“It’s a long story,” I croaked.
“We’ve got time.”
Hannah Montgomery’s face registered surprise. “Eric. Isn’t that the name that came up during the break-in of your house?”
I nodded.
Dallas let go of the chair, and it settled back onto all fours with a bang. “I thought you didn’t know anyone named Eric.”
“I didn’t. Not then, anyway.”
“I’m waiting,” Phipps said. “How do you know Vance?”
I looked across my desk. Six eyes stared back at me. I’d thought I had the roomy part of the office, but now it felt like the hot seat. I realized I was in way over my head.
“I want to talk to my attorney,” I told them.
CHAPTER 42
Jesse’s strength, one of many, was his patience. I don’t know what he was like before—when he was an overworked public defender and a heavy drinker—but now he almost never became ruffled or excited. And when he gave you his attention, it was as though he had all the time in the world.
He was sitting across from me now in a private interview room at the police station, calmly listening as I brought him up to date on everything I’d learned, including the current kicker—the photograph Agent Phipps had showed me. Jesse had arrived about thirty minutes after I called him, still dressed in the cargo pants and boots he wore for work at the nursery. He’d brought us each a large cup of coffee from Starbucks’ chief competitor in town, the locally owned Daily Grind.
“When are you going to get yourself an actual attorney?” he asked.
“They’ll appoint one if I’m arrested, won’t they?”
“Not one you’re going to want.”
“You were a public defender.”
“Proves my point.” He flipped the lid from his cup. “But since I’m here now, bring me up to speed.”
When I finished telling him what I knew, he took a few more sips then set his cup down on the table. “The standard legal advice is, the less said the better.”
“Not tell them about Eva, you mean?”
“There’s just too much we don’t understand at this point.”
“But they think I killed her!”
“They haven’t arrested you yet,” he pointed out.
“It’s only a matter of time.”
“You think just because you tell them your wife wasn’t Maureen Brown but Eva Flynn, they will suddenly slap their heads and say, ‘Gee, Sam must be innocent after all’?”
“It opens up other possibilities.”
“But it doesn’t impact motive or evidence against you. Hell, it could even make you look guiltier.”
“Is that possible?” I tried for a humorous tone, but the words came out flat.
Jesse smiled, revealing his gold tooth. “Don’t tempt fate.”
“She’s been involved with Eric Vance since high school. Don’t you think they need to know that?”
“Sam.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Like everyone else who’s innocent, you think if you spill your guts, you’re home free. Examples of that working against you are legendary.”
“But she was using an assumed name. And now, with the FBI interest in Eric Vance, they’ve got to see that I had nothing to do with her murder.”
“Or maybe you found out the truth—whatever that is—and killed her in anger. Or maybe you are all three part of whatever the FBI is investigating. In fact, I’d guess that’s their working premise.” Jesse drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “My advice, Sam: Tell them nothing.”
I shook my head. “Jesse, you’re one of my best friends. You’ve given me strength when I needed it most. But I can’t go back in there and tell them I’m refusing to talk. I need to set the record straight.”
Another smile. “I didn’t think you’d take my advice, Sam.”
“Then why’d you give it?”
“Because it’s good advice.” He frowned and leaned forward. “But watch what you say. Tell them about Eva if you must, but not everything.”
“About not remembering, you mean?”
He nodded, then whispered, “And the shoe.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I hope so.” Jesse stood. “Okay, let’s go get this over with.”
“So what’s your connection to Vance?” Phipps asked when we were again all together.
Jesse held up a hand. “Not so fast.”
Phipps regarded him with the politely disguised aversion one might show a host’s mangy, old dog. How much of it had to do with Jesse’s appearance, and how much from his being a lawyer, I couldn’t tell.
“Sam’s learned some things this last week,” Jesse continued. “Things which he’s under no obligation to disclose. But because he’s as interested as you are in finding his wife’s killer, he’s willing to share them with you.” Jesse looked at each of the three in turn before speaking. “First off, he discovered that his wife wasn’t the woman she claimed to be.”
“What?” The reaction was unanimous.
“Maureen Brown, with the same birth date and birthplace as claimed by his wife, and the same parents, has been dead for ten years. Her high-school friend, Eva Flynn, was using her name when she met and married Sam.”
“Of all the—” Dallas bit back the rest of the remark. “Why?”
Jesse shook his head. “Sam has no idea why. That’s one of the things he’d like to know himself. Eva grew up in Rochester, New York, as did Eric Vance. They were friends in high school, and she’s apparently stayed in touch with him. Sam didn’t know anything about this until a few days ago. He’s been trying to trace her activities since high school, when she left home, until he met her.”
Phipps wrote something in his notebook.
Hannah addressed me directly, pleasantly. “What have you learned?”
“She was living in Phoenix right before she came to Monte Vista,” I said. “Her mother is still in Rochester and hasn’t seen Eva in years. Her father’s dead. I got the impression it wasn’t a happy family.”
“Your wife never said a word about any of this?” Phipps asked.
“No. She didn’t want to talk about her past.”
“You didn’t think that was odd?”
