The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  “Yea,” Philip said. “It’s not like you had a relationship with the friend, right?”

  “Well,” Dave wrinkled his face. “Her best friend was Shelly.”

  “Shelly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your ex-wife, Shelly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” Philip whistled. “No wonder she’s so mad at you.”

  “Well, I think I paid my debt to society,” Dave said. “I had to live with Shelly.”

  “Thought you liked Shelly?”

  “I did until she left me,” Dave said. “Now, not so much.”

  “Sort of like the way Joyce feels about you,” Philip suggested.

  “If you have to compare,” Dave said. “How ‘bout we talk about your messed up life for a while?”

  “My life is not messed up,” Philip said. “It happens to be perfect.”

  “Perfect?” Dave sounded doubtful.

  “Yes. Perfect.” Philip said. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

  “When was the last time you had a date?”

  “You mean since Tina?”

  “Yeah, since Tina.”

  “Since Tina.”

  “You haven’t been on a date since Tina?”

  “Why do you think my life is so perfect right now?” Philip asked. “No one to call and remind you how late you are. No one to whine at you when you get home. No crying in the bathroom. No ‘we need to talk’. And no one trying to change my life to suit their needs. Why would I want to change that?”

  “Aren’t you lonely?” Dave asked.

  “Man, Tina and I were together for six years,” Philip said. “After she moved in I thought I was going to have to kill her to get rid of her. The day she told me she wanted to start seeing other people I hugged her, told her it was a great idea and helped her pack her things. We agreed to give each other some room and to call when we were ready to see each other again.” He paused. “I never called her. She left a dozen messages or so. I just never called her back.”

  “You’re really happy being alone?”

  “I am right now,” Philip nodded. “Someday I may change my mind. When I do I’ll start looking again. Right now, I’m enjoying a nice no-strings-attached kind of existence. Yeah, I’m happy.”

  “Good for you,” Dave said. He turned his attention to the road and wondered if his partner was telling the truth or just covering up. He ran into Tina a couple weeks after their split. It did not seem to Dave, she was looking to get back with Philip. In fact she was with some other guy, laughing. Dave couldn’t remember ever seeing her laugh before. Of course, he thought he was happy with Shelly and he couldn’t remember ever laughing around her.

  The ranch came into view and the two detectives ran through a brief scenario to determine who would do what. Dave would serve the warrant and Philip would stand back ready to act if Jack Bolder tried to run or became violent. If he ran back through the house, or simply never came to the door, Philip would go in and Dave would circle the house. Philip’s smaller frame would allow him more mobility in the confines of the house where Dave’s strong legs were best on open ground. Lastly, after an argument, it was decided if Jack jumped into a car to make a run for it, Dave would drive. He pulled the seniority card here. Both were convinced they were the better driver.

  They pulled up to the house and stepped out. They could see Henry Cutter and Jack standing next to one of the outbuildings. They were studying something on the side of the building and did not notice the two men approaching them. Dave reached into his pocket for the warrant and Philip moved his jacket back to expose the holstered pistol on his hip, his hand resting on the grip.

  They stopped a few feet away examining the area for possible escape routes and glancing at one another to be sure they were both ready. They had only discussed scenarios surrounding the house. This was different, but they felt they could handle anything the suspect might try. They both nodded, confirming to the other they were ready.

  “Jack Bolder,” Dave said in a strong voice. “I have a warrant for your arrest. Hold your arms out to your sides, away from your body and turn around.”

  Allan’s shoulders sagged, his head dipping forward. A second later he raised his arms out to his side limply and began to turn. Philip lifted his pistol from its holster, holding it pointing to the ground. Dave pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and cautiously stepped forward. He caught sight of Allan’s face and stopped for a second before moving in. He cuffed the man and steered him toward their car.

  Henry talked to him as they walked away. Dave did not hear the man. His mind was filled with the image of his prisoner’s face. The look was not defiance. It was not self-pity. It wasn’t resolve. It was a look of defeat, pure and absolute. It was a look Dave had only seen once before, in his own mirror right after Shelly left him.

  Chapter 46

  (The Good News)

  Detective Dave Parker called Sarah to tell her they arrested Jack Bolder, that she was finally safe. Sarah was glad she was alone. The grin on her face would be hard to explain. She held no malice for Allan. She didn’t want to go to prison and if that meant he had to go in her place, she was comfortable with that. If he were free, he would probably never let her rest. She was sure he didn’t have it in him to seek revenge. He could however make things difficult for her in the long run. Particularly, when it came to getting his writing published in her name.

  The irony that he was arrested for the murder of himself was another reason to grin. How many men could say they went to prison for killing themselves. She smiled broadly. If everything went well, her name would be in the clear and she would be rid of Allan once and for all.

  The smile faded as she remembered the face of the man looking through her window. Who was he and what did he want? She lied to the police. Besides saying she wasn’t sure if it was the same man she had seen before, she also told them all she could think to do was call nine-one-one. She actually did do more than that. First, she watched the man run across the street and through the neighbors’ yards to a car parked down the street. She watched him back away in the dark and speed away. She also saw another car from the opposite direction start up suddenly and follow the first man.

