Meghan feared it might be too much for the younger woman after her emotional foray into the past, and she started to recommend Sheila stay behind and rest. But Sheila bounced to her feet and headed for the door. She grabbed the doorknob and sent an impatient frown over her shoulder. “Well? Are you coming?”
Greg grinned at Meghan and gestured for her to follow. She swallowed an amused chuckle. Greg had gone from wanting to leave Sheila in Little Rock to letting her lead the way. Sean would sure get a kick out of that. She followed the pair to Greg’s SUV, and with every pound of her soles on the concrete, she prayed.
Truth, God. Let us find the truth.
Thirty-Six
Meghan
Meghan sat next to Sheila at a small aluminum table in what she was sure had been a broom closet in a former life. As Greg had suspected, Wallingford refused to let Sheila enter the room where he and his lawyer waited. He wouldn’t even let Meghan in—said he’d talk to Greg and Greg only. Greg informed him that Meghan was lead detective and he should talk to her, but the man remained stubborn and said if they wanted his statement, it would have to be to Greg.
Meghan didn’t much care. Getting the information was what mattered. Besides, she wasn’t left out. A camera in the first room sent live video coverage to a small flat-screen television mounted on the wall of their closet. A speaker piped in every word. And Wallingford gave them a lot to hear.
“I admit, I stole the money. Back in the early nineties, I started making bogus loans that I let default. The bank then got reimbursed by the insurance company. The first one was small—only twenty-five grand. Kind of my practice run. When it went undetected for a full two years, I doubled the amount. Writing off a hundred-thousand-dollar loan every year or so didn’t raise red flags with anyone. Except…” On the screen, Wallingford’s face splotched red. He gritted his teeth.
“Anson. He came to me and asked me, as a friend, to turn myself in because he didn’t want to do it. But he said he would do it if I didn’t. I tried to tell him I wasn’t hurting the bank, and the wealthy insurance companies could afford to pay out. But he wouldn’t buy it. He said it was stealing and that stealing was wrong. I asked what did it matter since he wasn’t the one doing the stealing.” Wallingford snorted. “He said to know wrong and look the other way was as bad as doing the wrong himself.”
Sheila’s gaze was locked on the screen, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “He told us kids that, too. ‘When you see wrong, make it right. Don’t be a party to wrong.’ ”
Meghan swallowed against a lump in her throat. Everything she knew about Anson Menke painted him as an honorable man, faithful husband, and loving father. Such a waste that he’d left his children’s lives so soon.
“So you took the money and you got caught.” The camera’s angle didn’t allow them to see Greg, but they heard his voice. “Then you did away with Menke.”
Wallingford jolted as if someone had yanked the back of his collar. A fierce scowl formed, and he shifted his gaze to the right, where Meghan presumed his attorney sat. The idea was confirmed when Johnske’s voice boomed through the speaker.
“He’s only confessing to embezzlement. He maintains his innocence in Menke’s disappearance.”
Wallingford gave a brusque nod and faced forward again. “I told him I needed to think about turning myself in. I asked him to give me some time. He wasn’t happy about it, but he said because of our long-standing friendship, he’d give me two weeks.”
Two weeks…Meghan nodded, understanding dawning. Those two weeks of waiting must have weighed heavily on Sheila’s father, which explained his odd behavior in the short time before he disappeared.
The banker shifted in his chair, and a familiar clink-clink came through the speaker.
“What was that?” Sheila asked.
“It’s his handcuffs, or maybe the chain connecting them, hitting against the table.”
Sheila’s blue eyes widened. “He’s handcuffed? Like a real prisoner?”
Meghan nodded.
Sheila’s expression turned hard. “Good.”
Meghan returned her attention to the screen.
Wallingford’s jaw jutted, his gaze narrowing. “I decided I couldn’t turn myself in. I couldn’t put my wife through that. So I told Anson if someone was going to squeal to the authorities, he’d have to do it. I also told him I’d laid out a paper trail that would lead to him. Out of all the employees at the bank, he was the most likely to need the money, so it wouldn’t be hard to convince people he was the real embezzler.” A cunning smile curved his lips. “I was right about that. Every finger pointed in his direction.”
