“Anyone younger?”
“Oh, yes,” Allan sat up straight. Excitement shone in his eyes. “My old girlfriend just after I graduated. She would know me.”
“Good,” Ben said. “What’s her name?”
“Jan,” Allan said. The excitement faded. “Or Jen. Or maybe Jane.”
“How about a last name?” Ben asked.
“Ross or Russ,” Allan said. “Oh, wait. I think it was Russell.”
“Russell?”
“Yes.”
“As in Jane Russell?”
“That sounds familiar,” Allan nodded.
“It should,” Ben said. “She’s famous.”
“Oh,” Allan remembered. “That might not be it.”
“So, what we have so far is a professor who is probably dead,” Ben said. “And an ex-girlfriend who may or may not be Jane Russell. Isn’t there anyone more recent? Someone you may have overlooked that actually knows you by name? A bank teller? Anyone?”
“Well there is one,” Allan said, then his shoulders dropped. “It probably wouldn’t help either.”
“Tell me,” Ben said. “Anything is better than what I have.”
“Well I usually spend a lot of time in the library researching for my books,” Allan said.
“A librarian?” Ben asked. “That could be good.”
“No,” Allan corrected. “Not the librarian. You see. Some of my research would involve unusual subjects. And so I would be pulling books on cult rituals or weapons or whatever I might need.”
“Who is this person?” Ben pressed.
“There was a kid who seemed to read a lot of the same books I researched,” Allan said. “We used to talk. She used to help me work through areas I didn’t quite get.”
“She?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” Allan said. “A young woman who spent a lot of time in the library.”
“And she knows you by name?”
“She calls me ‘Tuttle the Turtle’,” Allan said. “You know how that generation is.”
“And you know her name?” Ben asked.
“I know what she asked me to call her,” Ben said.
“And that is?”
“Raven.”
“Raven?”
“As in the bird.”
“I know what a Raven is,” Ben said. “How am I supposed to find her?”
“She spends a lot of time in the library,” Allan said.
“A girl named Raven at the library,” Ben said. “I can’t believe this. But I guess it’s something.”
“Oh,” Allan said. “And she always wears black.”
Chapter 65
(Questioning Sarah)
Sarah pulled into her driveway and ran into the house. She was going to have to make some hard decisions soon. Time was running out. If things turned bad she would need to be far away before the dust settled. If she bolted too soon she might miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. Waiting too long and no lawyer would be able to help her.
She was going to be prepared. She needed to get out the bag she had packed; double check what she had and be sure to add some of the manuscripts from the garage. If nothing else she could submit them under another name.
Unlocking the front door, she heard a voice. She panicked for a second until she realized the voice was coming from the answering machine. It shut off with an audible beep. She pulled the door closed and dead-bolted it. Setting her purse and keys on the entry room table, she crossed to the machine and stared at the flashing number one in the window. Hesitantly, she reached out and pressed the play button.
“Mrs. Tuttle,” the familiar voice said, “this is Gary Rivers of The Gary Rivers’ Literary Agency. I was calling to let you know I received the contract and we are good to go. I also have a contract pending for the film rights. I may be sending you another contract to sign. If all goes well you will be seeing your name on the big screen very soon. Give me a call if you have any questions. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch.”
The machine stopped and Sarah stared at it. She was on the verge of making it. If she could hold out a little longer. If Allan could just accept fate and stop trying to convince everyone of his real identity. If the jury could look at him and see an evil man capable of killing another human being. If all things would just work out the way she needed, she would have no more worries. She could live in comfort. She could sleep through the night. All would be well. Maybe she would even be able to find a man who understood her and her needs. And she could have sex again.
Sarah sat down and tried to gather her thoughts. There were so many reasons to stay, so many to go. She wished she could trust someone enough to be her sounding board. She really wanted to talk. She knew it was out of the question. Too much had happened. She knew how many people got caught because they talked to the wrong person. She had actually researched that statistic for one of Allan’s books. It was just one more chance she couldn’t afford to take.
At moments like these, Sarah almost missed Allan. He always listened to her, or at least seemed to listen to her. Looking back she wondered if he really did or if he just pretended, nodding from time to time to satisfy her. She was pretty sure he couldn't be that convincing. He was no actor. For the most part what you saw with Allan was what you got. Not as of late though. Which is why she was beginning to worry.
It didn’t matter, really. There was no way to undo what had been done, no way to change the things she had said. At this point, either he would go to prison or she would. There was no doubt about that. And she was not ready to go to prison. She would just have to keep things the way they were and make sure he could not change anyone’s mind about the facts.
Sarah's stomach grumbled and she thought about a trip to The Silver Spoon. She wondered if Dave would be there. He was probably working, and she was already risking too much by spending time with the detective. She needed to find someone. She needed attention. She was sure that would smooth down the rough edges. And with any luck things might even improve.
