by Roslyn Woods
“And do these people still work at Dell?”
“I wouldn’t have any way of knowing the answer to that.”
“What places in Austin did your wife frequent?”
“I really don’t know. She started going out with her friends and she said she was going to Saxon Pub or some restaurant like Chez Zee, but she also said she went to her brother’s place. She got so she’d stay out all night. I don’t know if she really was going to those places or if she just said she was.”
“And she just went with those friends you just named?”
“As far as I know, but sometimes I got the impression other people were there.”
“How did you get that impression?”
“When she first started going out she’d talk about it a little, and it sounded like more of a group than two friends from work.”
“What about a lover, Mr. Maxwell? Did your wife have a lover?”
“I don’t know.” The jaw clenched again.
“But you think it’s likely she did?”
“It’s possible.”
“Was there evidence of another man?”
“Not really. Just that she was gone so much.”
“So you thought she did.”
“I thought she might.”
“And were you upset about that?”
Here Richert interrupted again, “Don’t answer that. Mr. Maxwell is cooperating here. We can end this interview if you’re going to try to make him say something incriminating.” Gonzalez had just nodded and continued.
“How about you, Mr. Maxwell? Do you have friends?”
“I have a few friends.” He sounded exasperated.
“And who are they?”
“Some friends from Dell. I’ve only lived here for three years, and that’s the only place I worked before I quit to work exclusively on my business.”
“You didn’t grow up here?”
“Yes, I grew up in Austin, but I went to California to college, and then I worked in Silicon Valley for thirteen years before I came back.”
“So who are these friends?”
“Do you really need the names of my friends?”
“It might help.”
“Okay. Ray Hoffman is a friend. Gabe Castillo. Jason Novak. They all worked there.”
“You met them all at Dell?”
“Actually, I met Jason in California. We weren’t really friends back then, just acquaintances, but we recognized each other and became friends after I got the job at Dell.”
“Do you spend time with these friends?”
“Of course. Sometimes. What do you want?”
“What do you do with these friends?”
“Jason and I play handball now and then, Gabe and Ray like to watch basketball.”
“Oh really? Do you have a favorite team then?”
“I follow the Spurs. I’m not a big sports fan really.”
“Where were you yesterday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.?”
“I was home working.”
“And can anyone corroborate this?’
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you converse with anyone during that time?”
“No. I was designing. I design websites. It doesn’t take interaction with anyone else. It’s just me in my own world.”
“Did you stop and order lunch?”
“No. I just ate something from the kitchen. I was working. I don’t like to stop when I’m designing so I just keep rolling.”
“Do you own a gun, Mr. Maxwell?”
“No. Well, actually, I own a pellet gun.”
“A pellet gun?”
“My dad got it for me as a kid. It’s in the attic.”
“And you don’t own any other gun?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw your wife?”
“About a week ago. It was Tuesday.”
“And where were you when you saw her?”
“At the house. At my house.”
“She came over and you talked?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she come over?”
“She said she needed some money.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said she couldn’t get by on what I was giving her.”
“And did you give her the money?”
“I did.”
“How much money did you give her?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“In cash?”
“No. I transferred it into her account.”
“Why? You were in the middle of divorce proceedings. Why would you give her money just because she said she needed it?”
“What’s another thousand dollars? She said it would help her. I just didn’t feel like fussing about it.”
“Was that the last time you saw your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak on the phone after that?”
“Yes.”
“And what was that about?” Here Maxwell paused, rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
“She wanted to get back together.”
“Was this a change of heart?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say to this idea of getting back together?”
Again, the clenched jaw, then the hand through the hair. “I said it wouldn’t work. I said no.”
There had been a few more questions, but Gonzalez had heard enough for now. He closed the file and took out the earbuds. He stood up and leaned out the office door.
“You get anything on this Danny Lopez?” he asked Wilson.
“Yeah, but he’s not in town.”
“Well, where the hell is he?”
“The manager at the bar said he’d gone to Albuquerque last week.”
“They don’t have a cell for him?”
“They gave it to me but there’s no answer.”
“What about an address?”
“Only for the bar. The manager said they don’t have an address.”
“Doesn’t make much sense, does it? Just keep trying. How about the vic’s women friends?”
“Got ‘em both. They still work at Dell. Morrison lives in Round Rock and Lester is in Jollyville,” he said, appearing happy to have something to say that might please Gonzalez.
“What about Maxwell’s friends?”
“Got ‘em all.”
“Good. You run down the bank transfer?”
“It checks out,” said Wilson. “A thousand dollars on Tuesday the eighth.”
“What about Amanda? Did she get any cash from her account?”
“I don’t have that yet,” he said with a worried expression on his face. Gonzalez gave him an irritated look.
“I printed the pictures of Amanda that we got from Dean Maxwell,” Wilson added hopefully.
“Good. We’ll need those. I need you to make a list of places she spent money. The bank records should show what charge accounts she had.”
Gonzalez needed to get out of the office. “Let’s go. We have some people to talk to.”
