“Do you really believe that?” I asked, kind of hoping he did, because if he believed it, then maybe I’d find a way to do so myself.
“Anything is possible, Liz. The police will work it out. You did what you could and that’s all anyone can expect out of you.”
Did I? I rose, causing Manny’s arms to fall from my shoulder. “I have to check.”
“Check what?” Manny stood with me, concern in his eye.
“If his real name truly is Joseph Danvers, I need to figure out how I missed it. I vetted him, Manny. I looked into his life.” Not deeply, granted, but I felt like I should have seen something that didn’t add up if he’d indeed given me a fake name.
“Liz, are you sure you should?”
“What if this happens again?” I asked. “I need to figure out what I did wrong so I can make sure I never walk in on something like that again.”
Deep down, I knew it was unlikely I’d ever find another dead body, but right then, I felt as if every door I opened might contain one.
“If you think it’s best, I won’t stop you,” Manny said. “But, please, Liz, don’t blame yourself for this.”
I forced a smile, despite how I was trembling. “I won’t.”
“If you’re sure . . .” His eyes were filled with concern.
“I am.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he was willing to let me go. It was one of the things I loved about him. Manny would never try to stop me from doing what I thought was best, even if he didn’t agree with my assessment.
I turned away and headed for my laptop. Somewhere in my brief look into Joe Hitchcock’s life, there had to be a hint of the man, Joe Danvers. I was determined to find it so that I could move on, prove to myself that I hadn’t missed something, and that none of this was my fault.
3
Joe Hitchcock seemed like a perfectly decent human. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to go on, but normally, that’s a good thing. I couldn’t find his name attached to news articles reporting crimes. Nothing was listed about him abusing animals.
But there were no Facebook pages, no Twitter accounts. No websites at all. For a man his age, it wasn’t unheard of, but these days, it’s become more and more uncommon for people not to have some sort of online presence.
When I first looked into him, I only scratched the surface, looking to make sure he wasn’t a violent man prone to hurting people or animals. I made sure his living conditions were adequate, and that he could afford to feed and care for Sheamus. Nothing else had mattered.
It appeared I might have been wrong.
While Joe Hitchcock appeared to be a good man, Joe Danvers wasn’t.
As soon as I typed in his name, an article popped up titled “Murder in a Small Town!” My heart just about stopped in my chest upon seeing it. I’d had lunch with the man, had talked to him. He was friendly, courteous, and showed no signs of being violent.
Yet, according to the article, he was accused of killing his wife thirty years ago. He’d denied it, of course. But after only a few weeks into the investigation, he’d vanished. No one, including law enforcement, could find him. It appeared as if Joseph Danvers had dropped off the face of the earth.
That’s because Joe Hitchcock took his place.
The photograph accompanying the article was black and white and grainy, but I could see Joe in Joseph’s dark eyes. When I checked another article, there was a color photograph showing a thin, dark-skinned man who smiled as he stood next to a pretty woman. I assumed it to be Christine Danvers—Joseph’s murdered wife.
Joseph’s skin tone was the same as Joe’s, but his face was thinner, hair darker. The Joe I’d known was a bigger man. Joseph was rail thin. Thirty years did a lot to change a person, but while there were plenty of similarities, a part of me hoped that, somehow, Detective Cavanaugh was wrong, and my friendly Joe wasn’t the killer Joe.
I probably should have taken the time to dig into the articles, but I found myself skimming just the important parts. My eyes kept returning to the photographs, trying to spot something that would prove that Joe and Joseph were two completely different people.
Yet, the more I looked, the more convinced I became that, indeed, Joe Hitchcock was Joe Danvers.
I should have known.
Nothing in either article I skimmed said why Joseph killed Christine. There was speculation, of course. Some claimed she had cheated on him, or that he cheated on her and she’d found out. The articles didn’t even delve into how she’d died, either. They just claimed that Grey Falls had a killer who needed to be caught, and left it at that.
“Liz?” Manny poked his head into the room. “Do you need anything?”
“A better vetting method would be nice,” I said, closing the laptop. I rubbed at my eyes and considered finding a dark room to take a long nap. Maybe after a few hours of rest, things would be clearer.
“Did you find something?”
“Maybe.” I sighed. “It appears as if nice Joe Hitchcock was indeed Joseph Danvers, an accused wife killer.”
“Accused? Weren’t they able to prove anything?”
I stood and stretched. My back popped in three places. “He vanished before they could. I’m not sure if they dropped the case once he left, or if they’d hit a dead end, but the little I’ve read says he was accused, but not convicted of the crime.”
“And he came back here?” Manny scratched the back of his neck. “I wonder why.”
“It happened thirty years ago,” I said. “Maybe he thought people would have forgotten about it by now.”
“They do say killers often return to the scene of the crime. Maybe he wanted to, I don’t know, revel in the fact that he’d gotten away with it.”
“But after thirty years?” I shook my head. “It seems a bit much, don’t you think?” I paced back and forth, trying to make sense of it. “I suppose Joe seemed a little lonely and sad when I talked to him.”
