“Well,” he said, softening. “I’m pretty busy today, but just because I’m a really nice guy, I’ll help you out.”
“I’d be so grateful, Officer…?”
“Mahoney.” He reached over the desk and awkwardly shook her hand. “Bruce Mahoney.”
“Thanks, Bruce. That would be great.” Jazzy gave him a big smile and sashayed over to where Rita sat.
“Oh brother,” Rita said under her breath. “You are unbelievable, missy.”
“My grandmother used to say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” She fluttered her fingertips in Officer Mahoney’s direction and he smiled back.
“Mine used to say that there’s a sucker born every minute.”
“Maybe so, but look, he’s calling right now.”
And so he was. Jazzy shifted on the vinyl padded chair until one leg was tucked underneath her. Officer Mahoney lowered his voice, but in the quiet of the room they could hear him describing them as mother and daughter. He turned away when he saw them looking, but Rita caught the words, “cute blonde.” She was sure his description of her wouldn’t be nearly as flattering, not that she cared. She had a sudden thought and nudged Jazzy. “The woman we’ll be talking to is Officer Dietz.”
“Yes.”
“Her last name is Dietz.” Rita stretched out her legs and rested her hands on her knees.
“I know, I heard him.”
“No, I mean she’s not a ditz. That’s her name: Dietz.”
“Ahhh,” Jazzy said. “You’re right. I guess I misunderstood.” Then she added, almost apologetically, “It’s not an exact science, you understand.”
On the other side of the room, Officer Mahoney finished his phone conversation and called out to them, “She’s on her way. Be here in a jiffy,” and Rita thought how odd it was that he used that expression: in a jiffy. It sounded like something an older person would say.
“Thank you kindly,” Jazzy said.
Rita could have sworn Jazzy had picked up a Southern accent somewhere along the way. “You are really something,” she said, giving the girl’s arm a squeeze.
In a jiffy turned out to be about fifteen minutes. When Officer Dietz finally came into the building, Rita and Jazzy stood waiting.
Officer Dietz turned out to be the opposite of her younger, male coworker. Less prickly and more welcoming. Just as Jazzy had described, she was in her forties with shoulder-length brown hair laced with strands of gray. She needed to lose a few pounds, but on her it looked more solid than fat. Officer Dietz had a trustworthy air about her. Rita had felt a rush of dread at the thought of having to tell the story of Melinda’s death all over again, but this woman had a warm smile, which made it easier. She ushered them over to her desk, which was covered in paperwork, framed family photos, and a houseplant Rita recognized as an African violet. A mahogany nameplate identified her as “Judy Dietz.” Rita thought she looked like a Judy, down-to-earth and no-nonsense.
They sat across from her. After the introductions, Officer Dietz said, “What can I help you with today?” On the other side of the room, Officer Mahoney shifted in his chair. Even without looking, Rita knew his ears were poised like antennas to hear what this was all about.
Jazzy looked to Rita, who drew in a deep breath before beginning. “My daughter, Melinda, was murdered ten years ago in Wisconsin, where we live. It happened in December, right before Christmastime. She was twenty-three.” Her voice cracked a little, but still she kept going. “A beautiful girl and such a good daughter. Everyone loved her. She was our only child.”
“I’m sorry,” Officer Dietz murmured, her forehead creased in concern. She opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a box of Kleenex, and offered it to Rita, who gratefully took a tissue.
“Her live-in boyfriend had an alibi, but my husband and I always believed he did it. He didn’t go to the funeral, and he disappeared right after that. We never knew where he went. His own family had no idea where he was,” Rita said.
“I can certainly understand why you would think that.” Officer Dietz took out a pen and flipped open a small spiral-bound notebook. “And what brings you to Colorado?”
“I’m…” This was a question she wasn’t expecting. “We’re…”
She glanced at Jazzy, who jumped in to help. “We’re on a road trip,” Jazzy said. “A group of us are driving to Las Vegas to help a friend meet up with her stepson.”