“And he wasn’t here to defend himself.” Greg spoke again, and his sarcastic tone made Meghan cringe. “How’d those fingers get pointed, anyway? If Menke never made it to the authorities, and we know he didn’t, who alerted them about the missing money?”
Wallingford raised his chin in an arrogant pose. “I did. I figured the first one to talk would be the one they’d believe. So I told the bank president I’d caught Anson making false loans, and everything blew open from there.”
Sheila was crying. Not a sound emerged, but her frame quivered and tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Meghan slipped her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. After all the years of wondering if her beloved father was a thief, his vindication must be overwhelming. But they still didn’t know where Anson Menke was. Alive or dead? She silently prayed for Greg to draw the full truth from Wallingford.
“I’ll be honest, Mr. Wallingford.” Greg’s snide tone came clearly through the speaker box. “This all sounds like a story concocted to avoid murder charges. You expect us to believe that you aren’t responsible for Anson Menke’s disappearance? You’re the only one who would benefit from him being unable to speak to the authorities.”
Wallingford set his lips in a firm line and glared.
“Where is Anson Menke, Wallingford?” Sheila shrank back at Greg’s harsh demands. “What did you do with his vehicle? Where did you bury his body?”
Johnske stepped into view and put his hands on Wallingford’s shoulders. “Detective, we’re done here. My client has said as much as he’s going to say.”
Meghan half stood, overwhelmed by her desire to reach through the screen and hold Wallingford in his chair.
“You claimed to be his friend.” Greg spoke again, no longer stern or snide or even wheedling. The genuine hurt and confusion in his tone brought tears to Meghan’s eyes. She sank back in her chair.
Wallingford blinked several times, and red patches formed on his cheeks and neck.
“His kids called you Uncle Wally. They trusted you.”
Sheila rested her head on Meghan’s shoulder, and Meghan instinctively wrapped her in a hug.
“And you stole their father from them. You sullied his name.”
Greg spoke so softly Meghan had to strain to hear his voice. She watched Wallingford’s face for signs of cracking. Please, please…the truth. Let him tell the truth.
“Admitting you stole the money is a start.” Greg’s hand slid into view and patted Wallingford’s clenched fists. “Now Sheila, Wayne, and Brandon will know their daddy wasn’t a thief. That’ll ease their minds. But don’t you think those kids deserve to know where he is? They’ve waited fifteen years for him to come home. If he can’t come home, they should at least be able to give him a proper burial. Let them put this all to rest, Mr. Wallingford. Tell me where to find Anson Menke.”
The man stared straight ahead, sullen and smoldering.
Several silent seconds slipped by while Meghan waited, watched, and prayed Wallingford would finally tell Sheila what she needed to know.
Not a word. Not even a flicker of remorse.
“All right, Mr. Wallingford, then let’s put it this way.” Although he spoke conversationally, even friendly, something a
bout Greg’s comment made Meghan’s nerves buzz. “By your own admission, you stole the money. By your own admission, Anson Menke knew you stole the money. And according to public record, Anson Menke dropped off the face of the planet the same day you set him up for the fall. The ABI didn’t uncover a single shred of evidence that the man still exists. So, even without a body, a good prosecuting attorney has enough to make a strong circumstantial case against you.” Lengthy pause. “For murder.”
Johnske leaned down and whispered in Wallingford’s ear. Meghan bit the corner of her lip, her heart pounding. The lawyer and client shared a brief hushed exchange, and then Johnske stepped out of camera range.
Wallingford closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them, a flinty determination gave him a cold appearance. “He left the bank a full hour before closing. I presumed he was going to the police station, so I followed him. I planned to go in, too, and make my own accusations. But he didn’t go to the police station. He headed out of town. It was raining cats and dogs, but I managed to stay with him until we got on a dirt road.”
