I felt the urge to interrupt him here, but I left it alone. A “happily married man” doesn’t meet a younger woman for drinks. Even if he considered himself happy, on some level, there must’ve been dissatisfaction. That’s what had happened to me. There was a reason I had cheated. The fissures were there from the beginning—the fact that Deb wanted children and I didn’t. When she found out she couldn’t have them, she must have sensed my underlying relief. It would have torn us apart, subtly, over the years.
“I can’t believe Tara’s dead,” Neal said, “but I had nothing to do with it.”
“You told us yesterday there was nothing going on between the two of you. You said Tara was just your employee. Why did you meet her for drinks?” Jack asked.
Neal puffed his cheeks and blew out the air. “It’s not like we met exactly.”
“You were attracted to her.” I threw out my observation. If this man was telling the truth and he wasn’t having an affair, Tara was still a temptation to him.
“Fine. Yes, I found her to be a pretty woman, but I wasn’t about to cheat on my wife.”
“So you keep saying. Why did you meet her for drinks?” Jack asked.
Neal laid both his hands on the table, palms down, fingers splayed. “It wasn’t planned.”
“She joined you the second she saw you,” I said.
“Because we got along well. There was nothing else to our relationship. I swear.”
“After you bumped into each other, what did you do?” I asked, Jack letting me move forward with the interrogation.
Neal seemed to pry his eyes from mine. My skepticism must have been plain to detect.
“We went over to a booth, and I ordered a gin and tonic,” Neal said.
“And Tara?”
“I got her another one of those fruity martinis she was sipping on.”
“She was pretty comfortable considering this wasn’t a planned encounter.”
“Agent, Tara was waiting for a date.”
Now it was time for the fable… “Why not mention that from the start? You were one of the last people to see her alive.”
“One of the last?” Tears formed in his eyes. “I had nothing to do with her death. You have to believe me. I loved Tara…as a friend.”
I tried not to show any reaction; I’d deal with the “love” part later. I clasped my hands on the table. “Who was her date?”
“I don’t know.” A staggered exhale revealed his frustration. He knew how his not knowing looked to us.
“She didn’t give you a name?”
“No. She did say she was meeting with him at about nine thirty. She agreed to one drink with me, but that was all, I swear to you.”
He was doing a lot of swearing. I guess we were supposed to accept him at his word. “Was he meeting her at the bar?”
Neal shook his head. “Someplace else, but she never said where.”
“The video goes on to show you leaving the bar with Tara at nine o’clock.”
“I know how this looks, trust me, I do. But she went her way and I went mine.”
“Where did she go?”
Neal massaged his temple. “She took a taxi. I had offered her a ride. She refused.”
“So you left your intoxicated employee to fend for herself?” Jack asked.
“Hey, she was a big girl. She could take care of herself.”
“Apparently not.” Jack’s words were heavy in the air, the implication as effective as a physical blow. “You’re also connected with the first victim—Cheryl Bradley.”
“Who?”
“Cheryl worked at Design It Graphics. They hired your company for help with a tax audit last year, not long before Cheryl was murdered. We showed you her picture and you said you didn’t know her. I find the coincidences are piling up.” Jack’s eyes were like coals. There was no empathy, just a hunger for nailing the son of a bitch who killed these women.
Neal sat back and gripped the armrests of his chair. “Because I did work for the company doesn’t mean I knew her.”
“She was the receptionist.”
“Well, she didn’t stand out to me. Listen, I know how the video looks, but I didn’t kill Tara, or this other woman.”
“We’re going to need your alibi for Saturday night from nine o’clock until Sunday morning at eight thirty. We’ll also need one for June twenty-first, a year ago.”
“A year ago? How am I supposed to—”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Jack faced off with Neal.
Neal shook his head.
-
Chapter 21
THE CRISP WHITE TRIM AND eaves of Cain Boynton’s bungalow stood out nicely against the red brick. A man opened the door after the first knock.
Paige observed his handsome, generic looks—dark hair and brown eyes. “Are you Cain Boynton?”
“Yes.”
“We’re Agents Dawson and Miles with the FBI.” Paige held her cred pack to support the introduction.
“What do you want with me?”
“Can we come in for a minute?”
Cain briefly hesitated but then stepped aside to let them in. He gestured ahead to a living area.
The place was organized and immaculate. Everything seemed to have its spot. On the end table, there was a mat where three remotes were laid out side by side. Beside a leather chair, a cloth storage box full of books sat on the floor. There were framed pieces of artwork on the walls.
“Please sit. Do you want anything to drink?” Cain asked the question but took a seat.
Paige sank into a microfiber sofa. “We’re fine.”
Zach sat beside her. “We’re here to ask you about Cheryl Bradley.”
“Cheryl?”
“You worked with her.” Paige studied his eyes. They revealed nothing.
“I still don’t understand your interest in me.” Cain rubbed his arms.