  One man, she might conclude was a peeping tom or some other kind of pervert. A second car suggested something more. They could have been thieves casing the place. She thought it unlikely. No one cased houses this neighborhood. They cased houses in wealthy neighborhoods. In this area, they just broke in. But if they weren’t thieves, who were they? Were the police watching her home? It would make sense for them to watch her, either to catch her doing something incriminating, or to watch for the stalker to return. Cops didn’t generally peek in windows in the middle of the night and run away when they got caught. And the second guy would have hung around since his cover wasn’t blown.

  There was the possibility the first man was indeed a pervert looking in her window and the other car was a cop watching her house. That would explain why the second car gave chase. If that were true, wouldn’t Dave have told her while they questioned her about the incident? Or would he? If they were watching her house because she was still a suspect, he might not mention a thing. He was a cop. And no matter what she thought of him, his goal was the truth about what happened to Mike, or Allan as they look at it. That meant Dave’s goal, though he might not know it, was to put her behind bars. She needed to be more careful around the detective. Their goals were obviously different.

  She couldn’t help wondering if the man was neither pervert nor cop. He might have been there simply to spy on her. He might have been hired by Allan to find a way to prove he was who he said he was. She didn’t know where Allan would have come up with the money to hire anyone. It didn’t matter. If some guy Allan hired was following her, she had to watch her step and keep up the image of the grieving widow even when she thought she didn’t think she was being watched. The problem was there was a feeling growing inside her. She had not been with anyo
ne since Ray and she really wanted to find someone soon. She needed to find someone soon.

  She had thought about Dave. She still thought about Dave. She knew it was probably not the safest choice. Definitely not the smartest. She couldn’t help the feelings that stirred inside her when she was around the big cop. The thought that he was interrogating Allan sent shivers up her spine. The power he had was intense. She wanted to experience that power first hand.

  She made a cup of hot tea and sat down in her favorite chair wondering what Allan might be saying to the detectives. He already tried to convince them who he was. They obviously did not believe him. He was arrested for murder. He would be desperate. He knows he is innocent. He knows almost everything. Yet no one wants to listen. He would be trying to think of something to prove his innocence and identity. She closed her eyes and tried to think the way he thinks. She tried to think of what he would say to try to cast doubt on everything the detectives believed to be true about the case.

  She snapped her eyes open. There was a way for Allan to prove his case. There was another person who knew the truth about Allan and his pen name. Sarah jumped from her chair and raced to the desk. She tore the phone book out of its place and laid it open in front of her, flipping pages and scanning the names. Her finger scanned with her eyes until they came to settle on a single listing. The name was there, mixed in with all the others, right where it should be. She began to breathe hard, her heart raced. The name seemed to be staring back at her, taunting her. The name was Birdie Login.

  Chapter 47

  (Two of a Kind)

  Monte glanced at his watch. Ten o'clock in the morning. He arrived at Sarah Tuttle's house two hours before. He had yet to see any sign that Sarah was in the bungalow and the other private investigator was not there either. He began to think the woman got up and left the house early, followed by the New York P.I. The only reason Monte did not drive away was because Sarah’s car was sitting square in the middle of the driveway. If she went anywhere she would have taken the car, unless someone picked her up.

  Monte was regretting not coming out earlier, until he spotted Carl. The rental car the private eye was using pulled up to the curb close to where he was parked the night before. Monte watched the man adjusting his seat for comfort and view. The man settled in and placed a set of head phones over his ears, probably to listen to the bug he placed the night before. Monte wondered what kind of device the man used. If he could listen to the calls, or even play them back from the confines of his car, it was a sophisticated piece of equipment. Definitely not something Monte could afford.

  Monte studied Carl from a distance of about seventy-five yards. The man never looked his way, never had a reason to believe he was being watched while he watched the woman. It gave Monte a feeling of superiority to know he was one up on the competition. Indeed, Monte thought the big city private eye may be incompetent after watching the fiasco on the porch. And to sit there unaware he was being watched surprised Monte. This line of work required you to know your surroundings at all times.

  Monte opened his door and stepped out of his car, walking around the back of the vehicle and up to the sidewalk. He strolled along the street across from where the private eye sat in his own car. The man never looked his way. Monte walked about a hundred feet past the other vehicle before crossing the street so he would be on the same side as the private eye and the woman’s house. On that side of the street, he started walking back toward the car.

  He came up alongside the car and could see the doors were unlocked. He shook his head wondering how the man had lived as long as he had in New York City. With one hand on his gun, Monte pulled the passenger door open and jumped in next to the private eye. Ready for anything, Monte sized up the man. The man did not move. He didn’t even look at Monte.

  “Wondered if you were going to pay me a visit,” Carl Nicks said, his eyes still focused on the woman’s house.

  “You knew I was there?” Monte was dumbfounded.

