by Diane Kelly
“The TV station’s intern came across it when he was looking over the recent filings. Trish called to find out what I thought about the development.”
Reporters regularly reviewed recent court filings, which were public record, to determine if any of the legal matters were newsworthy. With Greg Olsen’s body yet to be found, Shelby’s case certainly could be.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I had ‘no comment on the matter at this time.’ I’m not sure what to make of the situation.”
I wasn’t sure, either. While I’d been wondering before if Greg had scripted his death, I now wondered if Shelby had brought about her husband’s demise. She’d be able to access any assets she and Greg had held jointly, but she’d need to have Greg declared dead if he held assets in his name alone, or to obtain a life insurance payout. Could she have had him killed for insurance? If so, why not leave the body in the house, where his death could easily be proven? Had she been afraid that something about his death would point fingers at her, and decided to have the body taken elsewhere? Going to court took time and money, yet even if Shelby was innocent she couldn’t be expected to wait around forever for Greg’s body to be found, could she? Did she know somehow that his body would not be found? Had she ensured it was hidden somewhere it would never be discovered?
I shared my thoughts with the detective. “You think she had him killed for the life insurance money?”
“Greg Olsen died for one reason or another,” Jackson said. “Insurance seems as good a reason as any. Go to the courthouse, get me a copy of the petition. Then swing by the station and pick me up. Let’s go have another chat with Mrs. Olsen.”
I did as instructed, and an hour later, Jackson and I stood on the front porch of the Olsens’ home, speaking with Shelby. Though she wore no makeup and was dressed in yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the woman had at least brushed her hair and washed her face today. Baby steps.
Jackson held up the petition, which had been prepared on Shelby’s behalf by a partner at the law firm where she worked. “I understand you’ve filed a petition to have your husband declared deceased.”
Shelby hugged Marseille tighter against her chest and nodded. “I hated to do it. I feel like it’s giving up all hope that Greg could still be alive. But I can’t live like this anymore. It could be weeks or months before his body is found, if at all. I need closure.” She lifted her chin to indicate me. “Officer Luz told me I should move on. She was right.”
While I took no offense to being told I was right, I felt a little put off that Shelby seemed to be saying it was my idea she file to have her husband legally declared dead. I’d said no such thing when we’d spoken before. In fact, Shelby had been the one to ask if she should move on. I’d only agreed that it might be for the best. She seemed to be putting words in my mouth.
Jackson cut a look my way before turning back to study Shelby. “Why do you need a formal declaration that your husband is deceased? Did he own some assets in his name only?”
“Only his retirement account,” Shelby said. “We owned everything else jointly.”
“What about life insurance?” Jackson asked. “Did Greg have any?”
“Yes, but the company won’t pay out without a death certificate or a court order finding that Greg has died.”
“Understandable,” Jackson said. “They’ve got to cover themselves, dot their I’s and cross their T’s, so to speak.”
Shelby’s head bobbed in agreement.
“Glad you’ve got coverage,” Jackson said. “Some folks don’t bother with it, think that nothing will happen to them, and then their family ends up in a bind after an unexpected death. How much is Greg’s policy for?”
“One million dollars,” Shelby said without hesitation. “We both have policies in the same amount. Greg got them a couple of years ago. Honestly, I was kind of upset at the time. We’d agreed to get policies for fifty-thousand each, just enough to cover funeral expenses plus some time off from work to grieve. But the agent pressured Greg into the higher coverage. He said it was a good idea, especially since we were planning to have children someday and there’d be their support and education to think about. He told Greg it cost nearly a quarter-million dollars to raise a child from birth to age eighteen, and it’s another sixty thousand on average for college. The policies were relatively cheap—luckily, since we’re both healthy and young. Once I realized the insurance wasn’t going to cost an arm and a leg, and that we could be denied coverage later if either of us was diagnosed with a health issue, it made sense to go with the higher amount.”
