by Mary Burton
“Anybody hanging around this general area that gave you cause to worry?” Brody asked.
“No. And no to anyone stalking Christa. No to any weird notes or phone calls. She never said anything that made me worry about her. One day she’s planning her wedding and on top of the world and the next she is gone. Whoever took her came out of nowhere. Neither one of us saw him coming.”
Chapter Seven
Monday, April 8, 9:00 A.M.
Normally, Jo arrived at work earlier than seven, but today she’d overslept, which hadn’t happened since she was eight weeks pregnant and riddled with morning sickness.
All these years had passed and she could still remember morning sickness. And why they called it morning sickness always puzzled her. She’d had it from the moment she woke up until she went to bed.
The day she and Brody had married, she’d thrown up three times and could only stomach ginger ale. And when he’d dropped her back off at her dorm after the wedding ceremony she’d been relieved to crawl in her bed. He’d offered to stay, but she’d wanted to be alone.
Jo pushed the elevator button for the seventh floor of her office. When the doors opened the receptionist glanced up, relief sparking in her eyes.
“Thank God you’re here,” Sammy said. Sammy was in her late thirties, blond, tall and slim. “Dr. Anderson has been asking for you.”
Her boss was a renowned expert in forensic psychology and also taught at the university. He’d sat in when she’d presented her dissertation and had been impressed. A week later he’d offered her a job in his office.
Dr. Anderson was a brilliant psychologist, but his lack of administrative skills often created unnecessary drama. Within weeks of joining the firm, Jo had learned to avoid high alert until she assessed the situation. “I have no appointments on my schedule.”
“Dr. Anderson had an early morning call from an attorney who wants you to talk to one of his clients.”
“What’s the issue?” Nothing happened in the office without Sammy knowing it.
“The attorney is an old friend of Dr. Anderson’s. He wants to get a psych evaluation on one of his clients. He’s worried that taking this guy’s case could be explosive.”
“Why doesn’t he refuse the case?”
Sammy grinned. “A lot of money on the table, from what I understand. And if he defends this guy and gets him acquitted it would win a lot of great PR.”
Jo’s annoyance simmered. “What if my report is not favorable?”
“I guess he’s assuming/hoping it will be.”
“The report will be honest.”
“Dr. Anderson knows that. And he’s warned his friend you can be blunt. I guess he’s hoping it will all turn out fine.”
“What’s the client accused of?”
“His wife went missing, and he’s a suspect.”
“What’s his name?” She dug her phone out of her purse to check e-mail.
“Dr. Aaron Dayton.”
The name tweaked memories. “His wife went missing a few months ago.”
“He has an alibi for the time she vanished, but the cops still aren’t sold.”
“Where are they?”
“Conference room.”
“Tell them I’ll be right there.” Jo dropped her briefcase and purse in her office, checked her lipstick and with a notepad and pen in hand went to the conference room. One knock and she heard Dr. Anderson’s firm “Enter.”
Opening the door, she found two men who immediately stood. Her boss, Dr. Anderson, wore dark pants and a black turtleneck, which made his white hair and beard look all the more dramatic. Across from him sat a tall, slim man in a gray suit. He was pleasant-looking, midfifties and had thinning brown hair.
“Dr. Granger.” The familiar Texas drawl belonged to Dr. Anderson. “I’m glad you could join us. I expected you an hour ago.”
She directed her gaze toward her boss. “I worked the better part of the weekend. I was running late this morning.” She’d tell him later about the crime scene.
He smiled, clearly not surprised. “Dr. Granger is my most dedicated doctor. Dr. Granger, I’d like you to meet attorney Mike Black.”
She moved toward Dr. Anderson’s side of the table. “How can I be of service?”
“I had Sammy check your schedule and she tells me you have extra time this morning. Mr. Black would like you to speak to his client Aaron Dayton,” Dr. Anderson said.
She shifted her gaze to Black. “You want an evaluation. Are you considering an insanity plea?”
“No issue is off the table at this point, Dr. Granger. But I need a full evaluation before I figure out our next move.”
“Understood. Where is Dr. Dayton?”
“He’s in the other office,” Dr. Anderson said. “I’ll get him if that works for you.”
“Normally, I have more time to prep for evaluations.”
“I want your opinion based on what you see here today. I don’t want you influenced by police reports or newspaper articles.”
“I’ve seen news reports but haven’t followed the case closely. Nor have I formed an opinion.”
“I doubt anyone hasn’t heard about Sheila Dayton,” Black said. “Your non-opinion is the best I can hope for right now.”
“Show him in,” Jo said.
Her boss opened another door that connected to a private room, and he invited in a third man. He was younger, early thirties, thick, blond hair, muscular build, and medium height. He wore an expensive dark suit, white shirt and red tie. Gold cuff links winked near his wrists. She recognized Dr. Aaron Dayton from news reports.
“Dr. Dayton, I’d like you to meet one of my best associates, Dr. Granger.”
Dayton held out a manicured hand. “Dr. Granger. It’s a pleasure.”