  “Of course I knew,” Carl said. “You weren’t hiding yourself. You stick out as bad as I do in this neighborhood.”

  “Why didn’t you let me know?”

  “Figured if you wanted to talk to me you’d talk to me,” Carl said. “And here you are. So, talk.”

  “I just want to know why you’re watching Sarah Tuttle,” Monte said.

  “I was hired to watch her,” Carl said.

  “I figured that out,” Monte said. “What I want to know is who hired you and what you're supposed to learn?”

  “Is that what you want to know?”

  “Listen,” Monte said. “I’m not going to interfere with your investigation. I just need to know what you’re up to. It might help me with my investigation if I knew who your client was.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Carl said. “You want to know why I’m here and I want to know why you’re here. So, I’ll tell you what I’m up to. Then you can tell me what you’re up to.”

  “How do you know I won’t get the information I need and just leave you here?” Monte asked.

  “Because if you did, I’d have to shoot you,” Carl said, looking at Monte for the first time with a solemn expression. “Now, we have a deal or not?”

  Monte nodded his head. “Oh yea, we got a deal.”

  “Good,” Carl smiled. “Now what do you want to know?”

  “Who hired you?” Monte said. “And what you’re trying to find out about Sarah Tuttle?”

  “Those are both easy enough,” Carl said. “I was hired by Gary Rivers, a literary agent in New York. I’m observing Mrs. Tuttle, trying to find proof her husband is indeed dead, or that he’s not.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” Carl said. “Now, what’s your story?”

  “Well,” Monte said. “I’m working for a lawyer whose client claims to be Mrs. Tuttle’s husband. I’m supposed to find proof whether he is or isn’t. So in a sense we’re looking for the same thing.”

  “What does the woman say about your guy?”

  “She denies it,” Monte said. “Says she’s never met the guy until he showed up claiming to be her husband. The man she says is her husband is lying on a slab down at the morgue. The police think our guy killed Tuttle and that he actually believes he’s the woman’s husband.”

  “Do you have a copy of the morgue photo?” Carl asked.

  “No.”

  “Can you get one? It would help me with my proof. I could get out of here and go home.”

  “I have some contacts,” Monte nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. You hear anything on your bug?”

  “Nothing useful,” Carl shook his head. “Only made one call last night. Some old lady answered and Mrs. Tuttle said she called the wrong number. She didn’t try another number after that. Nothing this morning.”

  “She’s been quiet this morning,” Monte agreed. “I got here about a half hour before you did. I haven’t seen or heard anything yet.”

  They sat for a while making small talk, getting to know each other a little better. Monte talked about his work and the struggle of trying to make a living as an investigator in a quiet town like this one. Carl told him about the city life, the dangers and the rewards. He worked for a large agency but often worked jobs for private clients, like this one. They compared the number of hours they worked a week and the problems they encountered trying to get answers from people. While they were in the middle of exchanging stories about their jobs the receiver setting on the car’s dash came to life. The phone inside the woman’s house was ringing.

  They became silent, sitting forward with anticipation. They waited patiently and the phone continued to ring. On the tenth ring, the caller hung up. The two investigators stared at the house.

  “You think she’s in there?” Monte asked.

  “If she is, she’s dead,” Carl answered.

  “I’m going to find out,” Monte said, opening his door.

  “I’ll go with you,’ Carl said, opening his own door.


  “She saw you the other night,” Monte said.

  “It was dark,” Carl said. “She won’t recognize me.”

  Before Monte could continue his protest the other man climbed out of the car and started for the driveway. Sighing heavily, Monte followed close behind. They approached the house with caution, climbing the steps to the porch trying to look through the windows for signs of the woman. They didn’t see anything.

  “We’ll pretend to be salesmen,” Carl said.

  “Like insurance or something?” Monte said.

  “Whatever,” Carl said.

  “Okay,” Monte said. He made a fist with his hand and knocked on the door. They waited for an answer. None came. Monte knocked again. The third time, Carl hammered his fist on the door hard enough to make the glass shake. There was no response from inside.

  “What now?” Carl asked.

  Monte pulled a small tool kit out of his pocket and held it up for Carl to see. “Now, we go in.”

  Monte went to work on the lock and had the door open in a matter of seconds. He let the door swing open slowly while he put the tools away. The two men stood side by side scanning the living room for evidence of a struggle, or a body. Nothing presented itself.

  “Oh look,” Monte said. “The door’s open. Maybe we should go in and investigate.”

  “You think?” Carl said.

  The two of them entered the house and walked through room by room. It did not take long for them to realize there was no one in the house. Positive there was no body, they left the house, locking the door behind them. They returned to Carl’s car and Monte leaned against the fender while the other stood next to him shuffling his feet.

  “Where do you think she is?” Monte asked.

  “No clue,” Carl answered. “She must have left early though. I was here until almost three this morning.”

  “Do you think she wanted us to think she was still in the house?” Monte asked. “Or is it just a coincidence she didn’t take her car?”