“The swabs for gunshot residue proved negative,” Maggie said, her eyes on Cullen.
“Gloves?”
“Probably. Aside from the work boots, we haven’t found any clothing that puts him at the scene. We’re thinking he ditched the clothes elsewhere. Maybe with the car.”
“So why keep the boots?”
“I’m not sure. The crime lab is comparing the casts taken at the crime scene with the treads.”
“Sounds like you’ve got the husband dead to rights, Detective.”
“Well, we’ve a ways to go. Right now he’s our prime suspect.”
“Isn’t that what your partner thought about the Pruitt kid?”
Maggie didn’t respond. Smits had a confrontational streak that Maggie refused to rise to. But he didn’t push it either; he’d supervised Maggie’s work long enough to know that she left no stone unturned.
“So what’s bugging you, Detective?” he said. “And don’t insult my intelligence by saying there is nothing. I can see it. You’ve got that itch.”
“I’m confused about motive,” she admitted. “He admitted they’ve been going through a rough patch. And I saw evidence suggesting they’ve been sleeping apart. But even though Cullen comes across as being prickly, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who wakes up one morning and decides to kill his wife on a whim. Something drove him to it.”
“Marital woes equal crime of passion.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Insurance money? Cullen could have business debts.”
“Maybe. We don’t know yet. But I don’t think he’d risk murdering his wife over a canceled life insurance policy.” She glanced at Smits. “I found it in her things. The policy, with a letter confirming cancellation.”
“She stopped her insurance.”
“A month ago.”
“Does the husband know?”
“I’m going to find out.”
“Please do. Because I need a strong argument to take to the state attorney.”
“About that . . .” Maggie drew a big breath. “I’d like to establish a firm motive before you speak with the prosecutors. Right now, our finding the gun and those boots, it all feels a little too easy to me, too convenient. I don’t want them to rush in and formally charge Cullen only to find out later we jumped the gun on this.”
Smits went to say something, but the door opened and Loomis breezed in.
“Hey. Sarge. Novak.” He waved a manila envelope in the air. “The boot prints are an exact match, and the mud in the treads is the same composition as the exemplar from the beach.”
“What about ballistics?” Maggie said.
“Zee is still comparing the slug against his test shots. He promises we’ll have the results in ten minutes, tops.”
Smits turned to Maggie. “Looks like it’s game over for the husband. Now it’s your turn, Detective. Go in there and find that motive.”
Maggie picked the envelope from Loomis’s grasp.
“A confession would be the icing on the cake,” Smits added as she put a hand on the door handle.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Loomis said with a wink as Maggie opened the door and went inside.
When Cullen saw Maggie entering the room, he let out a long sigh. “Finally,” he said, drumming his hands on the tabletop, “a familiar face.”
Maggie closed the door behind her. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Cullen. The Sheriff’s Office appreciates your patience.”
He leaned bare forearms on the table. “You’ve kept me sitting here twiddling my thumbs. When can I go? There’s stuff I need to do.”
Maggie sat down in the chair facing him and put the manila envelope on the table in front of her. “Mr. Cullen, you’ve been arrested on suspicion of murder.”
“All right. And I waived my right to an attorney as a show of good faith. I’m innocent. I told you I didn’t hurt my wife. So why am I still here?”
“I need to ask you some questions. Get your answers on the record.”
“But when can I leave?”
“That’s for the state attorney to decide, Mr. Cullen. Can I get you a fresh water?”
Cullen glanced at the empty bottle, shook his head.
“Okay. Then let’s get started.” She reached behind her, positioning the video camera so that it was aimed at Cullen. “Detective Maggie Novak. Interview with Thomas Joseph Cullen. November one. Mr. Cullen, where were you yesterday evening, the night of October thirty-first, between five and eight p.m.?”
“Between those exact times?”
“Approximately.”
“At home. I was there all day.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“No. I was alone between five and eight. Just me and my shadow.”
“No trick-or-treaters knocking down the front door?”
“Didn’t hear any.”
“What about neighbors—did they see you hanging around the house or in the backyard yesterday evening?”
“Hard to say. You’d need to ask them.”
“Any disputes with your neighbors?”
“Can’t say we’ve ever met any of them, to be honest. I like my privacy.”
“What about Dana?”
“Same goes.”
“How long did she work as a guidance counselor?”
“At least the last ten years,” he said. “She’s great at it, too. I don’t know how she does it. Me, I have zero patience with anyone under twenty-one. Kids these days, huh? But she just has this affinity with them, you know? Like she can crawl right inside their head and see what they’re thinking.”
“Did she get her degree in psychology?”
“Probably.” He shrugged.
“You don’t know?”
“Dana doesn’t speak about her life before we got together.”
And it had probably never occurred to him to ask.
“Did she ever mention any of the students at Crown Pointe?”
He rolled his shoulders. “Not that I recall.”
“In particular, did you ever hear her mention the names Lindy Munson or Tyler Pruitt?”