She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator looking for something to eat. She had almost made her decision and the doorbell rang. She tossed a package of sliced turkey on the counter and walked to the front door. She peeked through the peephole and saw Dave standing on her porch. A wave of heat traveled up her spine. Just seeing him stirred feelings.
Those feelings were quickly replaced by a wave of panic. Was he there to arrest her? Was he going to ask her questions until she stumbled over her own story? He wasn’t there to socialize. She stood silently, toying with the idea of not answering the door. Her car was in the driveway. It was unlikely he would believe she wasn’t home. Even if he thought she was out, he would either wait for her or return later. There was nowhere for her to hide.
The bell rang again and she jumped. She looked around unsure what she was looking for. Finally she gave up and reached out pulling the door open. As she did, Detective Parker turned toward her with a smile. In that one simple gesture her fears melted away.
“Ms. Tuttle,” Dave said. “Sorry to bother you again. I have a few more questions for you. Could I come in?”
“Of course,” she said, stepping out of his way.
They went to the living room, sitting opposite one another so they could speak easily. Just as they were settling in, Sarah jumped up and offered the detective a drink. He accepted and she disappeared into the kitchen returning a couple of minutes later with two glasses of iced tea. She handed one to Dave and positioned herself once more to talk to him.
“As you know, your husband’s case went before a judge today,” Dave said. “Just the preliminary, but very important.”
“Yes,” Sarah said. “How did it go?”
“Not as well as I would have liked,” Dave said. “The judge gave the defense another twenty-four hours to prove the claim that the accused is actually your husband and that we have a John Doe in the morgue.”
“Can the judge do that?” Sarah asked.
“Can a
nd did,” Dave said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“How can I help?”
“I need something that will help prove once and for all that the man in the morgue is your husband,” Dave said.
“I identified him,” Sarah said.
“The defense claims you lied,” Dave said.
“You’re kidding” Sarah said. “Why would they say something like that?”
“They’re desperate,” Dave said. “They’ll say anything to delay the case or try to have it thrown out. That being the case, I need to try to find more proof. I need a photo of the two of you together or an I.D. with his picture on it. It doesn’t matter how old it might be.”
“I told you,” she said. “I don’t have any pictures. He didn’t like having his picture taken. Hated it so much we never even owned a camera.”
“What about identification?” Dave asked. “Everyone has to have something with a photo on it.”
“I don’t know of anything,” she said. “If there was something I’m sure he would have been carrying it with him.”
Dave sighed and looked at Sarah for a long moment. She squirmed under his gaze. Yet, in the strength of that look she felt a yearning for him to take control, to take her. He only stared.
“What about Bolder?”
“Bolder?” She tilted her head.
“The man accused of killing your husband,” Dave explained. “You don’t remember seeing him before? Maybe you overheard your husband using his name? On the phone maybe?”
“I really don’t remember him.”
“Think back,” Dave said. “This man killed your husband and is trying to assume his identity. I have a hard time believing it’s all coincidence. There has to be some kind of connection between you and him.”
“I really can’t remember the name,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry.”
“He came by your house once,” Dave said. “Are you positive you had never seen him before?”
“I can’t be positive,” Sarah said. “If I ever saw him before I don’t remember it.”
“What about mysterious phone calls?” Dave asked. “Anything you might not have thought was significant at the time? Hang-ups or someone asking for people you don’t know?”
“I don’t think so,” Sarah said. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m just trying to find somewhere to start,” Dave said. “I only have twenty-four hours and I don’t know where to look.”
“You’ll find something,” Sarah encouraged.
Dave grinned. “I know I will. If it’s there, I’ll find it.”
They spoke a few more minutes before Dave excused himself. He needed to get out to the ranch to question Henry Cutter before it got dark. He checked his watch and realized Philip had not arrived. He would have to call his partner from the car. He didn’t want to question the rancher without backup. He drove away after dialing the phone, glancing back toward the Tuttle house as he went. He could see the curtains at the front window were pulled aside. He thought he could make out the silhouette of Sarah’s head in the opening. Philip’s phone went to voicemail and Dave hung up.
Chapter 66
(Collaboration)
Carl arrived at the Silver Spoon and found Monte waiting for him in a back booth of the restaurant. They each possessed thick manila folders, which they set on the corners of the table while they ordered drinks and sandwiches. They made small talk for a few minutes before the conversation turned to the topic they came to discuss.
“Fact is,” Monte said, “if it weren’t for the wife’s identification of the body, I would swear the man did not exist. No photos. No identification. Nothing. And this Bolder guy is even more of a mystery. The only way we know he is Jack Bolder is by holding the back of one of his books up to him. I couldn’t find any trace of him anywhere.”
“I know what you mean,” Carl nodded. “The guy just appeared out of thin air. No residence. No phone. There has to be something we overlooked. Or maybe we each found a piece of the puzzle. That’s why I thought we should get together. Put our puzzle pieces together, see if we get more of a picture.”