Shelby seemed forthcoming, and her story made sense. Living in limbo would be hell. Still, a million dollars was a lot of money. Would she have been tempted to kill her husband for it? Some women might, but I had a hard time seeing Shelby Olsen as a black widow. She didn’t strike me as a particularly materialistic person who would want the funds to buy a fancy car or an ostentatious house. She seemed like the type of person who would rather have a loving husband than possessions. I wondered about the children she’d mentioned, the ones they’d purportedly planned to have. Had they had trouble conceiving, or had they decided to put off children for a while longer? Judging from Shelby’s age, they didn’t have much more time to wait.
“I’m glad you came by,” Shelby said. “I was planning to get in touch with you. My boss is handling the petition for me. She asked me to get the name of the person in the crime scene department who computed how much blood Greg had lost. She’ll need to call that person as a witness, or at least get an affidavit from them.”
“Of course,” Jackson said. “I’ll have him get in touch with your boss.”
Shelby thanked us and we returned to the cruiser.
Once we were seated, I asked, “What do you think?”
The detective let out a long, exasperated breath. “This case would be easier if we had a body, something more to go on than suppositions and hunches.” She turned my way. “What do you think, Megan?”
“Part of me is surprised that Shelby is moving ahead so quickly, but another part of me can understand why she’d want to wrap things up. If Greg’s body hasn’t been found yet, it’s not likely to be found for some time, if at all. The uncertainty would be agonizing. Maybe this is the only way she can get some relief.”
“And a million bucks.”
“That, too. Which brings us back to the possibility she hired a hit man. Maybe she even used the cash that Greg withdrew to pay the hit man. Maybe she asked Greg to make the withdrawals so it would take suspicion off her. She could have made up some excuse for needing the cash, maybe visits to a salon or to pay a maid or gardener or something. Who knows?”
“Who knows?” Jackson repeated with a scowl. “Not us, that’s for sure.”
THIRTY-THREE
NO ANSWER, NO ANSWERS
Brigit
Right before their shift ended, Megan took her back to the house where they’d spoken to the man before. It was fully dark and dinnertime. Brigit lifted her snout as Megan let her out of the cruiser. Her nose told her that the next-door neighbors were cooking beans and cornbread for dinner. She wished she could have some. It smelled darn good.
No dinner smells came from the man’s house. No sounds, either. The man didn’t come to the door when Megan knocked.
As they crossed the yard to return to the cruiser, Brigit felt a necessary urge and popped a squat in the dry grass. After depositing her droppings on the lawn, she took a step forward and kicked her feet back, wiping her paws on the lawn. Instinct told her to cover the mess. It also told her to wipe some of the pheromones from the glands on her feet on the property, to mark it as her own, a dog’s way of claiming dibs or stating “Brigit was here.”
Megan normally scooped Brigit’s poop up in a bag, but she didn’t tonight. Brigit could sense that Megan was annoyed and angry, though she knew the feelings weren’t directed at her. After all, she’d done nothing wrong today and Megan had even gi
ven her a liver treat earlier for no reason. She hoped whatever was bothering Megan would be over soon. She didn’t like seeing her best friend upset.
THIRTY-FOUR
INVADED
The Slasher
With his appearance so transformed now, he no longer felt the need to rush down to breakfast early. He returned from the buffet Tuesday morning at 8:30 with a heaping plate of food. He nearly dropped it when he saw the door to his room standing wide open. He rushed forward, hot coffee sloshing over the top of his cardboard cup, burning his fingers and leaving spots on the hallway carpet.
He stepped through the door to find the housekeeper on the far side of the room, facing away from him, vacuuming. She’d opened the closet door to vacuum the floor. She wasn’t even aware that he had entered the room. Anyone could have darted in here, reached into the open closet, and grabbed his backpack with the stash of cash zipped in the inside pocket. Or they could have quickly gone through the bag and removed the cash from it. Where would he have been then? Totally screwed. That’s where.
