That Which Was Lost

by Samantha Price

  The revelation punched the detective in his stomach. “Why, Myra? Was he a violent man?” Did he do something to you, Myra? Did you punish him for it?

  “No, he was never violent.”

  “I was just curious to know if he has done anything to put you in a situation where you had to defend yourself.”

  “I would never harm my husband or anyone. Peter was unpredictable. Mostly we got along like a dream, but then he’d snap and become nasty for no reason at all. I was sure that he picked fights deliberately and it was after those times that he’d disappear for days, sometimes three or four. It all makes sense now.”

  “He’d pick a fight then disappear because it suited him to be elsewhere for a few days? You’d blame yourself for arguing with him thinking the argument had sent him away to cool down?”

  “That’s right, that’s how it was. But, I loved him. We didn’t have many arguments except for those ones. I didn’t sleep last night, I was piecing together all the little things.”

  Crowley glanced over at her. “I’ve never been married, but I’ve seen my share of marital problems when it escalates to domestic abuse.”

  Myra nodded and looked down.

  “Myra, you and I were close once. I want to find out what’s going on. I’m doing this for you, not because I’m a detective.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was weak, almost child-like.

  Silence filled the car as they continued their journey. Crowley glanced at his watch and noticed they were ahead of schedule. “You hungry? I was in a hurry, so I never grabbed my morning coffee.” He lied, he couldn’t tell her he ate a bowl of froot loops and downed it with a mug of black coffee. “I’ll treat you to some breakfast if you’d like?”

  Myra’s eyes sparkled as the morning sun shone through the car window. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  “Would you like sugar or cream with your coffee, sir?”

  “Both please,” Crowley said to the waitress.

  As the waitress handed him some creamers and packets of sugar, she turned to Myra and asked if she were ready to order.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” she said, looking up at the waitress. “I’ll just have a lumberjack breakfast. Scrambled, bacon, and white toast, please.”

  Crowley browsed the daily newspaper as they waited for their meals. “Well, it hasn’t made the papers yet, but once their murder victim is linked to Peter, it’s sure to be a big news story. Preston Judge was quite a wealthy man.” He put the paper down and sipped at his coffee as he peered out through the windows. “Sure hope today continues to be a nice one.”

  “Peter wasn’t a bad man, but I feel as though I don’t know the person I was married to. We kept to ourselves and I don’t really have anyone I could call a close friend. Peter didn’t like to socialize, and he didn’t want me doing anything. I stayed home and sculpted, and the only time I went out was to go to art exhibitions or to buy things related to sculpting, such as tools.”

  Peter was stabbed and Myra has sculpting tools. Crowley didn’t like thinking that way, but years of being a detective had made suspicion a habit. He had to ask Detective Jenkins what type of implement was used in the stabbing. “He kept you isolated?”

  “I guess you could say that. Looking back, I guess that was his plan. If we weren’t out in public then no one from his other life would spot us.”

  The waitress interrupted and placed their meals before them.

  Sympathy overwhelmed Crowley as he thought about what he’d just heard. A woman he wanted nothing more than to protect was confessing to him that her murdered husband was controlling, on top of the fact that he was living a double life. Crowley wondered if Peter were also physically abusive. He knew women were often ashamed of being abused and rarely admitted to being a victim.

  “Can you promise me that you don’t know what happened to your husband whatever his actual name is? I do believe you, but I just need to look into your eyes when you tell me yourself.” He smiled hoping his words would not offend her.

  “The thing is, are you sure that the man found dead is really Peter?”

  “I think we can safely say that he was Peter.”

  “I promise you I don’t know anything about anything except that Peter disappeared, and I had no idea about his other life. I don’t know where he would’ve found the time since he was mostly with me.”

  “He worked far away from home, didn’t he?”

  “He worked at Randallston and left early and came home late.”

  The detective nodded, case closed as far as he was concerned, especially with the missing days and finding out from the other detective that Mrs. Judge said that her husband worked away an awful lot. “There is one personal thing I’d like to ask you, if I may, Myra.”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “Why did you contact your mother to help you with this case?”

  “Case?”

  He shook his head and looked down. “I’m sorry; I’ll rephrase that. Why did you turn to your mother when Peter went missing? You haven’t been near the community in years. I’ve had contact with Ettie quite a bit over the years and I know you haven’t seen her in ages.”

  “Excuse me?” Myra’s eyes turned steely.

  “I know that you two have been estranged for a long time. Why would she be the first person you contact after your husband goes missing?”

  “My mother and I were close once, but she wouldn’t go against my father or the community. There’s no room for individuality in the community and if you don’t fit in there’s only one thing for it, you have to leave. The Amish say they have no pride, but they pride themselves in losing themselves and being a group.” Myra waved her hand in the air. “People can’t rid themselves of pride. They are proud of having no pride.” Myra gave a small chuckle as she stared into her coffee. “My father was the worst, but it led to my mom and me no longer talking as well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I didn’t open up any old scars. But still, why turn to her when this happened?”