“Remorse?”
“Could be. I thought he’d come to me because he needed a companion; hence Sheamus. Sometimes, a cat is all anyone ever needs to help them get through the day.”
“Did he ever mention a wife?” Manny asked. “Or a girlfriend?”
“No. He told me he was a widower, and we left it at that. He didn’t sound like he was happy about it, but I suppose he could have been playing a part. He never mentioned a new girlfriend, but a man his age, it’s not like it’s uncommon for him not to remarry.”
“He was younger thirty years ago.”
“True.” I made a frustrated sound. “And not many people like being single for very long if they can help it.”
“Like Ben.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
Manny laughed. Before he could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.
Manny and I shared a look before we both headed to the front door. When he opened it, I was surprised to find Detective Cavanaugh on our front stoop.
“Mr. Denton. Mrs. Denton.” He shook Manny’s hand and bowed his head to me. “Mind if I come in for a minute?”
“Sure.” Manny stepped aside. “And please, call me Manny.”
Cavanaugh nodded once and then entered the house. We led him to the dining room, which seemed a safe enough space to talk. He declined sitting.
“I won’t be long,” he said. “I just wanted to stop by to see how you were doing and whether or not you’ve remembered anything since we last spoke.”
“I don’t recall seeing anything out of place at the house,” I said, “but a brown sedan did follow me home.”
Cavanaugh’s eyes hardened. “A brown sedan?” He pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Do you know it?”
He shook his head. “What can you tell me about it?”
“That it was a brown sedan and that it followed me.”
He gave me a flat look. “Plate? Description of the driver?”
“Sorry,” I said with an inward wince. “I d
idn’t think to look. I don’t even know if it was a Chevy or Toyota.”
Cavanaugh stared at his blank page a moment before flipping his notebook closed and stuffing it, along with his pen, back into his pocket. “All right. I’ll see what I can find out, but it’s not much.”
“Thank you.”
Cavanaugh’s mien lightened. “When you spoke to Mr. Danvers last, did he say anything about his house being broken into?”
I shook my head. “Not that I recall. Why?”
Cavanaugh hesitated only briefly before he told me. “There’s evidence that he might have been robbed at some point recently, but there’s no police report about it. There was a busted window he’d blocked off, and scrapes on the doorframe. There were other robberies reported over the last few months in the area, so it’s not like it’s a complete surprise.”
“Do you think Joe walked in on someone looting his house?”
Cavanaugh spread his hands. “It’s one possibility.”
“And the other?”
His smile told me that was information for him to know.
It frustrated me that he couldn’t tell me more, but I understood.
“Well, if you think of anything, please, don’t hesitate to call me.” Cavanaugh made as if he might leave.
“Detective,” I said. “I have a few questions, if that’s all right?”
He paused, then nodded.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking. “Once I got home, I looked into Joe Danvers. Are you positive he and Joe Hitchcock are the same man?” Even though I was pretty sure they were, I needed to hear it from him again.
He put his hands behind his back. “I am.”
“I read he killed his wife. Is that true?”
Cavanaugh’s face went carefully blank. “He was accused of the crime.”
“Did you investigate it back then?”
“No. That was before my time.”
“I’m curious,” I said, trying my best to play it off as idle curiosity. “How did he kill her? The articles I looked at didn’t say.”
Cavanaugh glanced at Manny, who merely shrugged, before the detective turned back to me. “I don’t have that information.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You knew who he was, so you must know what he did.”
A frown crept across Cavanaugh’s features. He did his best to hide it, but it was clear something about my questions bothered him.
“Please, Detective. I need to know. Was I truly in danger?”
Another glance at Manny, like Cavanaugh hoped my husband would be able to rein me in. Manny, for his part, just looked on. He wasn’t about to get in my way.
Cavanaugh’s sigh was put-upon. “I don’t believe so, Mrs. Denton.”
“Liz, please.”
“Fine. Liz. I do not believe Mr. Danvers had any ill intent toward you.”
“Then why did he come back here?” It was a question I couldn’t seem to answer. If he killed his wife in Grey Falls, why return thirty years later? She likely had family here, friends who still remembered. There was no way they’d let him off the hook if they knew he was back.
He changed his name. While that might work for some, I seriously doubted it would fool anyone who was close to the couple back then. Joe himself likely had family who would know him by sight. And even if they didn’t live here, someone would eventually recognize him. Cavanaugh did. Other cops would as well.
So why come back?
“I can’t answer that,” Cavanaugh said. “I wish I could. If I’d known Danvers was back in town, I would have gone to see him. We still have questions for him.”
“Such as?”
“You know I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?” I asked. “He’s dead. Maybe he told me something that seemed innocent at the time, but could shed light onto the investigation somehow.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, hand finding my hip. I was starting to get annoyed. “You don’t know what we talked about.”
Cavanaugh crossed his arms. “Did he talk about his wife?”