He set his plate and coffee on the table and rounded up his backpack from the closet, carrying it to the table. The woman finished vacuuming on the other side of the bed and turned around, giving him a smile when she noticed him at the table. She had no way of knowing if he was a legitimate guest in this room, yet she did nothing to stop him from riffling through the bag. She probably didn’t want to risk offending a guest. He surreptitiously peeked into the inside pocket, relief calming him when he saw the wad of cash still there. He’d need it today. He had to load more funds onto the prepaid credit card he’d used to pay for the room. His charge for the upcoming week was due today.
He wondered how much longer he’d have to hole up here. He was lying low to avoid prison, yet staying in this room felt like he’d been sentenced to solitary confinement. He’d had no companionship, nobody to talk to. Tomorrow night’s meet-up couldn’t come soon enough.
THIRTY-FIVE
DEAD AND GONE
Megan
I’d woken extra early Tuesday morning and made a stop at the Airbnb at 6:30, hoping to catch Tommy Perkins before he headed out on sales calls for the day. No such luck for this early bird. The worm was already gone when I went by. Was Perkins delivering shingles? Had he gone out for breakfast? Gotten the heck out of Dodge? I’d cruised through the parking lots of breakfast joints and fast-food places near the Airbnb, looking for him or his truck. No luck there, either. Argh!
It was nearly time for my lunch break now and I had some paperwork to deal with, so I decided to eat my lunch at the station. After wrapping up the administrative tasks, I took my thermos of hearty vegetable stew to a desk and took a seat. Something had been niggling at my mind all morning.
I filled my mouth with a spoonful of soup, and then I logged into the system and ran an Internet search to educate myself about Oklahoma law regarding declaration of death. After reading over the statutes and legal summaries, I learned that Oklahoma had a statute similar to the one in Texas. Oklahoma law provided that any person missing from their usual residence and whose address is unknown by their family or others who would be expected to know the person’s whereabouts, and who was continuously absent and unheard of for a period of seven years, shall be presumed to be dead. The court had the authority to declare such person legally dead and to issue orders necessary for the administration of the person’s estate. Unlike Texas law, however, Oklahoma law appeared to have no provision for having a missing person declared legally dead before the seven-year period had expired.
Hadn’t Shelby’s boss at the law firm said that Shelby’s prior experience had been primarily in estate and probate? Was Shelby aware of the law pertaining to declarations of death? Could Shelby have convinced Greg to relocate from Oklahoma to Texas because it would be easier and quicker to have him declared dead here? While scarfing down the rest of my soup, I printed out the information I’d found online, planning to share it with Detective Jackson.
Now that my suspicions had turned squarely to Shelby, I decided it couldn’t hurt to take another look at her e-mail account before speaking with the detective. Maybe I’d spot something we’d overlooked before, or maybe something incriminating had landed in her inbox since the last time we’d looked it over.
Using the login information we’d snagged from their computers, I logged into Shelby’s personal e-mail account. From the bold font and highlighting, I could tell which e-mails she’d read already, and which she’d chosen to ignore or were still waiting for her to take a look. She’d received multiple e-mails from Regina asking how she was doing and telling her that everyone at the law firm was thinking of her, praying for her, and missed her at the office. Regina’s most recent e-mail asked if Shelby had decided when she’d be returning to work.
I checked the sent message box to see if Shelby had replied. She had. She told Regina she hadn’t yet decided when, or if, she’d return to work. I can’t keep my mind straight. I’m not sure I’d be of any use at the office. She noted that her boss had given her until the end of March to decide before they’d have to seek a replacement. I wondered if I’d continue to work if I had $1 million coming to me. Even if I knew I’d be financially secure, I couldn’t imagine not doing something productive each day. I didn’t have many hobbies to take up my time. I supposed I could volunteer at a shelter for animals or the homeless, but I wouldn’t want to give up working with Brigit, have to turn her over to another handler. Besides, I liked the mental challenge of solving crimes. But I couldn’t blame Shelby for feeling otherwise. Not everyone’s work meant as much to them as mine did to me.