“Dr. Dayton.”
“Dr. Granger,” Dayton said, “I’m fighting for my life. My wife is missing, and the cops believe I’m behind it.”
From the outset, he put himself before his wife.
“Dr. Anderson and Mr. Black, if you will excuse us. And would you have Sammy send in coffee and bagels? I haven’t had a bite since yesterday, and I’m willing to bet Dr. Dayton wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.”
Dayton tugged the edges of his crisp cuffs. “That would be nice.”
“Great.” Dr. Anderson understood Jo wasn’t as interested in food as she was in disarming Dayton. “Get right on it, Dr. Granger.”
Jo waited until she was alone with Dayton before she moved around the conference table and pulled out a seat next to his. She didn’t want the table standing as a barrier between them. She indicated he could sit as she did. “It’s been a rough couple of months for you, hasn’t it, Dr. Dayton?”
He relaxed back in his chair and pulled a package of gum from his coat pocket. He held it out to her in offering, but she shook her head no. “You have no idea, Dr. Granger. It’s been an ordeal.”
She crossed her legs and made no move to reach for her notepad. Note taking often made people so nervous they censored their words. “You must be worried about your wife.”
“I wasn’t at first. As I told the police, she’s taken off before for days at a time. She does that when we’ve had a fight.”
“You two had a fight?”
Carefully, he unwrapped a stick of gum. “We did.”
“About?”
“Money. She likes to spend more than we have. I want us to save so we can buy a vacation home.”
“And is money the usual root of your arguments?”
“Almost always.” He popped the gum in his mouth.
“Almost?”
His gaze bore on her before he sighed. “Last year she had an affair. We fought about that a lot.”
“You no longer fight about the affair?”
He folded the yellow gum wrapper in half. “We reached an accord.”
“You two are still together?”
“She begged me to forgive her. And I do love her.” He creased the wrapper edges with his fing
ertips.
“When is the last time you saw your wife?”
“You know I’ve been through this a number of times with the cops.”
Impatience snapped behind his words. “I know, and I do appreciate your patience. But go over it again for me.”
“I saw her two months ago. I was leaving for work. I’m a dentist. She was dressed for a yoga class. I kissed her goodbye and went to work. When I came home from work there was a note. She said she’d be back in three or four days. Needed to think. I didn’t worry.”
“When did you start to worry?”
“A week later.” He folded the wrapper a second and third time.
A long time to wait before sounding the alarm bell. “And you called the police.”
“I did.”
A knock at the door had her turning. “Enter.”
It was Sammy pushing a cart laden with coffee and bagels. Jo thanked Sammy and rose. “Can I offer you a cup?”
“Yes. Black.”
She handed him a brimming cup and fixed herself a cup as well. She dropped three sugars in the cup and stirred in extra milk before sitting. She took a sip.
He grinned. “You like your coffee sweet.”
She preferred it black. But sweet suggested softness. “I hate the bitterness.”
He took a sip. “It’s good coffee.”
“So I’ve been told. I’m not a fan, but it gets me going.”
“Long weekend?”
“You’ve no idea.”
She set her cup aside, settled back in her chair and pretended to stifle a yawn as if she were off her game. “The police turned up no leads from what I remember from the news.”
“Correct.”
“Wouldn’t she use her credit cards if she were traveling?”
“That’s what I said. When they told me there was no activity on the card since the day she vanished, I knew she was in trouble.”
She reached for a bagel and a napkin. “Are you hungry?”
He considered the selection. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Please help yourself.”
He took a napkin, spit the gum into it and chose the largest bagel. Cinnamon raisin. He took time to spread a thick coat of cream cheese and took several bites. She wondered if she could eat, knowing her spouse was missing.
“Your wife is pretty. They showed pictures on the news.”
“Sheila always took pride in her appearance.”
Took, not takes. “She work out? You mentioned yoga.”
“Yoga, Pilates, cardio. She’d put on weight and was trying to get it off. She’d turned into a regular gym rat.”
“Do you carry any pictures of her?”
“I do.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek wallet. He removed a picture and handed it to her.
She studied the image of the vibrant, blond woman with a wide smile. She wore her makeup heavy and favored lots of gold jewelry that dipped into a full cleavage. “Very attractive.”
“She was that.”
Was.
“Tell me about her affair last year. That must have been painful for you.”
He set down his bagel. “Hurt like hell.”
“You felt betrayed?”
“Yeah. It was a knife to the gut.”
“Who was the guy?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s what the cops said.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Yeah, I can. I wouldn’t lie when my wife is missing. I keep saying this lover of hers could be behind all this.”
“You have no pertinent details about him, including his name. How do you know he’s involved in her disappearance?”
“It’s the only logical explanation.”
Or you killed her. “Why stay with your wife after the affair?”
“I felt sorry for her.”
In all Dayton’s accounts, he’d been in control. He’d been the one who’d been wronged, had forgiven, had issued forbearance.
She continued to talk to him about his wife. How they met. How long they’d been married. Her spending habits.