“Well, no.”
“Did he tell you anything at all about his past?”
I dropped my eyes. “No.”
“Then it’s unlikely he said anything to you that would help. I truly wish he would have. If nothing else, Mrs. Danvers deserves to rest peacefully.”
Something by the way he said it caught my attention, an inflection that made it sound like there was indeed more to this story.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
Cavanaugh grimaced, as if he realized he’d said too much, before a resigned look came over his face. “You’ll probably find out on your own anyway. It’s not like it’s a secret.”
“What’s not?”
“Christine Danvers’s body was never found.”
I blinked at him. “But the articles said he killed her.”
“It’s widely believed to be true.” By Cavanaugh’s expression, I wondered if he counted himself amongst the believers. “There was ample enough evidence against Joseph Danvers, but nothing that the detective assigned to his case could pin on him directly.”
“Circumstantial evidence, you mean?” Manny said.
Cavanaugh’s nod was harsh. “Danvers always proclaimed his innocence, but I’m not sure many people believed him at the time. Even now, if you were to ask anyone who’d known the two of them back then, they’d tell you they think he did it. Why else would he leave town if he didn’t have something to do with the crime?”
“Persecution,” I said. I could only imagine what Joe had gone through. If the majority of Grey Falls believed him to be a killer, I doubted he could so much as get gas without being harassed.
“That very well may be,” Cavanaugh said. “But running off like that did him no favors. When he left, it cemented everyone’s opinion of him. People still talk about it. Mostly, everyone wants to know where he buried the body. Christine Danvers deserves a proper burial.”
I tried to imagine what it would be like if someone I loved came up missing. How would I feel knowing they might never be found? That I couldn’t visit their grave when I missed them the most?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
“I’m guessing he didn’t move back into his old house, did he?” I said.
“No, he did not. As far as I was aware, no one knew Joe was back in town.”
“Someone must have figured it out,” I said. I mean, I saw no other reason as to why someone would kill Joe Danvers. I suppose it was possible it was a robbery gone bad, or he might have sparred with someone he’d recently met and that it had nothing to do with his missing wife, but I doubted it; not with his history.
“It’s possible someone did learn of Joe’s return,” Cavanaugh said. “If that’s the case, they made a mistake and mentioned it to someone. Until we know more, there’s not much else we can do.” He looked to me, then Manny. “If you do remember anything, call.”
“We will,” Manny said.
“And if you see the car again, call someone immediately. Be it me direct, or someone at the station. If it’s the killer and they think you saw something, you could be in danger.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Do you really think they’d come after me?”
His eyes flickered toward my back door, and the window that had once been broken when a would-be intruder had tried to break in. “I think you should be careful, just in case.”
Cavanaugh left a few minutes later, after handing me a card with his personal cell number scrawled across it. As soon as he was gone, I sank down onto the couch, my entire body giving out. Manny joined me, a concerned look on his face.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
I considered it for only a moment. What else could I do? As I said before, I wasn’t a cop. My part in this was done.
Well, almost.
Despite how my brain was screaming at me that a murderer might be at
large, and that I should do something about it, I forced myself to stand. There was one thing I could do, and, darn it, it was something I was good at.
“I’m going to find Sheamus a new home.”
4
Finding a good home for a cat with an incurable illness isn’t always easy. You have to find someone willing to care for the animal, and then make sure they have the funds to cover the medical expenses. Not everyone is willing—or able—to do that.
I don’t hold it against anyone when they say they can’t take on that sort of responsibility. It’s hard to deal with. And while Sheamus wasn’t suffering, he did go on sneezing fits that seemed to last forever, and he often sounded like his nose was completely plugged. As I said, not everyone can deal with that.
I spent an hour slowly going through the names of prospective adopters, but struggled to find someone I liked. They were all good candidates, and if it hadn’t been for Joe Hitchcock, I would have allowed any one of them to take the Maine Coon home. He was a beautiful cat. And while they’re difficult to find sometimes, there are tons of people out there who are willing to deal with his health issues.
But every time I looked someone up, I began to question whether or not I was making a good choice. Was the forty-year-old single woman really a banker? Or did she have a deep, dark secret that would put not just her, but Sheamus, in harm’s way? What about the retired couple looking for a companion? Were they on the run, hiding from a trained assassin?
I pushed my laptop away and rubbed my eyes. I was definitely overthinking this, but it was hard not to. What would have happened if I’d dropped Sheamus off the day before? Would Joseph’s killer have left the cat alone? Kicked him out of the house to fend for himself? With his respiratory issues, I doubted he’d last long outside with all the pollen and allergens floating around.
“I need a day away,” I muttered, eyeing my laptop. One day to get away from the murder, from worrying about my vetting methods, and then perhaps I’d start to see things much clearer.
Sheamus was curled in a cat bed across the room, snoozing wetly away. He and Wheels had played for a good forty minutes before both of them crashed, exhausted.
Dial 'M' for Maine Coon Page 3