Many of the other recent e-mails in Shelby’s inbox were from hotels, airlines, and resorts, informing her of special pricing or attempting to entice her into planning a vacation. Others were bills or solicitations from stores she’d made online purchases from before, the same types of e-mails I’d seen in her account earlier. When I finished looking over her inbox and sent box, I figured it couldn’t hurt to take a quick look at her spam box since I was already in her account.
I ran my gaze down the list. There was the usual assortment of junk. Messages claiming she’d won a lottery. Another telling her where to meet hot singles in her area. Huh. One of the spam e-mails was highlighted, indicating it had been read. That’s odd, isn’t it? I mean, who reads the junk that comes into their spam folder? The e-mail was sent from an account identified as LastingLovePleasurePills. Ew.
I logged into the message to find an ad for a nutritional supplement that allegedly allowed men to maintain “a ready manhood” all night long. Sheesh. Sounded exhausting to me. Some romance was nice, but so was sleep. The ad was basic, with exaggerated language in bold, blue type and all caps, promising the capsules would KEEP THE PARTY GOING FOR HOURS! The e-mail included a stock photo of a man and woman entwined in an embrace. Interested parties were directed to click on the designated link, which would take them to a website for more information.
Though I might have been hesitant to click on the link had I been running this search on my personal computer, I knew the department’s IT team regularly updated the network’s virus protection so I went ahead and clicked. I was taken to a professionally designed nutritional supplement site that looked nothing like the cheesy e-mail. Weird. Why would a legitimate company send such a poorly designed e-mail solicitation that didn’t tie in with its branding? And why would Shelby click on an e-mail for a performance enhancement drug for men, especially now that her husband was gone? Could this be evidence that she had been cheating on Greg, had something going on the side?
I backed out of the website and ran a search of Shelby’s spam folder. She’d received five messages from the LastingLove account in the past but, unlike the recent e-mail, all of the earlier messages remained unread. I returned to the recent e-mail. As I scrolled down through the short solicitation, I noticed that there was what appeared to be a single blank line after the text ended and the reply and forward prompts appeared. Not a larg
e space, but enough to catch my eye. Why did there seem to be an extra margin?
I stared at the e-mail for a long moment, thinking there had to be a reason why Shelby opened this particular one. Even if she were having an affair, why click on an e-mail that was so obviously junk? Something isn’t right here …
As I stared at the screen, my mind went back to my childhood and the invisible ink pens Santa had slipped into my stocking at Christmas. Even as a young girl, I’d been intrigued by all things detective and spy-related, and Kris Kringle knew me well. Using the pens, I would write a message on a piece of paper, and the page would appear blank until the secret decoder pen was run over the page, revealing the words. As I grew older, Santa brought me more sophisticated, high-tech invisible ink sets with pens that wrote messages that would be revealed only under a black light. Could there be some type of secret message here in this extra space? Or was I nuts?
I moved my cursor to the beginning of the blank line and copied from that point down to the end of the line. I opened the word processing program and pasted the section I’d copied into a blank document. Nothing showed up on the screen, but when I looked down at the word count readout in the bottom left corner of the screen, it told me that there were twelve words on the page. Holy guacamole, I’m not nuts! I’m actually on to something!
I highlighted the invisible text and changed the text color to black. In an instant, a cryptic message appeared on my screen as if by magic. Be at the Starbuck’s on Camp Bowie Blvd Wednesday at 8:00 p.m.
My mouth fell open. Who had sent this e-mail to Shelby? Could it be from someone she’d been having an affair with before Greg’s death? Could that person have killed Greg and gone into hiding to avoid suspicion and arrest? Or had whoever killed Greg only meant to kidnap him? Had they taken his body so that Shelby would think he was still alive and pay a ransom? Had they told her to look for these hidden messages? Didn’t that type of thing only happen in the movies?