“Oh,” Officer Dietz said and jotted something down on her pad.
Rita took a deep breath. “We stopped here because we had some car trouble. And while we were eating lunch at Preston Place, I saw my daughter’s fiancé.”
“Rita talked to him and he acted defensive and guilty,” Jazzy said. “And his car had Colorado license plates, so we figured he must live here now.”
Rita had been too upset to notice the plates. Good thing Jazzy never missed a thing.
“I’m sympathetic,” Officer Dietz said, “but legally there’s not much I can do if he doesn’t have any outstanding warrants. I can certainly check and see.” She glanced down at her paper. “What’s his name?”
“Davis Diamontopoulos.”
Officer Dietz’s pen dropped from between her fingers. “Davis Diamontopoulos?” Her voice was incredulous.
“Yes,” Rita said. “Do you know him?” Clearly she did.
“You think Davis Diamontopoulos killed your daughter?”
“I know he did it.” Rita’s throat had a heavy feeling that radiated down to her chest. Something was happening here, but she didn’t know what. Judging from Jazzy’s expression she was equally clueless.
Officer Dietz said softly, “How did you daughter die?”
“She was found sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, strangled by her own scarf. The car was parked a few blocks from her apartment. There were no witnesses, and the murder was never solved.” Rita had said these words many times, but it never got any easier.
“And why are you so convinced it was him? Just because he didn’t go to the funeral? People grieve differently. He may have found it too difficult. And leaving town without a forwarding address isn’t a crime either.” Her voice was still soft, but not as sympathetic.
“I understand that,” Rita said. “But the thing is, his alibi didn’t hold up. He said he and his brother were out drinking and he crashed on his brother’s couch until morning. But the brother told a friend of Melinda’s that they actually parted ways around midnight.”
Judy Dietz tapped her pen thoughtfully against the desk. “I’ve found that people who’ve been drinking aren’t always clear on their facts.”
“His brother was pretty definite,” Rita said. “He said Melinda kept calling Davis at the bar and Davis was furious when he left.”
“Did you tell the police this?”
“The brother stuck to his original story when the police questioned him. And then, a few weeks after Melinda’s death, some of her other friends came to us. They said she was going to break up with him, that he was too moody and difficult. She was tired of his jealousy.” Rita looked down at her hands. “I was close to my daughter, I thought, but she never told me any of this. I would have stepped in and helped her if I had known.”
Jazzy placed a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
Rita looked up at Officer Dietz. “I never had a clue. Davis was always wonderful when he was around us. Like part of the family. He helped Glenn grill and offered to help with the dishes. He loved to look through our old photo albums and see pictures of Melinda when she was a little girl. He’d say, ‘You know I’m addicted to your daughter.’”
“He said he was addicted to your daughter?”
“All the time. I know it sounds creepy, but he’d say it sort of jokingly while he was playing with her hair or holding her hand—”
“I’m sorry, but—” Officer Dietz stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the linoleum. “I need a few moments.” She pushed away from the desk and walked briskly away.
Just before she reached the hallway in the back of the room, her muffled voice came from over her shoulder: “Please don’t go. I’ll be back.”
Officer Mahoney, clearly concerned, got up from his desk and walked to their side of the room.
“We were just—” Rita started to explain, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“I heard the whole thing,” he said, looking somehow younger and yet more self-assured than he had before. “The whole conversation. You were right. She does know Davis. If it’s the same guy, we all do.” He sat down opposite them, picked up one of the framed photos on the desk, and then turned it around so they could see. “Is this him?” he asked.
Rita gasped in astonishment. There was no mistaking him. It was Davis all right. In the photo he had his arm wrapped tightlyaround the dark-haired girl they’d seen in the restaurant parking lot. Sophie, he’d called her.
“That’s him,” Jazzy said. “No doubt about it.”