“Well, I’ll show you what I’ve got,” Monte said. “I doubt it will help. There’s not much to see.”
Carl looked at the folder on Monte’s corner of the table. “Looks like quite a bit to me. You must have something in there.”
“Mostly photos,” Monte said. “Some of Mrs. Tuttle. A lot of the exterior of the house. A few of the interior.”
“Let’s see the interior,” Carl said. “What’s it like?”
“Sterile,” Monte said, handing the other some of the photos from his folder. “Not a lot of personal crap. And like I said, not a single snapshot in the house.”
“Strange,” Carl said looking through the eight by ten black and white prints. “The house doesn’t even look lived in. Hard to believe a married couple lived there.”
Carl examined each of the photos carefully. Something bothered him. He spent several days following Sarah Tuttle around. She did not strike him as the spotless house type, he wasn’t sure why. He would have bet his license she would have clutter in her home. One picture was taken from one side of the living room to get as much in the shot as possible. A shelving unit stood against the far wall with glass shelves and metal rods running through the corners to create the legs. Items on the shelf were arranged to show them off. Every shelf was balanced with the items it featured. Every shelf but one. The odd shelf only had one item, an empty vase.
“Doesn’t that look strange?” Carl asked turning the photo back to Monte, pointing at the lone vase. “Like something’s missing?”
“The whole house is odd if you ask me,” Monte said. “Nothing you would expect to find in a couple’s house is there.” He looked at the photo. “Yea, I see what you mean. There should be something else on that shelf.”
“Tall enough for a framed eight by ten,” Carl said pulling the photo back. He took another photo from the stack and looked it over. “And this shot of the bedroom. No family pictures of any kind. After eight years of marriage.”
“Like I said,” Monte nodded. “Odd.”
Carl continued thumbing through the photos scrutinizing each one as he went. Every one suggested a void to Carl. Not a vacuum, an emptiness. A voice broke his concentration.
“Hello, gentlemen,” the voice said. A hand appeared between Carl’s eyes and the photos. “Detective Philip Smalls. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The two men looked up at the same time to see Philip standing there, his hand outstretched. They greeted him and before they could say anything more Philip pulled a chair up to the booth where they sat and lowered his frame onto its wooden seat.
“What’ve we got here?” Philip took one of the photos by the corner and looked at Sarah Tuttle’s living room. “Shots from inside the house, Monte. Did you have permission to take these?”
“What do you want Smalls?”
“Just wondering what the two of you were chatting about,” Philip said. “Wondering who your friend here is working for. And wondering why he was looking for James.”
“James?” Carl asked.
“The D.A.,” Philip explained. “James Trout.”
“Oh, Trout,” recognition registered in the investigator’s voice. “Is he here?”
“Do you see him?”
“No, but . . .,” Carl started. “What is it you want again?”
“I want to know why the two of you are sitting here comparing notes on a closed case,” Philip said.
The door to the kitchen opened and Matthew came to their table with their order. He set the platters in front of the two investigators before he acknowledged the newcomer. He turned to the detective and a smile came across his face.
“Detective Smalls,” Matt said. “It is so nice to see you again. You never come to eat any more.”
“Hello, Matt,” Philip said. “Good to see you.”
“What can I get you?” Matt said. “Anything you want.
It’s on me.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Philip said. “Just bring me a burger and fries.”
“You got it,” Matt said. “What brings you here without your partner anyway?”
“We’re working on a case,” Philip explained. “Dave is questioning a witness and I’m checking on the boys here.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” Matt said. He stepped across the room returning with a pitcher of water to fill their glasses. As he leaned in to pour, the men continued their conversation.
“We’re just having lunch, detective,” Carl said, “and trying to get the answers we need.”
“Well, I don’t know what the answers are,” Philip said. “But everything points at Jack Bolder.”
“I know, but . . .”
“Did you say Jack Bolder?” Matt asked.
“Yes,” Philip answered.
“Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” Matt smiled.
“You know Jack Bolder?” Philip asked.
“I knew him,” Matt said. “He passed away. Must be fifteen, twenty years ago.”
“Well, the Jack Bolder we’re talking about is very much alive,” Philip said. “We have him in jail.”
“That couldn’t be the same man,” Matt said. “Unless you have a skeleton in there.”
“No,” Philip said. “More like a ghost. We can’t find anything about the guy. Your Jack didn’t have a son, did he?”
“No son,” Matt said. “He did have a daughter though. I dated her. Back when we were kids really.”
“Where is she now?”
“I heard she was killed in a car accident years before Jack passed,” Matt said. “It was a shame. She was a good woman. Her husband died with her I think.”
“Did they have any kids?”
“I don’t know,” Matt shrugged. “Of course that was about thirty years ago. Could have been half a dozen little ones and I wouldn’t remember. Could’ve died in the crash too, I suppose. But I think I would have remembered that.”
The Widow's Husband Page 32