Chapter 8
It was strangely hot again on Friday. Austin was like that. It would cool off and then get hot again for a few weeks at the beginning of fall. Shell noticed that the trees on the street were starting to drop yellow leaves, and this seemed odd juxtaposed against the feeling of summer heat.
Shell had awakened thinking of Margie and the brother she had reconnected with in the last year-and-a-half. In a strange way, she envied Margie her relationship with that brother. She herself had never felt the bond of having a sibling, and even though Dean was a relative newcomer in Margie’s life, he was family, the only family Margie had. They had barely known each other as children, but there was some something about being connected, and Shell could see it meant a lot to her friend.
She wondered how much the connection meant to Dean. He was in such turmoil right now, he probably couldn’t even appreciate Margie’s steadiness. Shell knew that, among all the other things that had to be done,
they still hadn’t reached Amanda’s brother and mom. This, on top of everything else, was making Dean’s life a virtual hell. Except for Margie, he was completely alone. She wondered how he would have managed without his little sister.
Shell had felt the need to do her yoga stretches this morning. After sleeping in a sleeping bag for two nights her body was aching. And the house had needed cleaning. Her hands were actually a little sore from scrubbing, but the place looked much better for it. The wood molding and floors shone from a good polishing, and the windows sparkled.
As she got her purse and sunglasses, Shell heard a knock at the door.
“Yes?” she said as she opened the door to a slender woman of about sixty-five with short, white hair.
“Hello, I don’t mean to bother you, and I can see you’re getting ready to go somewhere, but I’m Rita Anderson, your neighbor from up the street a bit.”
“Oh hello! I’m Shell Hodge. I’ve just rented this place from Dean Maxwell.”
“I figured as much. You see, I was a friend of Lana Maxwell’s, and I just wanted to say hello and let you know if you need anything, I’m just a few doors away. Oh, and I’ve brought you some homemade Dutch butter cookies,” she added handing a cellophane wrapped cookie tin to Shell.
“That’s very kind of you Mrs. Anderson,” said Shell.
“Please call me Rita. Lana Maxwell was a wonderful person,” she went on. “I hope you’ll enjoy living in her house.”
“I’m sure I will,” said Shell.
“Here’s my card with my phone number and address. Please let me know if you need anything at all.”
“Well, thanks again,” said Shell. “I have a card, too. Let me get it. I’ll probably just keep my cell phone and not get a land line,” she said as she put her purse and the cookie tin down on a stack of cardboard boxes that had been placed by the front door. In a moment she handed the card to the older lady. “Everything’s wrong but the cell number, but you know where I live,” she said with a smile. It was nice to know there was someone in the neighborhood who wanted to be friendly to a newcomer, and she liked the fact that this woman had been friends with Dean’s mother.
“Oh, I see you’re an artist!” said Rita.
“Yes, well, I’m kind of between gigs right now, but I hope to get back to it one day soon.”
“Now I know you’ll love the house. It was meant to have an artist living in it. It has beautiful lines, you know.”
“Yes, I think so, too. Well it’s awfully kind of you, Mrs. Anderson, I mean, Rita, to bring a welcome to me. I really only have Margie and Dean as friends right now. Most of my other college friends went back where they came from. I don’t like feeling I’m a stranger.”
“Margie? Oh, that’s Dean’s little sister isn’t it?”
“Yes, we went to college together.”
“And you’ve remained friends! How lovely. Well, any friend of Dean’s is a friend of mine, dear. And I hope I’ll be seeing you!” she said kindly as she turned to go.
“Thanks again.” Shell watched for a few moments as Rita Anderson walked back up the street to her house. What a nice lady, she thought, as she got ready to go. She missed her own mother so much, it felt good to know this kind-hearted woman was close by.
Too bad Margie can’t go with me today. It would be fun to shop together, she thought as she pulled out of her driveway.
Hiring a moving company to bring her furniture and boxes from storage to her new house had made quick work of transitioning to the house on Barrow Avenue. Even so, Shell needed some important things to feel comfortable. She hated spending her inheritance from her mother, but she really needed to get settled.
Her mom would have liked the little house. Shell was thankful for having a few of her pieces to keep. A green wingback chair, a wine-colored area rug, a dresser and mirror, and a headboard. At some point she had found a really nice little mission style table and chairs finished in a warm cherry color. Everything else she needed to buy.
She made her way to a mattress store on Burnet and Anderson Lane. The ad in The Statesman had said they were offering same day delivery. She was ready to sleep on a bed again, and she knew it was going to be easy to choose since she was the only person she had to please.
I’m going to find things to enjoy about being single, she thought.
She bought two beds. One was for the master, and the other for a guest room. She had already decided that the third bedroom would be an art studio of sorts. It wasn’t very big, but it had a north window and good light. Her easel and painting supplies had already found a home in there. The closet housed two dozen canvases in various stages of completion and several boards for stretching watercolor paper. Along the floorboards of the room she had placed some pieces that were closer to being finished.