Rita stood up, took the picture out of his hands, and studied it. The couple in the photo wore formal clothing and stood under an archway covered in flowers. Like they were guests at a wedding. Sophie looked up at Davis and beamed, while he looked straight ahead, giving the camera his million-dollar smile. She knew this tableau oh so well. She had similar photos of Davis and Melinda. “The girl is Officer Dietz’s daughter?” she said, venturing a guess.
“Yes, they’re engaged. They live together.”
“Oh my.” Rita ran a finger over the glass. Another lovely young woman, someone else’s daughter. He probably made Sophie feel loved and special too.
“Everyone really likes Davis,” Officer Mahoney said. “I’ve met him several times myself and he’s never said or done anything that makes me suspicious. I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
“Yes, he’s a fooler,” Rita said.
“He lives with Sophie?” Jazzy said.
“Yes, and he works for Judy’s husband.”
Rita’s eyes didn’t leave the photo. She couldn’t get over that all the time she’d been looking for him, he’d been here. She’d pictured him living on the lam, sleeping in flophouses and begging for handouts. It only seemed right that he’d suffer. But her vision of him was all wrong. He hadn’t suffered at all. Instead he was up to his old tricks—charming people with his looks and personality and getting what he wanted. He hadn’t changed at all; he just changed his location.
When Judy Dietz returned, she went straight to Rita and took the picture out of her hands. It was hard to read her face. Rita wanted to say something significant, something wise that would convince her that Davis wasn’t as charming as he seemed and that Sophie was now in danger. She was wary of sounding like a hysterical mother. It would be her word against Davis’s. Everything she thought to say seemed inadequate, so she said, “Your daughter is gorgeous.”
“My daughter is everything to me,” Judy Dietz said, gently setting the photo back on her desk. “Everything in the world.” She turned to where Officer Mahoney sat in her chair and made a shooing gesture. “Bruce, we need some privacy. Could you leave the building, please?”
Startled, he said, “Why sure, I guess. I mean, if you think that’s best.”
“Yes, I think it would be best.”
He went back to his desk to get his keys and hesitated a moment before heading out. He rested his hand on the door and looked back one more time, questioningly.
“Go,” she said, pointing, and kept her eye aimed in that direction until both sets of doors had clicked shut behind him. “Now,” she said, giving Rita her full attention, “I need you to tell me everything.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sleep apnea? Laverne had never even considered such a thing, but Marnie seemed pretty certain she had it. It made sense, anyway. Something had to explain all these years of feeling so dragged down. She was barely up for an hour in the morning when she felt like taking a nap. Her kids thought she was depressed, her grand-kids assumed it was because she was old, her friends thought she’d turned antisocial, but really she was just tired. Bone-weary exhausted. Putting one foot in front of the other was the most she could manage some days. There was no joy in anything.
Marnie explained how Brian had gotten diagnosed at the sleep clinic right in town. He’d gotten a referral from his doctor and then spent the night with electrodes fastened to his head and chest. “They have a camera on you all night, and they monitor your oxygen level,” she said. “It’s not a difficult test to have done. If you decide to get checked out I can drive you. I mean, if you want me to,” Marnie said, which Laverne thought was a downright nice offer.
If Laverne did have sleep apnea, the cure would be a sleep mask with a hose thing attached to a machine. She’d have to strap it to her face and have it on all night, every night. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Marnie said. “Brian got used to it right away, and he felt better than he had in years.”
“Did he have more energy then?” Laverne asked. “Was he happier?”
“Definitely more energy,” Marnie said, one finger tapping the steering wheel. “But I wouldn’t say he was happier. Brian was not a happy man. At least not when I was around. He was dour and irritable.” Dour and irritable, that’s what she said. What a combination. And then, without Laverne even asking any more, Marnie had a mini-breakdown as they were driving west on I-70. She started to cry so hard, Laverne worried they’d get in an accident. She fished the Kleenex out of the glove compartment and handed it to over. Without saying a word, Marnie took it, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose. “Brian never loved me.” She choked out the words in machine-gun-like spurts. “No matter what I did. I tried everything. I showed interest in his work, I took care of the house, I made all of his travel arrangements. I did this for years, but none of it meant anything to him.”
