The Only Suspect

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Hello, Sam,” Dallas said, offering the same phony smile I remembered from high school. “I hear you’ve got another missing wife. You’re a dangerous man to be married to.”

  “Cut the crap, Dallas.”

  “It’s Detective Pryor.”

  “Despite what you seem to think, Detective Pryor,” I emphasized the title, “I had nothing to do with Lisa’s death. Or with Maureen’s disappearance.”

  He smiled again. “That’s good to hear.”

  I’d run into Dallas only a couple of times since my return to Monte Vista, and each time he’d managed to bring Lisa’s murder into the conversation. Chase said it was because Dallas was a cop, and cops hated to see anyone get off, even if it wasn’t their case or jurisdiction. But I thought it was more personal.

  Detective Montgomery returned carrying a cassette tape, which she slipped into a machine on the table. She looked at Dallas. “I thought you were going to wait for me.”

  “We’ve just been catching up on old times. Sam and I went to school together.”

  Detective Montgomery shot him a funny look. She was an attractive woman. Mid-to-late thirties, chestnut hair cut short and feathery. She was trim and athletic, whereas Dallas had put on twenty pounds or so since high school. He’d been skin and bones back then, so the extra weight wasn’t all bad, even though it was more flesh than muscle.

  I tried to gauge the atmosphere between them. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said they weren’t the most compatible of partners.

  “Do you have new information?” I asked.

  “Nothing relevant.” Montgomery pointed to the tape recorder. “Okay if we tape this? That way nothing slips through the cracks.”

  I wondered what would happen if I objected. “Fine.”

  “We checked with your neighbors this morning. Nobody remembers seeing any strangers in the vicinity yesterday, or anything out of the ordinary.”

  “No one remembers seeing your wife yesterday either,” Dallas added.

  Detective Montgomery put a sheet of paper on the table in front of me. “These are the names you gave me last night, your wife’s friends. Anyone else you can add?”

  I scanned the list then shook my head.

  “How about civic activities, social clubs, that sort of thing?”

  “She used to play tennis with a group of women at the club,” I said.

  “The Vista Heights Country Club?” Dallas asked with a barely disguised sneer.

  “No, the Swim and Racket Club in town.” A decidedly less sophisticated, and less pricey, alternative to the toney country club a few miles west of town. Maureen had been pressing to join Vista Heights, but since money was tight and neither of us played golf, I didn’t really see the point.

  “Can you give us their names?”

  “Terry something. And a Joanna.” It was an arena of Maureen’s life I knew virtually nothing about. “I don’t know their last names.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Last winter she took a ceramics class through Adult Ed. Thursday evenings.”

  Montgomery scribbled something on her pad. Dallas looked bored.

  The detectives led me again through the events of Sunday morning and my discovery that Maureen was missing. Dallas pressed me about the last time I’d seen her. A trickle of sweat ran down my chest. I knew I’d made a mistake not thinking through my answer earlier, but now I was locked into the story I’d already given. If I started backtracking, it would look bad. At least what I told the detectives jibed with what I’d told Sherri.

  “You left the house before eight yesterday morning?” Dallas asked.

  “Right.”

  “What did your wife say to you before you left?”

  “She was still asleep. I got dressed and slipped out quietly so as not to wake her.”

  “And then went by the hospital to check on a patient?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was the patient?”

  This time I was prepared. “Mary Conrad,” I told them. Mary was indeed in the hospital, and unlikely to remember which days I’d been in to see her, assuming she was even awake during my visit. I felt horrible using her to cover a lie—Mary Conrad was eighty-six years old and a lovely woman. I made myself a silent promise to make it up to her by visiting often in the future.

  “There’ll be a notation on her chart?” Dallas asked.

  I shook my head. “Dr. Becker is her attending physician at the hospital. He’s a cardiologist. I’m not directly involved in her care there.”

  “Then why did you go see her?”