  “It’s been so long since I needed anyone, and when I was young she was always that one person who would be there. I guess it’s hard to trust someone new when you have that person, that rock, who will never turn you away.”

  “You can always find a second rock though.”

  A faint blush highlighted Myra’s cheeks as Crowley spoke.

  As soon as they finished their breakfast, Crowley said, “Well, I guess we should get back on the road.”

  Once they were in the car, Crowley knew he had to prepare Myra for what was to come. “The detectives and officers working the Preston Judge case will look at you as a possible suspect. Don’t tell them I mentioned that and don’t act like you think it. Just be yourself and be honest. They need to eliminate you as a suspect before they move on.”

  “Okay, I understand.”

  “Just make sure you’re adamant that you have never heard of Preston Judge or his wife before because that’s the truth. It’s important that you don’t lie though. I’m trusting you, so please, don’t make me regret it.”

  Myra took a deep breath. “Ronald, I’m the victim here. I haven’t done anything wrong; this has all happened to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Myra. I shouldn’t have put pressure on you.”

  “I know it’s your job, but I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Crowley nodded and knew that Myra was holding back tears. He was angry with himself for questioning her like he had. The car pulled into the Randallston station at noon. “Like I said, I’ll be there next to you, just tell them what you know. I’ll do what I can to help you through this.”

  Myra reached her right arm over and gave him a soft hug. “Thank you for being here for me.”

  The embrace left a warm sensation bubbling in Crowley’s stomach. Despite the case, and the uncertainty that even he held onto, he couldn’t explain the way he felt about Myra. He felt a loyalty to her that he didn’t understand.

  * * *
r />   “I suspect Detective Crowley has filled you in on recent events?” Detective Jenkins said to Myra once they were in the interview room.

  Myra nodded. “Of course.”

  Detective Jenkins read his notes then looked up at Myra. “I understand that you were married to one Preston Judge?”

  Myra glanced over at Crowley who was sitting to her right. “I was married to Peter Davis; that’s who I knew him as. I just found out that he was a bigamist, and I never suspected a thing. Although I’m not entirely convinced that this Preston fellow was my husband.” Myra gave them all the information she could on Peter, where he told her that he worked and what he had told her of his past. She also brought with her a handful of Peter’s paperwork.

  The officer in charge held up the paperwork including Peter’s fake birth certificate. “Okay if we take copies of these?”

  “Please do,” Myra said.

  The officer passed the paperwork to a young policeman who had been standing at the back of the room. “Get two copies of each.”

  “Right away, sir,” the young officer replied before he left the room.

  Detective Jenkins turned his attention to Crowley. “There’s been a development. We’ve found an abandoned car registered in Preston’s name. Mrs. Judge swears she’s never seen the car. It’s a red SL500 2003 Mercedes-Benz.”

  Myra gasped. “That’s Peter’s car.”

  “We’re going over it now for evidence.” He looked down at his papers then up at Myra. “When was the last time you saw Preston?”

  Myra took a deep breath. “He left for work one morning, and at about ten o’clock I went to the shops. When I came back a couple of hours later, I noticed that his things had gone missing.”

  “What things?” Detective Jenkins made notes.

  “Most of his clothes and everything. I’d bought a pair of shoes and when I went to put them in our closet, I noticed that most of his clothes were gone. I couldn’t work it out. We hadn’t had an argument in a while, and there was no reason for him to leave me. I searched for a note but didn’t find one.” Myra put her fingertips in her mouth.

  Jenkins set his pen down. “You had regular arguments?”

  Myra shrugged. “We had some misunderstandings as most couples do.”

  Jenkins tilted his head to the side. “How many would you say is ‘regular’?”

  “I don’t know, about one a week or a fortnight.”

  “And what would these arguments be about?” Jenkins asked.

  “Peter would pick silly fights with me and then disappear for two days. That’s why I couldn’t work out why he’d disappeared this time when we’d had no fight.”

  Jenkins pushed himself back into his chair. “Fight? Would you say you had fights or arguments?”

  “Well, I’d say arguments,” Myra said.

  “But you just said fight…”

  “Stop this.” Crowley leaned forward. “Myra is here to offer information to help this case. If she’s not being arrested for anything, I must ask you to stop your harassment.” Crowley glared at the officer who was acting like a cross-examining barrister rather than trying to gather pertinent information.

  Jenkins picked up his pen and tapped it on the table. “I’m sorry, Myra. I found it odd that you used the word ‘fight’ and ‘argument’ as if they were the same thing.”

  Myra shrugged. “Peter never got physical if that’s what you mean. He’d get angry but never got violent. And he’d only get angry right before he’d disappear. I suppose he was going back to his other wife.”

  “Were you ever suspicious that Peter might be having an affair or might have another family somewhere?”

  “No, that would be the last thing I would ever have thought of. I trusted him completely. He was all I had, and I thought it was the same for him.”

  “What about his family? Did you have his family at your wedding?”

  “We had a quiet ceremony; it was just a civil service. We were both estranged from our families. Well, I was from mine; he said that he never got on with his family and I believed him.”