“Some men are just like that,” Laverne offered. “They’re jerks.”
“No, but you don’t understand. He wasn’t a jerk. Everyone else thought he was great. He had golf buddies and work friends and college friends. Every time I turned around he was meeting someone for drinks or going out for happy hour. I’d hear him in the den on the phone, and he’d be laughing and telling jokes, and then he’d come out and it was like he was a different person with me.” She stepped on the gas and hooked a quick lane change around a minivan full of kids. They were so close when they passed that Laverne saw that the little boy in the middle seat wore a New York Mets baseball cap and regarded her with solemn eyes. “He said I was clingy.” Marnie blotted her nose with the wadded-up tissue.
“Ha!” Laverne said. “That’s jerk talk if I ever heard it.”
“He said I had unrealistic expectations.”
“Jerk, jerk, jerk.” Laverne drew in a sharp breath as the car veered slightly into the other lane. “Hey there. Watch it there, Marnie. I’d like to live another day.”
Marnie wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry for blubbering like this. I thought I’d gotten past all this. I mean, it was my choice to stay with Brian…”
Laverne shrugged. “You’re entitled to feel any which way you want.”
In this light, Marnie’s profile with her blotchy nose and down-turned mouth were even more pronounced. It wasn’t a good look for her. “Maybe I should have tried harder.”
Laverne said, “You know what, Marnie? We could go round and round on this all day, but why keep torturing yourself? It is what it is. There’s no going back, so you might as well remember the good stuff and move on. It’s time to let it go.”
“I just feel like an idiot. I wasted ten years.”
“I wouldn’t call it a waste. You helped that little boy grow up, didn’t you?”
There was a long pause and then the beginning of a smile crossed Marnie’s lips. “Well, that’s true. Troy was the one good thing that came out of all of this.”
“And now think how happy he’s gonna be when you show up on his doorstep. It’ll be one heckuva reunion!”
“I hope you’re right, Laverne.”
They drove another hundred or so miles in complete silence. Laverne was starting to doze when Marnie said, “You know, I thought I could drive straight through, but I think we’re going to have to stop for the night.”
“We’re going to have to stop sooner than that,” Laverne said. “I drank a whole Mountain Dew and I’m ready for a bathroom break.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rita told Officer Dietz the whole story, from the time Melinda and Davis met, to the horrible day she’d gotten the phone call saying her daughter’s body had been found. And then she told about meeting Davis and Sophie at the restaurant and Sophie’s reaction at hearing Davis had been engaged before.
Judy Dietz said not a word but listened quietly, twisting her hands and looking sicker as the minutes ticked by.
Rita said, “You might find it hard to believe that Davis was responsible. I know he’s very charming—”
“No, I believe it. When you used the word addicted it struck me. He tells us he’s addicted to Sophie,” Judy Dietz said. “I’ve always thought it was an odd thing to say. I’ve had a feeling about him for a while. Nothing I could put my finger on, just a niggling sort of feeling…”
“Mother’s intuition,” Jazzy said, startling both women. It was like they’d forgotten she was there.
“My husband adores him, thinks he’s tamed our daughter,” Judy said. “She used to be a wild thing, partying all the time, but she’s stopped since Davis came into her life. It’s always bothered me that Davis is so domineering, but she goes along with it.” Rita nodded. It had been the same with Melinda. Judy continued, “I have to think about how to handle this.” She raked her fingertips through her hair.
“You’ve got a gun,” Rita said. “I would just shoot him if I were you.” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could take them back. Even though she did feel that way, it was an inappropriate thing to say. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally a violent person.”
The Long Way Home Page 17