  “She’s still my patient.”

  Dallas shot Detective Montgomery a meaningful look. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen it. The story seemed transparent to me too, but there was no way they could prove I wasn’t there.

  “And you got back home at noon?”

  “A little after.”

  “That’s a long time,” Dallas said, “for looking in on a patient who isn’t even under your care at the moment.”

  “I spent some time in town too. Got myself a cup of coffee, did a little window shopping.” For just a moment, I hesitated. My simple lie about Sunday morning was becoming an impenetrable maze and might even hinder their ability to find Maureen. I wanted to go back and start over, but I couldn’t.

  Detective Montgomery was rubbing her thumb over the metal clip of her pen. “I’ve arranged for the sheriff’s department to lend us their dog handler.”

  “Dog handler?”

  She nodded. “Dogs are amazing. If they can pick up your wife’s scent, it may help.” She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me.

  “Fine,” I told her.

  “We’ll also want to inspect the house and yard,” Dallas added.

  “Looking for what?” Though having been down this road before, I knew. They would be looking for evidence of a crime, and more to the point, evidence that suggested I was the perpetrator.

  “Whatever we find,” Dallas answered. I swear I saw a smirk on his face. “Anything to head us in the right direction.”

  “The right direction is that she’s missing,” I said, aware of the rising anger in my voice. “Lost, or hurt, or being held captive. What you should be doing is looking for her, not wasting your time trying to make me look guilty.”

  “You’re awfully defensive, Sam,” Dallas said.

  I knew I was overreacting, but Dallas grated on me. I could tell that already this was personal for him. He’d like nothing more than to be the one to slip the cuffs on my wrists and read me my rights.

  Hannah Montgomery rose from her chair and leaned on the table between me and Dallas, blocking our line of sight. “We are trying to find your wife, Dr. Russell. But without something more to go on, we have no idea where to look.”

  “There’s got to be a—”

  “There’s no sign of a break-in,” she added. “No sign of struggle. Your wife left with her purse.”

  “Or whoever took her, took it too.”

  “Is that what you’re suggesting happened?”

  I’d spent the last twenty-four hours sifting through conceivable scenarios. Bottom line was either Maureen had left of her own volition as the detective suggested, possibly after an argument with me. Or she was the victim of foul play.

  My inability to recall yesterday morning or most of Saturday opened up a frightening corollary to the latter—that I’d been the one to harm her. And since I could remember nothing, I had no idea what witnesses might eventually come forward.

  My throat constricted. I dropped my head to my hands. “I don’t know what happened. It’s not like her to just disappear.”

  “Except she did it once before, you said.”

  “Just overnight. And it was after a big blowup.”

  Dallas stood and stretched, signaling an end to the questioning. “I’ll ride with you, Sam. Hannah can meet us there.”

  “Meet us where?”

  “At your place. The search, remember? And the dogs?”
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br />   “Right now? I’ve got to pick up Molly.”

  “Fine. We’ll get her on the way.”

  In the end, I arranged to have Sherri pick up Molly.

  “Of course I can do it,” she said. “I should have thought to offer earlier. Molly can stay here and hang out with Heather for a couple of hours. And, Sam, I’ve already lined up half a dozen people to help distribute flyers.”

  “That’s great, Sherri. Thanks.”

  I’d stepped away to make the call on my cell phone. I pocketed it and met up with Dallas in the parking lot.

  “Nice car,” he said. “I’ve always liked Audis. Of course the price is a little steep for someone on a cop’s salary.”

  I didn’t bother to point out I’d had it for ten years. Dallas and I had been at odds since sophomore year in high school, when he and his mother moved to Monte Vista from somewhere in Texas. Not that I was alone in that. Dallas had it in for half the male population in our class. With the wisdom of maturity, I’d come to understand that he’d probably felt pretty insecure and uncomfortable with himself, which is why he acted the way he did. I wasn’t convinced that had changed.