  “Convenient,” the detective said as he shuffled through his notes. “Where did you think he went when he was gone for days?”

  “I don’t know. I never asked him; I suppose that I didn’t want to start another argument, I just wanted to move on.”

  Detective Jenkins looked up from his notes. “Did he ever have strange calls coming to the house?”

  Myra screwed up her nose. “Never.”

  “Did you ever see anything strange on his cell phone or his email?”

  Myra shook her head. “I never looked at either.”

  “Was there ever anything strange on the credit card bills; anything unaccounted for?”

  “No, nothing like that. I told you, everything appeared normal to me. This was the last thing I ever expected,” Myra asked.

  “So you never followed him?” Detective Jenkins tapped his pen on the table.

  Myra frowned. “Never.”

  “You never knew or met anyone from his work?”

  Myra shook her head.

  “How did you know where he worked?”

  “He told me where he worked. His pay was deposited into my bank account at the end of every month. I handled the money, paid the bills, that kind of thing.”

  “You don’t work?”

  “Peter didn’t want me to work. I met him at an art gallery where I worked and once we got married, he insisted I stay home and concentrate on my sculpture. He convinced me I had talent.” Myra looked at her hands in her lap. “I don’t even know if that’s true now.”

  After three hours of questioning, the interview was over. Crowley left Myra in the waiting room while he went back to find out about the murder weapon. Jenkins informed him that the victim was killed with a large knife, resembling a butcher’s knife, and it had been wiped clean of prints. Crowley collected Myra and drove her back to Ettie’s house.

  Chapter 7.

  But now I have written unto you not to keep company,

  if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator,

  or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard,

  or an extortioner; with such an one no not to eat.

  1 Corinthians 5:11

  Myra found the front door to her mother’s home was unlocked, which she was grateful for. She had staggered out of the detective’s car and made it up the front steps to the house without falling over. Her knees were like jelly and getting a full breath of air was difficult between sobs.

  Stumbling into the house, she headed for the kitchen hoping for a hot cup of tea and a chair to fall into, something to give her solace and support.

  Ettie was sitting in her usual spot at the kitchen table and looked up from the newspaper when Myra entered. Elsa-May was drinking tea on the opposite side.

  “What happened?” Ettie rushed to Myra’s side and dabbed at the tears on Myra’s face with a handkerchief.

  “It was horrible, Mamm,” Myra said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Aunt Elsa-May reached out a hand and patted Myra’s arm.

  “How was the meeting with the police?” Elsa-May asked.

  “You mean, how was the interrogation? There’s nothing like being made to feel like ‘the other woman’ and a suspect at the same time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘the other woman’?” Ettie asked.

  “Well, I was the other woman because everyone acts as if I’m someone he was inappropriate with, and Peter’s other wife was the ‘real’ one.”

  “The worst part was they had questions for me about his death. As if I’d know anything. I don’t think I know anything about the man who was my husband, not even that he had another family!” Myra stared at Elsa-May’s teacup.

  “I’ll make you a cup,” Elsa-May said.

  “It was awful,” Myra continued. “They made me feel so stupid as if I should have known my husband was cheating on me. I was too blinded by love to see the truth. And the worst p
art was that I was afraid to tell them how horrid he was at times because then they might’ve thought I had something to do with his death!”

  “No way around that one, you’re right,” Ettie commiserated. “But why did they want to talk to you at all? Do they think you’re a suspect?”

  “Ettie, you heard Crowley say they have to eliminate the spouses as suspects before they move on,” Elsa-May said firmly.

  “I suppose so. He did say it was routine,” Ettie said.

  “I don’t know, really. It was pretty routine stuff. Where was I during the time when he died, how often was he there, did he act unusually at all - that kind of thing.”

  Elsa-May set a steaming mug of tea in front of Myra and patted her shoulder. “So what did you say?”

  “I just told them the truth of what had happened. And no, of course, I didn’t know he had another family! If I had, I would have kicked him out and let the other family have him! The worst part was that the detective kept tapping his pencil on the desk; tap, tap, tap. tap.” Myra’s finger tapped on the kitchen table illustrating the rhythm. “I could barely think straight with all that racket! It was like Chinese water torture! I swear if Detective Crowley hadn’t been there with me I would’ve jumped out of my chair and admitted to anything just to get him to stop!”

  “There, there, take a deep breath. You’re getting all worked up again,” Ettie whispered.

  “And the way they kept asking me the same questions, over and over again, in different words they obviously thought I was stupid. ‘Did you know your husband had another wife?’ ‘Did you know your husband was cheating on you?’ ‘Did you suspect he had another family?’ The same questions, over and over. Detective Crowley kept trying to make eye contact with me to help me keep my cool, but honestly, after about ten rounds of the same questions I was tempted just to give them what they wanted and tell them that, yes, I absolutely knew my husband was a bigamist.”

  Ettie patted her daughter on the shoulder. “Well, it’s over now. You’re here, and you’re safe. Now, drink your tea and try to relax.”