I sighed. There was no way to make them understand, when I wasn’t sure I understood myself. But at the time, I’d been all too willing to go along. Maureen loved me and I loved her. My heart, which had been ravaged with grief at losing Lisa, was slowly healing. The last thing I wanted was to force an issue that might break it again.
“In retrospect,” I said, “it raises big-time questions. But at the time ... I was in love, and I know ... I can understand how a person might want to put the past behind them.”
“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?” Dallas said pointedly. “Having been there yourself.”
I fought the urge to get up and leave right then. Instead, I looked Dallas in the eye. “Yes, Detective Pryor, I have been there. You obviously haven’t. The pain of losing someone you love is unbearable.”
I caught a flicker of empathy in Hannah’s expression, but Phipps ignored the exchange altogether.
“What about the photo?” he asked. “Did you know your wife had been to Las Vegas?”
I shook my head.
“Isn’t that something you’d know?”
“Not if she just went for the day. It’s only an hour’s flight. I’ve checked the schedule.”
Dallas narrowed his gaze at me. “Why’d you check? You said you didn’t even know about the photo until today.”
Maybe this was what Jesse meant about it being easier to say nothing. But I knew that fudging and backtracking were worse still. “I knew Eric Vance was in Las Vegas because his brother told me. He said Eva had recently contacted Eric.”
They waited.
“And I booked myself a flight there. And to Phoenix.”
This time all the eyes in the room were aimed my direction, including Jesse’s. And the look in them was identical.
“Jesus.
” Phipps tugged at his ear.
“Stay out of this,” Dallas warned, directing his comment to me.
Even Jesse felt obliged to weigh in with advice. “Not a good idea, Sam.”
“This is my wife we’re talking about. I have to know what she was doing.”
“Let us handle it,” Phipps said.
“Are you going to stop me?” I looked at the faces around me. No one spoke. There seemed to be a lot of silent dithering going on.
Finally, Jesse spoke up. “Are you telling Sam he is not free to travel within the U.S.?”
Instead of answering, Phipps looked at the photo again. “You’re saying that you don’t know anything at all about Eric Vance?”
“From talking to his brother, I know he works at a casino. And I gather he has a record. He raised his brother, who is Eva’s age, after their mother died. That’s the sum total of my knowledge.”
“What’s the FBI’s interest in him?” Jesse asked. “Was he under investigation?”
Phipps pressed his palms together. “At one point. Most recently he was cooperating with us. He had information we need to go forward.”
“To go forward with what? What was he involved in?” Jesse’s tone had become more clipped. He sounded more like a lawyer than an easygoing garden enthusiast.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“How’d he die?”
“Cerebral hemorrhage.” Phipps said. “Blunt trauma to the head.”
“Accidental death or murder?”
Phipps hesitated. “We’re not sure.”
“When?”
“Shortly after this photo was taken.”
I felt a new stab of worry. “You don’t think my wife had anything to do with it, do you?”
“We don’t think she was with him at the time.”
It wasn’t a decisive answer, but it was more reassuring than not. At least they weren’t ready to pin a murder on her.
Jesse straightened, hands on the table. “It’s obvious,” he said, “that Sam’s wife had a secret life and was possibly involved in something criminal. A few days after she disappeared, an intruder broke into Sam’s house with a message about Eric. You can’t at this point still be thinking Sam had anything do with her murder.”
Dallas flashed a mocking grin. “Mr. Black, you know better than that. We have only Sam’s word about the break-in and his ignorance of his wife’s activities. Don’t tell me you never met a suspect who twisted the truth to work in his favor.”
“You can’t—”
“And if Sam only recently learned about Eric and Las Vegas ...” Dallas shrugged. “Jealousy, anger, revenge—seems to me I’ve run into them all before. As motives for murder.”
I didn’t even have to look at Jesse to know he was giving me the I-told-you-so look. The look that said This is why I told you not to talk to the cops.
CHAPTER 43
Frank traded calls with Annalise Rose for a couple of days before he finally reached her. When Wade Cushing first handed him the name, Frank had held out some small ray of hope that she might have pertinent information. But she sounded young, and Frank figured she just wanted to hear about the case firsthand.
“You said you wanted to talk to someone about the Lisa Russell murder,” Frank said when she came on the line.
“Right. She was my cousin.”
Frank explained he’d gotten her name from Detective Cushing, that he was now retired but had been the lead detective on the case at the time of Lisa’s murder.
She cut him off. “Can we talk later? I’m on my way to class.”
So she was young. “You in school?” With cell phones, you never knew where you’d catch the person you were calling.
“I’m a freshman at MIT. It’s a ninety-minute class. Can I call you back when I get out?”
“How about I meet you there instead. Tell me where.”
“You know the campus?”
“Somewhat.”
“How about right outside the union. How will I recognize you?”
“I’ll be the old guy.”
Frank hadn’t been to Cambridge for years, but it hadn’t changed much, including the difficulty of finding a parking spot. He finally got lucky then sat on a bench outside the union to wait for her.