Her next stop was Bed Bath and Beyond for pillows, sheets, and towels. She had decided the house would be beautiful in shades of green, wine, gold and salmon, and her linens would match. I’m enjoying myself despite shopping alone, she realized. Turning into the bath department she saw shower curtains and immediately knew which one would complement the color scheme she had in mind. Towels and sheets were easy, and she surprised herself by finding a comforter for her bedroom that perfectly blended her colors. Heading back, she stopped at the Lowe’s for paint chips, and she picked up a charming floor lamp to pair with her green chair near the fireplace.
By the time Shell found herself turning into her driveway again she was amazed at the hour. It was nearly 4 p.m., and the delivery guys with the beds were scheduled to arrive at 4:30.
She noticed all over again how quiet the street was. There were cars parked along the curb up and down Barrow Avenue, but there were no people to be seen, no dogs, no children. It took a couple of trips to carry her new things into the house, but on the second trip an odd feeling came over her. The hair at the nape of her neck stood up. Was someone watching her?
Shell carried her purchases into the house and dropped them in the corner of the living room. Then she went back outside and stood still at the top of her porch steps. The pecan tree in the front yard was steadily dropping leaves, and they drifted down slowly as she looked out at the street. The sky had clouded up despite the heat, and a little breeze was blowing the leaves on the sidewalk. What was it? It was too quiet.
She went down the steps and walked up the street for a ways, maybe fifty yards. There were cars parked under the trees, six on the opposite side of Barrow, and four on the side of her house and Dean’s. She looked at each car, trying to see what it was that was bothering her.
Then, slowly walking back toward her house she looked at everything again. It occurred to her that if she was being watched, whoever was watching her must be aware that she was conscious of them. She felt the strange chill of danger, as if an evil presence were following just at her heels, or breathing at the back of her neck, and it took all her willpower to keep herself from running up her steps and into her house. She walked, but once inside she locked the door behind her and hurried through the rooms, examining each one. Was anything different? She went into the art room and peeked through the wood blinds at Dean’s house. Was anyone there? No, she was imagining things. The house looked as it always did. The breeze was making the yellow esperanza bushes dance a little against the soft gray-green of the house siding, but nothing else.
And then, she saw something.
It was almost imperceptible, and if she hadn’t been looking at the side window of Dean’s house at that moment she would have missed it. The shade wobbled. At first she thought she could be wrong, but then she saw it again. Someone is in the house.
Something was very wrong about this. Shell knew that Margie and Dean were picking up Donald at the airport at four. She had heard nothing about anyone coming by Dean’s place. Surely Margie would have told her if something was going on at the house. There was certainly no car in Dean’s carport.
Shell jumped when she heard the rumble and squeaking brakes of the truck
out front. She hurried to the door and opened it.
“You the lady with the two beds?” asked a young man in overalls.
“Yes, yes that’s me. Let me show you where they go.” She showed him to the two rooms where the beds needed to be set up.
“Got it, Miss. This’ll just take us a few minutes to put the frames together. Then we’ll bring in the mattresses and box springs. I’ll need you to sign this before we go,” he said, handing her a clipboard.
“Oh sure.”
“Can we use the front door, Miss?”
“Yes, yes that’s the only way I think,” Shell said, struggling to see past the young man and get another look at the cars parked on the street.
There were only two delivery men, but they sure made a lot of noise. It was almost a relief having them there. Shell stood on the front lawn while they moved the mattresses and box springs one at a time from the truck to the front door, shouting to each other as they went. All the while she was keeping an eye on Dean’s house. When the men left she returned to the living room, locked her door again, and looked through the shade toward the street. Who was in the house, and how did they get here?
The anxiety she had felt earlier was turning into a case of full-blown nerves. Who could she call? Dean and Margie were at the airport getting Donald. The police? She could only imagine them arriving way too late to make a difference. Think. She pulled her phone from the side pocket of her purse and texted Margie: I think someone is in Dean’s house.
She moved to the art room and peeked through the shade at Dean’s front porch. Nothing. Finally, the door opened and a man came out. He was stocky, maybe Hispanic or Middle Eastern, close to fifty, and he was completely bald. He was wearing a dark sports jacket and jeans. He pulled the door shut, looking around him as he did so. Was he locking the door? It looked as if he was. He seemed to be looking to see if anyone was watching him. He walked down the steps to the sidewalk. Then, without a backward look, he proceeded down the walk the distance of two houses, got into a black Mercedes, and drove away before Shell could get much of a look at the license plate. The first three letters were SJS.
Chapter 9
Shell was waiting with her front door open when Dean’s Jeep Cherokee pulled into the drive behind her car. She noted that it was the muted olive green she had thought she might paint the living room. As Dean, Margie, and Donald got out of the car, she noticed again that Dean was tall, two or three inches taller than Donald. The three hurried up the porch steps. It was the first time Donald had seen Shell in a couple of months, and he gave her a smile and a hug without speaking. The circumstances of this meeting were pressing. They had driven straight from the airport.