He glanced at the ceiling. “Nope.”
Someone knocked on the one-way mirror behind Maggie; Smits, she guessed, instructing her to move on.
“Tell me about your Saturday, Mr. Cullen.”
He leaned back, spreading his hands as far as the cuffs would allow. “What’s there to tell? I don’t work Saturdays. Same as always. I catch up on a few things at home. Kick back when I can. Maybe catch a little golf if I’m in luck.”
“You said you were home all day yesterday. What about Dana?”
“Sure, she was home all right. Until she wasn’t.”
“She left when?”
“Not sure. I wasn’t keeping tabs. Dana hates me keeping tabs. Four. Maybe a few minutes after.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“I asked her.”
“And?”
“She never answered. She just stormed off. Typical Dana. She was in one of her moods yesterday. Time of the month, I reckon. You’re a woman; you know where I’m coming from, right? We had a few choice words, and she just up and left.”
Maggie refrained from reeducating Cullen regarding female hormonal changes; his opinions seemed carved in stone. “When you say she was in one of her moods . . .”
“Dana sulks. I don’t know any other way of putting it. We argue, usually over something trivial like I forgot to start the dishwasher, we fall out, she sulks. Goes on for days. Always the same routine. It can be two or three days before she speaks to me again.”
“Do you try speaking with her?”
“That’s not the point. She’s the psycho. She even saw a shrink to help figure it all out.”
“Here, in Orlando?”
“Nope. Back in Kingman.”
“When was this?”
“Not long after we got married.”
&nb
sp; “I’ll need the therapist’s office details, if you still have them.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can dig them out.” He jabbed a finger against the tabletop. “I mean it. Anything else you need, just name it.”
“We appreciate your assistance, Mr. Cullen. While I remember, has Dana visited with a dentist recently?”
He shook his head. “No way. As far as I know she hasn’t seen a dentist since she was a kid. She’s got what she calls dentophobia, like it’s a real word or something. She’d rather lose an eye than have a tooth pulled.”
“Okay. Rewind a little here for me. Do you know what the outcome was of Dana seeing the therapist back in Kingman?”
Cullen leaned forward a little, as though he was about to share a secret with her. “Between you and me, I think he saw her coming and bled her dry. He said she suffered from an anxiety disorder and something like PTSD. He used phrases like persecution complex and conjugal paranoia. Told her it was all in her head. That her troubles stemmed from her childhood. I had to pull the plug eventually.”
“Why?”
“Cash flow problems. The guy charged a hundred bucks an hour.”
“Mr. Cullen, have you any idea where your wife might have gone yesterday after she left home?”
He sat back, slouching. “Totally and utterly clueless.”
“Maybe she was planning on meeting somebody?”
“News to me if she was. Besides, who would she meet?”
“Friends?”
Cullen’s mouth twisted. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “Dana’s a nice person. She’ll do anything for anyone. She says all the right things in all the right places. But she doesn’t make friends easily. She hasn’t made any the whole time we’ve been here.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
“Trust issues. Hence the shrink. It’s just how she’s made. She doesn’t let anyone enter her inner circle.” He drew a loop with both forefingers. “Sealed like Pandora’s box.”
“What about enemies?”
“Dana is about as inoffensive as Bambi. The shrink she saw, he said she suffered from what he called sorry syndrome. I mean, let’s get real here. Can you believe there’s such a thing? Sorry syndrome. Dana apologizes to everyone, even when it’s not her fault.”
“What about her work colleagues—did Dana socialize with any of them outside of the school environment?”
“Nope. She says, and these are her words, ‘Those people are only bearable in small doses.’”
“Did she have trouble with any other teachers?”
“Not exactly.” He made a face. “There was this one teacher, last Christmas . . .”
Maggie straightened her spine. “Go on.”
“I don’t want to speak out of place here.”
“We need to know everything, Mr. Cullen.”
“It could be something or nothing. I don’t want anyone losing their job because I put my foot in it.”
Maggie said nothing, using silence as leverage.
“Okay,” he said, leaning forward again, as though imparting a secret. “Dana said this teacher made inappropriate suggestions.”
“Such as?”
“Sexual innuendo, she said. Came on to her a couple times at the office party. She had to tell him to back the heck off.”
“Do you know his name, this teacher?”
Maggie heard a tapping on the glass mirror behind her. Again, Smits wanted her to move on, focus on nailing Cullen to the cross he was already bearing. But Maggie was curious.
“Brandon,” Cullen said. “Yeah. I think his name’s Brandon, or something along those lines.”
“Was Dana overly concerned about this teacher’s advances?”
The knuckles rapped on the glass again, this time louder. Maggie raised her hand, indicating she’d heard.
“Dana said she’d handled it and it was no longer an ongoing concern. Not like the dude back in Kingman. Now he was one persistent . . .” He glanced at the camera, then back to her. “Am I allowed to say son of a bitch?”
“It’s your statement, Mr. Cullen.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what he was. One persistent son of a bitch.”