  Dallas walked along the side of the car, admiring it. “Shame about the bumper. That dent looks fairly recent.”

  “Yeah, I backed into a tree.”

  “Man, an expensive car like this, that must hurt.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” We got inside, and I started the engine.

  Dallas turned on the radio and played with the dials until he found a station he liked.

  “I never met your current wife. What’s she like?”

  I was sure the current was deliberate, especially since he’d used Maureen’s name throughout the interview. And he’d never met Lisa either. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Just trying to get the picture is all.”

  “She’s a wonderful person.”

  “You knew her in Boston?”

  “No, we met here.”

  We pulled up to my house before Dallas got in any more questions. Because the garage was blocked by police vehicles in the driveway, I parked on the street.

  Hannah Montgomery and a uniformed officer were standing on the walkway leading to the front door.

  Dallas greeted them then gestured to one of the men. “Check out the car too, Herman.” He turned to me. “You don’t mind, do you, Sam?”

  In a panic, I remembered the woman’s shoe, still in the trunk. And I’d had enough of Dallas.

  “In fact, I do mind.”

  He feigned amazement. “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m tired of your innuendo, for one thing.” I locked the car and led the detectives toward the house. I hoped I wasn’t slipping a noose around my own neck.

  CHAPTER 6

  Hannah was in a rotten mood. She wasn’t sure whom she was most upset with—Dallas for being such an ass, Sam for having been arrested for the murder of wife number one, or herself for caring.

  Sam hadn’t been convicted, she reminded herself. But that hardly mattered. The attractive, nice-guy image was tarnished.

  She watched Sam as he slipped the key into the lock to let them into the house. Not nervous exactly but not entirely comfortable with having them there either. He was holding back something, but people were less than truthful for all sorts of reasons. It didn’t follow that Sam was necessarily implicated in his wife’s disappearance.

  Dallas stepped to the side. “I thought you’d have one of those fancy new houses outside of town,” he said to Sam. “Being a doctor and all.”

  Sam’s expression was stone. “Guess you thought wrong.”

  Just then a white sheriff’s cruiser pulled up. Rick Thompson and his four-legged partner, Holmes, got out and started toward the house. Hannah went to greet them.

  “Thanks for coming out on such short notice,” she told him.

  Rick nodded. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  The German shepherd sat at Rick’s side, alert and eager to work. Then a neighbor’s cat scampered across the lawn and Holmes tugged at his leash. Hannah bit back a smile. For all his training and skill, Holmes was still a dog.

  “We’ve got a missing person?” Rick asked.

  “My wife,” Sam answered, joining them.

  Hannah sketched the details of Maureen Russell’s disappearance. “Last seen in the house Sunday morning. Purse is gone, but her car’s in the garage. There’s no obvious sign of foul play,” she added.

  “Let’s see what Holmes can do.” Rick turned to Sam. “I’m going to need an article of your wife’s clothing. Something she would wear close to her skin. A nightgown maybe, or T-shirt.”

  “Sure. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When Sam was gone, Dallas said to Rick, “It’s possible the husband had something to do with it.”

  “That’s pretty much always the case, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but this one killed his first wife seven years ago.”

  Rick let out a low whistle. “So why isn’t he behind bars?”

  “Hung jury. Eleven to one for conviction.”

  Rick whistled again. “What a system we got, huh? Sometimes I think it’s a wonder we got anybody behind bars.”

  “We could certainly streamline the process,” Hannah offered with sarcasm, “if we tossed out presumption of innocence.”

  Dallas shot Rick a glance that said, See what I have to put up with? Rick had the decency to look embarrassed.

  Sam returned with a sleeveless, ankle-length cotton nightie. “This was on the hook in the closet, so I know it’s not freshly laundered.”

  “Is that what she was wearing Sunday morning?” Dallas asked.

  The question seemed to catch Sam by surprise. “I ... I’m not sure.”