“What dirt road? Where was he going?”
The banker huffed. “How should I know? Just a dirt road. The rain was coming down hard, almost too hard to see.”
Meghan sucked in a hopeful breath. His description matched what Sheila had said about the day, so there were elements of truth in his story. Had Greg convinced him to confess the whole truth?
“I decided to turn around, go to the bank president’s office and tell him Anson had been stealing for years. But before I left Anson, first I had some anger to dispel. I was driving an SUV back then—considerably bigger than his Honda. So I sped up and gave his car’s rear end a good bump. Then I came back to town.” He shrugged. “I was as surprised as everyone else when he turned up missing. But it worked in my favor, so I stayed quiet.” Wallingford stood, giving Meghan a view of his midsection and shackled hands. “I’m done here.”
The screen went blank. Meghan stared at the gray square for several seconds, processing all Wallingford had said. If the man told the truth, then they had a place to search for clues.
She gave Sheila a little squeeze and let go. “Sheila?”
Sheila snuffled and sat up.
“Was there someplace in the country your dad liked to go? Maybe a friend he visited?”
“Yeah.” She sniffed hard and swiped her face with the backs of her wrists. “That old high school friend I told you about? He lived outside of town. I think his name was Ken…or maybe Ben…Edwards. Daddy took the boys and me to his place sometimes when Mom needed quiet. Mr. Edwards had a huge pond, big enough for paddleboats and Jet Skis, and he kept it stocked. We’d fish for bluegill and crappie.”
Meghan’s pulse pounded. Rain heavy enough to obstruct vision. A slick dirt road. And a pond. A big pond. How deep? Puzzle pieces began to fall into place. She took Sheila’s hand. “Do you think you could find his place again?”
Sheila frowned. “It was so long ago. I don’t know.” Then she brightened. “But I remember the name of the road because it matched something in Anne of Green Gables. His house was on Idlewild Drive.”
The door opened, and Greg stuck his head in. “Did you catch it all?”
“We did.” Meghan cupped Sheila’s elbow, and they both rose and headed for the door.
“What Wallingford said about a dirt road…I think we should—”
Meghan led Sheila past Greg. “Yeah, we should. And thanks to Sheila, we know where to start. Get your search engine open. We’re looking for a man named Edwards who lives on Idlewild Drive.”
* * *
Meghan held Sheila’s hand and followed Greg and Ben Edwards along the soft bank circling the surprisingly large pond. If someone had told her even a few weeks ago that she’d be comfortable holding another woman’s hand, she would have laughed them off. But Sheila needed connection, and Meghan needed to offer it. So they held tightly to each other.
“No, I didn’t see Anson on March twenty-second. But he did come out fairly regularly on Fridays.”
Greg bent over, picked up a rock, and skimmed it across the water. “Why Fridays?”
“My dental office closes at noon on Fridays, so I’m always home in the afternoon. He’d leave work a little early, and we’d meet out here. He said it was peaceful. It soothed his soul.”
The dark-haired man sent a warm smile over his shoulder at Sheila. “That’s why he brought you and your brothers out. He hoped you kids would find some peace out here, too, given how hard it could be at home with your mom’s illness.”
Sheila nodded. “It worked. We did.” Her fingers tightened on Meghan’s hand. Meghan squeezed back—an assuring squeeze.
Edwards pointed to an obviously handmade wooden platform up ahead. “When the weather permitted, Anson and I sat there. I’d pray for him. He wasn’t a weak man, but even warriors get weary when the battle doesn’t end. Sometimes he needed me to, well, hold up his arms. So I prayed. For Carleena’s health, for him to endure, for his kids…” He stopped and slipped his hands into his pockets, hanging his head. “I wish he’d come to me that day. I would’ve done my best to help him deal with the situation at the bank.”
Greg propped his foot on a large rock and cupped his hands over his upraised knee. “Here’s the thing about the situation at the bank. We know he didn’t steal the money.”