“Was this another teacher?”
Cullen shook his head. “Stalker. He followed her to and from work. Watching her from his car. Even followed her around the mall.”
“How long did this go on for?”
“Couple months.”
“Did Dana report it to the police?”
“I wanted to, but she said no. Dana hates attention.”
“Must have irked you, Mr. Cullen. Someone stalking your wife. Did you approach him about it?”
“I never saw him with my own eyes. She said he drove a black pickup, and he wore a beard. Followed her around town every now and then. That’s all I know. I suggested we should get a restraining order, but Dana didn’t want any trouble.”
“She must have been frightened.”
“I guess.”
“What happened?”
He stuck out his lower lip. “After a while she never mentioned him again. So I figured he’d grown bored and moved on. Let’s be honest. Dana isn’t a Disney princess.”
No, she’s Bambi.
“Are there any witnesses who can corroborate her story, Mr. Cullen?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Knuckles sounded on the glass again.
Maggie leaned forward, changing the direction of her questioning. “Mr. Cullen. Earlier, when I asked you about the carry-on in your hall, you said that Dana wanted to spend some time apart.”
“Like I said, we’ve been going through a rough patch.”
“What was the reason for that?”
“The usual thing.”
“Can you be more specific?”
He snickered. “Pick a card. Plenty of stressors these days. Lately, we’ve found it hard meeting our obligations.”
Maggie thought about Dana’s checking account statements and her healthy bank balance before recently. “You have debts, Mr. Cullen?”
“This is America. Who doesn’t?”
“Business or personal?”
“Both.”
“You own your own landscaping business.”
“Last fifteen years and proud of it.”
“Things not going great?”
“Middling. Had myself a top-tier reputation back in Kingman.” He smiled, seemingly remembering better times. “Desert gardens are my specialty. Cactus. Yucca. All kinds of succulents. Got myself a real soft spot for agave. I like to work with the drought-tolerant plants. But things are different down here. So much moisture to contend with. All the same, I’m making progress. And my reputation’s growing.”
“We may need to see proof of your financial commitments. Bank statements. Loan details. That kind of thing.”
“Whatever you need. You can have access to everything. My accounts are all aboveboard. I have nothing to hide.”
Maggie slid a blunt pencil and a sheet of paper across the desk to him. “Write down your bank details for me. And while you’re at it, write down the contact details for your in-laws.”
“Dana’s parents?”
“Unless you’ve others.” She saw Cullen start to scribble them down. “Did you know Dana canceled her life insurance?”
He looked up. “No.”
“Any idea why she would do that?”
“Not a clue. She had that policy long before I came along.” He continued to jot down details on the paper.
“I also came across Dana’s bank statements. She made a large withdrawal recently. Eight thousand dollars.” Maggie watched for a reaction.
Cullen swore under his breath, his body language echoing his surprise. “She had that kind of cash?”
“According to her statements.”
“I didn’t know.” He finished writing and slid the paper and pencil back to her.
Maggie glanced at the address in Kingman and the landline number for Mr. and M
rs. Burnside. “Thank you for this.” She put the paper in her pocket. “Did you guys argue over the household finances?”
“A little. Just the usual, I guess.”
“Is that what prompted her to walk out yesterday, you guys arguing over money?”
He shook his head. “Golf.”
Maggie took a beat. “Golf?”
“Yeah. I wanted to golf this weekend. Dana wanted us to spend time together. She said I was being selfish, which seems to be the story of my life these days. It kind of blew up from there.”
His wife was dead, and he actually looked miffed with the thought of missing out on walking the links.
“Between you and me,” he said, leaning on the table again, “it’s not the first time my wife’s done this.”
“You mean walked out?”
“Every now and then she gets itchy feet. She’s like one of those Cape Canaveral rocket launches. One second there’s nothing, and she’s just sitting there simmering. Then boom! And she’s headed for orbit. She packs an overnight bag and goes away a couple days. Says it helps clear her head. Puts things back in perspective.”
“How often did Dana walk out?”
“I don’t keep tabs. Couple times each month. Every other weekend.”
“And was this the norm back in Kingman as well?”
“Nope. Just since we moved out here.”
“Has she said where she goes?”
“To be honest, I never asked. Okay, I know I should have. I know I should’ve been an attentive husband and shown more interest. But hey, I’m just a guy. Last thing I want when she comes back is to get into the whole reason she walked out in the first place. Let sleeping dogs lie. That’s my motto.”
Maggie resisted the urge to shake her head knowingly at him. “Could she be spending time with her parents?” she asked instead.
“Doubt it. After the first couple times it happened, I checked with her folks. They said they hadn’t seen her since the move. If you ask me, I think she holed up in a beach hotel. Drowning her sorrows in a margarita.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s her favorite cocktail.”
“No, I mean, what makes you think she went to a beach hotel?”
“I found receipts in her purse.”
“For . . . ?”
“Stuff. Mainly from places in Saint Pete’s.”
“Do you still have those receipts?”
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