariel, but our contact is more limited.” She didn’t sound upset, just matter-of-fact.
“What’s your relationship with Sean?”
“We’ve been divorced for three years. We have a child together who deserves to have parents who are cordial to each other. We try to deliver on that.”
How very civilized. And mature, Rena realized. Maybe this woman had been ready for marriage at twenty. “During your marriage to Sean, or afterward, did you ever fear for your safety, or have any reason to believe that he could be violent toward women?”
Darcy squinted at Rena. “I suspect you’re going someplace with these questions, and I guess that I’d like to know where.”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you much, but just know that I would not have driven from Baywood to Smithville unless I thought the questions were important and relevant to a current investigation.”
Darcy sighed. “No, Sean was never threatening or violent toward me. I never saw or heard him threaten anyone. Not even my divorce attorney, who was a woman, and a bit of a barracuda.”
“Can you tell me how you and Sean met?” She had Sean’s version via A.L., but wanted to see if the stories matched.
“He was in town for a class reunion. We met at a restaurant where I was working. We dated and got married, all within a year.”
“He’s significantly older than you,” Rena said.
“Yes. And my parents were concerned. But I was confident that it was the right decision. I’m not convinced it wasn’t, despite the divorce. We loved each other but wanted different things.”
“What was that?”
“I love living in a small town, knowing my neighbors. I thought I could acclimate to the city. I tried, but I hated Chicago. The noise, the crime, the traffic. I wanted to come back to Wisconsin. If not Smithville, then maybe Baywood. Sean couldn’t stand the idea.”
Something wasn’t right. “Are you aware that Poisen Group tried to buy the Gizer Hotel so that they could raze it and put up a new commercial, multiuse development?”
“Only what I saw in the news. Sean and I never discussed it. And it happened well after our divorce.”
“Did it surprise you given that he didn’t have kind feelings toward Baywoo
d or Smithville?”
Darcy considered the question. “I never thought about it. Sean is very talented in business and has a knack for finding the right properties. I think that’s what’s behind his interest in the Gizer Hotel. He probably saw it as a moneymaker, and that’s important to him.”
“He does well?” Rena asked.
“He works hard, and he benefits from that. I think he really likes making a good income. It may have something to do with growing up poor.”
“He told you that?”
“No. We never really discussed his family. He didn’t seem to want to. But my family knew of his family. Smithville is small enough that everybody really does know everybody else. My mom, well, she never liked to talk badly about anyone, but she told me once that Sean’s family had struggled.”
“You never met any of Sean’s family?”
She shook her head. “His parents were both dead when I met him. He has a sister that he’s estranged from. She didn’t even come to the wedding.”
People were estranged from family for all kinds of reasons. But still. “What’s her name, and where does she live?” Rena asked.
“Saint Paul, Minnesota. Her name is Gracie.”
“Gracie Mallor?”
“Gracie Holt.”
Rena stood up. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome,” Darcy said.
Rena got back in her car and drove four blocks before taking a quick right into a gas station. She didn’t need fuel. She was interested in the phone booth that was next to the building.
Phone booths were a disappearing phenomenon, thanks to the cell phones everyone had in their pocket.
But it was just what she needed. If she called from her cell phone or from her office, caller ID would out her.
From the exterior, it appeared to be in decent shape. Inside, she gingerly picked the receiver off the hook. She did not want to think about the mouths that had been close to this. With her free hand, she fished in her purse for the quarters that always fell to the bottom. She found $2.75 and figured that would be enough. More than enough, she realized when the instructions said to insert seventy-five cents if her call was within the same area code.