All that youth, he thought as he watched the throngs of students pass by. Most walked, but many rode bicycles or skated by on Rollerblades. A few had scooters. He hoped they appreciated their youth, though he was sure they didn’t. That was one of life’s ultimate ironies. Youth was wasted on the young.
It was almost exactly ninety minutes after his phone conversation with Annalise Rose that he was approached by a girl—young woman was the proper term, he’d been told—with dark hair pulled into a pony tail and snug jeans that were cut below her navel. She had rosy cheeks and a perky spring to her step.
“You must be Detective Donahue,” she said, sitting down next to him.
“Old must have been a pretty good description.”
She laughed. “There are lots of older people on campus, but you’re the only one who looks like he’s waiting for someone.”
Frank appreciated the old/older distinction. He offered a hand. “Call me Frank. I’m retired, so I no longer hold the title of detective.”
She dumped her backpack on the bench between them and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“So, Lisa Russell was your cousin?”
“Right. Our mothers are sisters.” She rocked forward. “I feel sort of stupid calling the police at this point, but I decided I needed to. I overheard my mom talking to Aunt Sylvia, Lisa’s mother. Aunt Sylvia said the police were reexamining the evidence and that there might be a new trial.”
So much for Frank’s careful admonition about the odds of success. The Pattersons had heard what they wanted to hear. “Not officially,” he told Annalise. “But your aunt and uncle asked me to take another look, and I agreed.”
“They were pretty upset when Sam got off.”
“So was the DA,” I reminded her. “And so were we.”
She looked as though she hadn’t thought about it from that angle before. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I was only twelve at the time, so nobody ever told me anything outright. It was just what I picked up here and there.”
Like most kids, she probably picked up a lot. Parents weren’t usually aware how much kids knew.
“How well did you know Lisa?”
“She was older than me, obviously. But in some ways she was like a sister. Both of us were only children, and our mothers were sisters. I was a flower girl in her wedding, and I used to hang around with her and Sam, and then with the baby. They were both, Sam included, really nice to me.”
She played with the strap of her backpack for a moment. She seemed on the verge of continuing, so Frank waited.
“It’s bothered me all these years that I never said anything.”
“About what?”
“Lisa wasn’t her usual sunny self in the weeks before she was killed. She seemed agitated and worried.”
Frank nodded. “Her mother testified to that at trial. She thought Sam and Lisa were having marital problems.”
“They might have been. But Lisa also talked about a monster.”
“A monster?”
“Not a wild beast. And not Sam. I’m sure she didn’t mean that. No, there was someone bothering her. I thought maybe an old boyfriend or something. I talked to her the day before she was killed, and she told me she was going to get rid of the monster.”
“She said that?”
“I think she said it just like that, but I’m not sure anymore. I know that was the impression I got. I was what’s called a mother’s helper, only it wasn’t a formal job or anything. I’d just hang around and help out playing with Molly while Lisa did chores or took a little time for herself. I remember Molly and I were playing Chutes and Ladders, which if you haven’t played it in a while I have to tell you is the most boring game invented, when Li
sa came into the room and announced she was going to get rid of the monster.”
“What did you think she meant?”
“Molly thought it was a game. And Lisa turned it into one. I figured she’d just decided she wasn’t going to let whatever was bothering her get to her anymore. And after she died, when everyone was sure it was Sam who killed her, I sort of forgot about it. Nearer to the trial I remembered and told my aunt, who said not to worry.”
“So why contact the police now?”
“I wouldn’t have, except that you guys are looking into it again and I figured it might be important.”
“An old boyfriend is what you think?”
“That’s what I thought then. At twelve, pretty much everything was about boys. Now, I don’t know. I remember there was some friend Lisa was mad at, so I guess it could have been her. Or something else entirely.”
“Do you know the friend’s name?”
“No. I only saw her once.” Annalise waved to a group of students. “My mom says Sam’s second wife was murdered too. Do you think Sam did it?”
“I don’t know. There are certain similarities.”
“Poor Molly. It must be hard on her knowing her dad might be a killer. Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Hal want to bring her to Boston to live with them.”
Frank nodded. They’d already spoken with an attorney about the best way to proceed. “We’ll have to see what develops with the investigation. But I appreciate your getting in touch.”
CHAPTER 44
I got to the airport in time to get the first boarding group on a Southwest flight to Phoenix. Since the airline didn’t assign seats, getting there early was important if you wanted to avoid sitting in the middle. I took a window seat near the front of the plane, and an older woman sat on the aisle. I was hoping the flight wouldn’t be full.
As I settled in, my mind was struggling to make sense of what I’d learned. Why had Maureen gone to Las Vegas? Why hadn’t I known?
April 29 was a Monday. I’d have been at work, Molly at school. I’d checked the calendar at home. There was nothing noted for the day. But then, she’d hardly have written Meeting with Eric in Las Vegas. Had I gotten home late that evening? Had Molly been with a friend? I tried to reconstruct that Monday, but in my memory it was a day like any other. I examined Maureen’s behavior the last few weeks through the lens of new information, but again, nothing jumped out at me.
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