  Naturally unobservant, Hannah wondered, or was there something about the question that gave Sam pause? Maybe Maureen hadn’t been wearing anything at all. Hannah quickly reined in her imagination but not before she’d caught a mental glimpse of Sam Russell in bed.

  Rick held the nightie for Holmes to sniff. He uttered a few short commands, incomprehensible to Hannah. She’d been surprised to learn that Holmes, like many K-9 dogs, had been trained overseas. In his case, Czechoslovakia. Accordingly, Holmes responded to commands in Czech, which had the added benefit of foiling bad guys who might try to confuse the dog with a command of their own.

  Holmes roamed the yard, nose to the ground. He could have been any dog out sniffing fresh territory, but he moved quickly, with a purpose and intensity that spoke of work rather than play.

  Hannah kept an eye on Sam, who seemed intrigued by the process and understandably anxious. What she couldn’t tell was whether the anxiety sprang from uncertainty about his wife’s fate or from certainty borne of guilt.

  Finally, Rick shook his head and called the dog. “He’s not picking up anything here. Let’s try inside.”

  “If she’d gone for a walk,” Hannah asked, “would Holmes have been able to pick up her scent?”

  “That’s the theory,” Rick said.

  They entered through the front door. It opened into a small hallway that led to the living room. After a few false starts, Holmes headed for an armchair to the left of the fireplace.

  “That’s where Maureen usually sits,” Sam explained.

  Rick said something to the dog. The words meant nothing to Hannah, but she could tell the tone was warm and encouraging.

  Holmes made another tour of the room then moved down the hallway and into the kitchen. He circled the center island, hesitated, then headed for a door near the refrigerator. He pawed the ground there and began barking in quick, short yaps.

  “Where’s this go?” Rick asked.

  “Into the garage. That’s how we usually leave and come into the house.”

  Rick opened the door, and Holmes trotted into the two-car garage, making a pass at a yellow Miata, which Hannah assumed was Maureen’s car, then returning to the spot where Rick was standing at the kitchen entra
nce. He let out a series of short barks.

  “What’s it mean?” Dallas asked.

  “Looks like the freshest scent leads from the kitchen to the garage.”

  “You sure about that?” Dallas asked.

  “No, not sure. But Holmes had a good scent at the door leading into the garage. He didn’t have one at the front door.”

  “But her car’s still here,” Hannah pointed out.

  Rick shook his head. “Holmes wasn’t interested in her car. My guess is she left in a different car.”

  “Let’s open the garage door,” Dallas said, at the same time hitting the button to raise the door.

  Rick laughed. “Holmes is good, but he can’t follow the scent of someone in a moving car.”

  “What if that car’s still here? Would he pick up her scent inside?”

  Rick looked confused. Sam, who had momentarily paled, now turned livid.

  “You can’t honestly believe I had anything to do with this.”

  Dallas responded by walking toward Sam’s car. “Why shouldn’t I believe it?”

  “How they ever let you be a cop—”

  Hannah cut him off. “Does anyone regularly use your garage besides you and your wife?” she asked.

  Sam shook his head, his eyes still on Dallas.

  “No cleaning people, gardener, delivery folks?”

  “No.” After a moment he added, “I suppose she could have had a friend pick her up.”

  “In the garage? Is that something that’s happened before?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Sam ran a hand along the back of his neck. His expression was drawn. “The door into the house is never locked,” he added after a moment. “Someone could have broken in through the garage.”

  “You’ve got an automatic garage door opener,” Dallas noted. “They’d need a transmitter to open it.”

  “If you fool around with frequencies,” Sam said, “you can sometimes hit the right one. I’ve even seen it happen by accident.”

  Hannah knew that was possible, though it was unlikely someone who hit on a frequency by accident would then decide to enter the house and abduct its occupant. But someone who had the intent first, that wasn’t as hard to fathom. Not that it brought them any closer to finding Maureen Russell.