Edwards’s entire frame sagged. “Oh, thank goodness.” He straightened and blew out a breath. “I never believed it. I couldn’t imagine the man I knew being involved in embezzlement. But when a judge found him guilty, I— Well, it’s a real relief to know I was right about him.” He turned a curious look on Greg. “So why do you think he took off?”
Meghan stepped forward, drawing Sheila with her. “We’re not convinced he did take off of his own accord.” She squinted. She wished she’d brought her sunglasses. The sun glinting off the water hurt her eyes. “He disappeared. That’s true enough. We thought he might’ve been murdered by the man who stole the money, but he denies harming him directly. So we’re exploring other possibilities. That’s what brought us out here.”
Edwards gestured to a cluster of shade trees and a rough-hewn bench. “Let’s go sit. Get us out of the sun.” He led them up the bank and leaned against a tree. “Sheila, Detective DeFord, why don’t you take the bench?”
Sheila released Meghan’s hand and perched on the edge of the bench. Too restless to sit, Meghan stood beside her. Greg ambled over and rested one knee on the other half of the bench.
Edwards turned his curious gaze on Greg and Meghan. “I’m not sure how else I can help you since I didn’t see him that last Friday before he disappeared.”
Greg gazed across the pond. “Sheila told us there was quite a rainstorm that day. What’s it like out here when it’s raining?”
The man laughed. “Have you ever been tempted to build an ark?”
Meghan and Greg exchanged a grin. Meghan said, “That bad, huh?”
“Sometimes.” Frowning, he ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. “You know, I remember all the rain that day, too. It hit late in the afternoon, like the sky opened up and dumped buckets. My wife got caught in town at the grocery store. She ended up spending the night with her sister’s family in town instead of risking the drive home. The road is awfully slick when it’s wet, and in a rain like that, it would be downright dangerous to travel it. A person could get swept into the water.”
Greg kicked at some new grass sprouting up from the sandy soil. “How deep is the pond?”
Meghan stiffened. The seemingly casual question sent chills of apprehension up and down her spine.
“I’d say maybe—” Edwards straightened so abruptly his knees popped. “My dear Lord in heaven…” The prayer emerged on a hoarse whisper. He pressed his hands to his stomach and staggered to the bank. “It’s deep. Deep enough to hide a vehicl
e.” He made a slow turn and faced them. “Will you need to drain the pond?”
Meghan shook her head. “Not yet. But we would like to”—she glanced at Sheila’s stricken face, and her heart rolled over—“bring out some divers.”
Thirty-Seven
Meghan
The divers brought in to look for Anson Menke’s car intended to begin their search by ten thirty on Saturday morning, and Meghan insisted she and Greg arrive well in advance of dive time and supervise the entire process. She asked Sheila to stay behind at the hotel—who knew what all they would find under the brownish water?—but the headstrong young woman they’d initially met returned. “He’s my dad. I want to be there,” she’d said, and Greg took her side. So all three of them watched the divers suit up, strap on air tanks, and waddle into the water.
As the pair of divers slowly sank beneath the surface, Meghan led Sheila to the bench beneath the trees, and they sat. She slipped her arm around Sheila’s waist. The temperature was a muggy midseventies, but the young woman shivered, her body quivering from head to toe.
Meghan feared she’d vibrate herself into the pond if left on her own. So even though she preferred to be active in the search, she kept her arm around Sheila while keeping her focus on Greg, who stood at the edge of the water and communicated via some kind of walkie-talkie system with the two divers.
A kind of hush surrounded them. Away from city noise, the country was amazingly peaceful. Today, though, without even a breeze, it seemed unnaturally quiet. No squirrels chattered from the trees, and even the birds were silent. Meghan got the feeling everything held its breath, caught up in anticipation. She wanted to pray, but she wasn’t sure what to ask for, so one phrase repeated itself in her mind. Work Your will for Sheila and her brothers, Lord, please.
Unveiling the Past Page 29