The house was far from cold. The subject matter clearly made him uncomfortable. Of course, death and murder had that effect on most people.
“What can you tell us about her?” Paige asked.
Cain curled his lips as he considered Paige’s question. “She was a pleasant girl. Always smiling. She was too happy for some people.”
“Too happy?” This was the second time someone had mentioned that. Alex at the graphic design company had said the same thing. Brandon’s theory that the killer targeted women who were unhappy with a goal of making them happy was making more and more sense. And for Cheryl, it seemed the catalyst was the breakup.
“It doesn’t sound right, I know. If people are too chipper, something has to be wrong in their head. That’s how a lot of people see it anyway. I love people to be happy, but too much in your face doesn’t come across as genuine.”
“She could have been a naturally upbeat person,” Zach said.
“Oh, I think she was, but it was hard to understand why.”
“Why?” Paige surmised his statement had to do with the way they had treated her at the office, but she’d rather hear it from him.
“She wasn’t respected around there. People piled work on her with no regard for all she did already. It didn’t matter if she was busy, someone would come along and bump what she was doing down the line.”
“Can’t that fall into the job description of being a receptionist? She’s there to help others,” Paige said. While in larger companies a receptionist’s sole job was to answer the phone, in small- to medium-sized businesses, this position covered the realm of office administration.
“Yes, I guess so. But they treated her with disdain, as if she were beneath them.”
Paige could see how the position could breed that reaction from some people. Those who were never employed in such a capacity failed
to recognize all the hard work these people did. They essentially took the weight of the company on their shoulders. They were on the front line fielding calls, inquiries, and complaints and they were to do it all with a smile and a friendly tone, whether they felt it or not.
“You alluded to the fact that her happiness may not have been genuine,” she said. “Do you think she pressed on a smile?”
Cain nodded. “I do. And looking back, definitely.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, in talking with you about this…” He let his eyes skip to Zach. “I never gave it quite this amount of thought before today.”
Fair enough.
“What about in June of last year, before Cheryl was murdered?” Paige asked.
“What about—”
“Was she happy before she was killed?” She watched his expression and body language for signs of grief. Even after a year, the sudden loss of a coworker to such a violent end would stick with the average person.
Cain’s eyes misted, and he shut them for a few seconds. “It was awful to see her so low. Her ex-fiancé did more than end the relationship—he broke her. She used to walk around as if she floated on air. After he ended things, she was grounded, as if weighed down by concrete blocks.”
“It was hard for you to witness this?” Zach asked.
“Yes, it was.”
“And why’s that? Were you involved with her romantically?” Paige asked.
“No, but to see someone who was so happy—even if it was a front—suddenly being so somber and reclusive… It was hard to see.”
“So you never dated Cheryl?”
He locked eyes with her. “No. And I have no idea why the guy proposed to her.”
“Explain,” Zach said.
Cain picked at the arm of the chair, pinching the fabric between his fingers and releasing it, repeating the process a few times. “She was moving too fast for him, I guess. She was penalized for planning their wedding. It didn’t make sense.”
Zach leaned forward in his chair. “She’s been described as being flirtatious with other men.”
“She loved life. Maybe it came across as flirting?”
Zach nodded. “Do you know of anyone who might have seen her friendliness as something more?”
He had asked a good question. While they were focusing on someone getting close to the victims by befriending them, it was also possible he had been rejected by these women. Such treatment could entice some to sexually assault the women. But their killer didn’t take advantage of this and, instead, focused on retaliation by literally squeezing the life from his victims.
Cain remained silent. Zach’s question seemed to have him thinking. Seconds later, he shook his head.
“All right, well, if you think of anyone, contact us.” Paige handed Cain her card.
She wasn’t sure how much they’d garnered from the visit, but it reconfirmed one thing: Cheryl had been a happy person until Phil had broken her heart. And it could have been the very thing that attracted her killer.
-
Chapter 22
BOTH NEAL’S ALIBIS CHECKED OUT. The night Cheryl was murdered Neal was away on a golf trip with two of his closest friends. They usually went to Florida for this purpose in July. Extenuating circumstances last year had forced them to move the date back to June. Neal’s wife backed his claim for this past Saturday evening and Sunday morning, the time that the murderer would’ve been with Tara. His wife also had a bit to say about the allegation of Neal meeting with Tara for the wrong reasons. According to her, her husband didn’t have a cheating bone in his body. She failed to accept that most people actually did. I, however, found it easy to acknowledge that we weren’t meant to settle down and limit ourselves to one individual for the rest of our lives. This underlying belief probably also played a big role in ending my marriage.
The team gathered back at the hotel for a late dinner and recap of what we had learned so far. In brief, day two concluded with a promise of new leads but nothing definitive.
We sat down in the bar area and ordered some drinks while waiting for a table in the dining room. Paige was dressed in a blue collared shirt and beige dress pants. A gold chain was around her neck, and there was no lipstick on her lips. It told me there wasn’t another date planned with the detective this evening. I wondered whether it was her choice or Jack’s request that she stick around.