Dayton’s answers were smooth, relaxed, rehearsed, and nothing riled him. Nothing. His wife was missing, and he was perfectly calm.
“I wish she’d been more like you, Dr. Granger.”
“Why’s that?”
“You strike me as a woman who’s always in control. I like that.”
Jo kept her expression neutral, but she didn’t like his assessment. “Your wife was out of control.”
He shifted in his seat. “Most of the time, yes.”
“In what way?”
“The outfits she wore. Her spending. Too loud. Liked to drink.”
“And now she is in more trouble than ever.” She continued to ask questions. He answered.
“No quiet exit for Sheila.” He offered her a wan smile.
“No, that would be too easy for her.” He checked his watch. “We’ve covered the same questions at least three times now, Dr. Granger.”
She studied him a beat. “You’re right. Thank you for your time, Dr. Dayton.”
She escorted him to reception where Dr. Anderson and Mr. Black waited. They exchanged pleasantries.
Dayton extended his hand to Jo. She took it and noted the way he squeezed her fingers with a grip, not painful but firm. He held her hand a beat. “It was a pleasure.”
She pulled her hand free. “Nice to have met you.”
Jo escorted Dayton to the other office, and Jo and Dr. Anderson watched Dayton and Black get on the elevator. When the doors closed Dr. Anderson’s smile vanished. “In my office.”
She followed him and when he closed the door he said, “What do you think?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
“I’d be guessing at this point. A more complete evaluation is warranted.”
“I’ll take your guess anytime, Jo.”
She flexed her fingers. “I think he killed her.”
Dr. Anderson shook his head. “Why come here and jump through the hoops?”
She arched a brow. “You know as well as I do. He loves the drama and attention. This is great theater to him, and he is the actor on center stage. He believes he can do no wrong. He is in control.”
“Did he give you any information the cops could use?”
“I thought we were working for him.”
“We are. But it’s good to know.”
“He didn’t incriminate himself. But if the cops stay close, he will. He’s proud of his secret, and it will be hard for him to keep it to himself forever.”
“Scott Connors, age thirty-two,” Brody read from the file. “By all accounts devastated by his fiancée’s disappearance.”
Santos parked in front of the old apartment building. “Let’s see how he reacts to news of her death.”
Out of the car, they strode down a cracked sidewalk to the front door. They located his apartment on the mailboxes and climbed to the third floor.
Brody knocked on the door. Seconds passed with no sound. “According to his boss he called in sick today.”
Santos shrugged. “He wouldn’t be the first to lie about an illness.”
Brody pounded on the door, and this time they heard the shuffle of feet. The door opened to a tall, lean man wearing jeans and no shirt. His hair stuck up as if he’d rolled out of bed.
“Mr. Scott Connors,” Brody said.
“Look, this is a bad time.” He moved to close the door.
Brody blocked it with his boot. “We’re Texas Rangers, and we came to talk to you about Christa.”
Scott sighed. “I’ve spoken to all the cops I’m going to talk to. Enough. I can’t help you anymore. If you have any questions call my attorney.”
Brody put his hand on the door and pushed it open several more inches. “For a guy who was despe
rate to find his girlfriend, I’d think you’d not be all talked out yet.”
Dark under-eye circles made his eyes look sunken. “Yet? Are you kidding? It’s been four weeks since she vanished.”
Brody wanted to annoy, even anger Scott to force a reaction. “Is that the time limit on true love, Scott?”
Scott fisted his fingers. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Means if I really loved a woman I’d think it would take me longer than four weeks to give up on her.”
“I never gave up on Christa. But damn, I can’t stay in limbo forever. Even the cops now are saying she’s likely dead.”
Brody eyed Santos. “When did forever become four weeks?”
Santos shrugged. “Everyone’s in a rush these days.”
Scott’s lips flattened. “You know the chances of finding her alive get worse and worse the longer it takes. Everyone is saying that.”
“Everyone?” Brody heard the shuffle of footsteps behind Scott, and immediately his hand slid to his gun. “Someone in the apartment with you, Scott?”
Scott tensed, glanced back over his shoulder. “No one important.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
“Scott. Who’s at the door, baby?” cooed a woman.
Brody shoved out a breath. “Tell your friend to get dressed and get out. We need to talk.”
“What’s this about?”
Brody peered past Scott to a brunet wearing a man’s white dress shirt. “Ask your friend to leave.”
Scott hesitated, turned and said, “Dee, get dressed. The cops are here, and I have to talk to them.”
“About Christa? Again?” She sounded irritated.
“Yeah.”
She pouted. “It’s always about Christa.”
“Dee. Get dressed.” Scott crossed to her, whispered in her ear and kissed her on the cheek. Pouting, she vanished into the bedroom.
“Her name is Dee?” Brody said.
Scott shoved out a sigh. “Dee. Dee Anders. She works at the financial company with me.”
“How long have you two been together?”
Scott shoved long fingers through his hair. “Last night was the first time.”
Brody wouldn’t bet on that. “I see.”