“I have Nadia running a detailed background on Phil Payne, Cheryl’s ex, but my guess is his path won’t cross Tara Day’s.” Paige bunched the cloth napkin in her lap and moved it from the left to the right.
“And what about the owner of the graphic design company?” Jack’s cigarettes were on the table, and his hand was cupped over the package.
“He doesn’t seem the type to concern himself with the well-being of his employees,” Paige explained. “He just runs the company from on high, the workers do what he says, and he gives them a paycheck. We did learn that most of the people at the company treated Cheryl with disrespect, though.”
“But he did give us two names of people who were nice to her,” Zach interrupted. “One is out of town, but we were able to speak to the other one.”
Zach filled us in on Cain Boynton, not that there was a lot to say about the man.
“We have Nadia looking into him, too,” Paige said.
It struck me as a sad indicator of the world’s affairs when common politeness fell under scrutiny, but we had to cover all our bases.
The waitress returned with our drink order. Jack had opted for a vodka martini, which I was beginning to see as another vice of his. Maybe it was a rash assessment, as I didn’t view him as an alcoholic by any means. He knew his limits and stayed within them. His eyes were always alert, and his skin appeared hydrated. But there was a deep pain burrowed in his eyes tonight. He wasn’t drinking to alleviate the pressure of solving this case. He was drinking to salve an emotional hurt.
As he tipped the glass for a sip, Paige and I made eye contact. It wasn’t intentional but one of those moments where the same line of thought bonds two people. I’d have to seek her out tonight if the timing and circumstances presented themselves. Jack might prefer to keep his personal life just that, but whether he liked it or not, we were a family of sorts. And if his head wasn’t in this case, it could jeopardize the entire investigation. It was our unstated obligation to figure out what was going on with him and determine whether it posed any potential threats.
Paige looked away as Jack’s cell phone rang. It was sitting on the table next to his cigarettes. He seemed hesitant to answer. Was he expecting bad news?
I caught the caller ID. “It’s Nadia.”
Jack glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t thrilled that I was nosing into his business. He answered by pressing the “speaker” button and left the phone on the table. We were tucked into a corner of the bar, which afforded us some privacy. We all huddled in anyway.
“We’re all here. Tell us what you have,” Jack said.
“Well, I took a look into the wedding gowns Cheryl and Tara were wearing. They weren’t bought at the same place.”
“And what about caterers and florists?” Jack asked. His fingers gripped the stem of his martini glass.
“Well, I was able to find both for Cheryl.”
Cheryl really had been eager to close the deal with Phil Payne. They’d only been engaged for two months before he’d ended the relationship.
Nadia continued. “I’ll be sending all this information to you. Tara had nothing planned that I’ve been able to confirm.”
“Tara was engaged a couple years ago,” I said.
“Well, maybe I need to look further back. If I had a date to narrow things down it would help. On record, Phil had mentioned Cheryl setting a date for the fall, so it made it easi
er to get her information.”
I nodded at Jack. “We can get a date for you.” Maybe we could even get some company names. I had a feeling if anyone knew it would be Reanne.
“Sounds good, Brandon. Let me know.” Nadia paused a second. “And Paige, I’m still digging into Phil and Cain and will update you as soon as I have something.”
“Sounds good.”
Nadia clicked off, and the four of us sat in silence. We were narrowing in on the man behind these murders, but the lens was out of focus. If only we could find a company intersecting both weddings, we might actually get somewhere.
Jack drained his martini and scooped up his cigarettes and cell phone from the table and stood. “I’m calling it a night.” He settled his gaze on me and pointed his finger downward. “We’ll meet here at oh-six-hundred.”
I’m sure my confusion mirrored the expression on my colleagues’ faces.
“You’re not having dinner with us?” Paige asked. Her voice held concern.
“Not tonight.” Jack took one step and turned around. “Tomorrow, we’re all back on Tara’s case. Brandon and I will go back to speak with Tara’s friend Reanne. We need to see if we can get some answers about whether Tara had made any wedding plans and if so, if any businesses overlapped for the two women.”
“I’d still like to speak with Cheryl’s best friends from the time, show them Tara’s picture and see if they recognize her. It might establish a connection for us,” Paige said.
“Works for me.”
-
Chapter 23
I JUST WANT TO BE HAPPY.
Words from his past kept replaying in his head, and they were getting impossible to ignore. He had been given this gift, and it was a shame not to act on its inspiration. It was what had brought him here, to this bar, and he’d spotted her immediately. She was seated at the counter.
The sadness radiated from her like a beacon—from the sheen of sweat on her brow, the excessive rouge on her cheeks, and the way she was flinging back tequila shots. Three men gathered around her, hanging on her and draping themselves over her possessively like a horde of barbarians. Over thousands of years, men had evolved little.
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