The One Who Got Away

by Caroline Overington

  I don’t know what I expected – a group of people with eyes red-rimmed from crying; the girls collapsed in grief against David’s shoulder – but what I actually saw was more shocking still.

  Hannah and Peyton were sitting up on the pony-skin kitchen stools, with their backs to me. It was still quite early but they weren’t in pyjamas. They were dressed for school.

  Grey shirts under tunics. Polished shoes. Socks to the knee.

  Loren had been missing less than seventy-two hours, and David was sending his girls to school?

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ I muttered to myself. He wasn’t kidding.

  I stayed out of sight, watching as David put the girls’ schoolbags up on the counter and looked inside. Janet tidied Peyton’s ponytail but stopped when she saw David struggling to get a lunchbox out of one of the schoolbags, and said: ‘Here, let me.’

  They were not whispering. I could hear every word perfectly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Janet said, tugging the lunchbox free.

  ‘Sure,’ said David.

  Janet rubbed her nose against her brother’s cheek. ‘And did you do it?’

  Startled, David took a step back. ‘Did I do what?’

  ‘Call that police officer,’ said Janet.

  ‘Oh,’ said David, visibly relieved. ‘Right. No. But I will.’

  Janet turned – and saw me. ‘Molly,’ she said.

  David turned so quickly he upset a cereal box on the counter.

  ‘Aunty Molly!’ cried Peyton. She clambered off the stool so fast that it came crashing down after her. ‘Did you hear? Mommy didn’t come home!’

  Hannah shouted over her: ‘Mom’s not here, Aunty Molly!’

  What was that all about? Why didn’t they sound upset?

  Hannah said: ‘We’re worried, Aunty Molly.’ But she didn’t seem worried. What exactly had they been told?

  David stepped forward. He did not seem happy to see me. ‘Did you knock?’ he said. ‘Did you press the buzzer?’

  ‘I have the code,’ I said, as the girls gathered around my legs.

  ‘Well hello, Aunty Molly,’ said Janet coldly.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ said David, forcing a fake cheerfulness into his voice. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’

  ‘So I see,’ I said.

  Peyton had her arms around my legs, and her face against my knees. ‘Aunty Janet says Mommy was having such a good time in Mexico she decided to stay longer,’ she said, ‘but we miss her!’

  I turned my head sharply. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Okay now,’ David said, stepping forward to peel the girls off my legs. ‘That’s enough. You girls are already late, and Aunty Janet has promised to take you to school.’

  Peyton shook her head. ‘I want to wait for Mom!’ she said. ‘I miss Mom.’ She buried her head deeper into my knees.

  I patted her hair. ‘I miss her, too, baby girl.’

  David was aghast. Whatever his plan was, this – my arrival on the scene – was clearly not part of it.

  ‘Well, we can’t worry about this now,’ said Janet briskly. ‘We have school.’

  ‘How can they possibly go to school?’ I said.

  ‘School is fun,’ said Janet sternly. ‘School is distracting. Now, girls, do you have any other lunchboxes? Because these here seem to have been stuffed into your bags way too long.’

  Hannah let go of my legs and went dutifully to the pantry, where she pointed to two identical pink lunchboxes stacked on the second shelf.

  ‘Good girl, and what does Mommy – or Nanny – normally put in here?’ said Janet, taking the two boxes down. ‘A piece of fruit? A sandwich? A box of raisins? Something healthy, I’m sure.’

  Janet had opened the fridge to begin choosing snacks and drinks. Neither of the girls answered. She turned to look at them.

  Peyton had let go of my legs. Her small hands were over her face. She was crying.

  ‘Oh, now you have to stop that,’ said Janet.

  ‘I want to stay home and wait for Mom,’ said Peyton. Her face was contorted with concern.

  ‘No, no. No. You can’t do that,’ said David, stepping forward to take Peyton’s hands in his own. ‘You need to go to school.’

  ‘She’ll be missing us,’ cried Hannah.

  ‘Of course she will,’ said David, gathering her into his embrace. ‘But we can’t do anything about that now. And Aunty Janet has come all the way over here to take you to school. So, come on, help me pack your bags and we can go.’

  Hannah opened her mouth, as if to protest. Without saying another word, David showed her the palm of his hand. I had seen that hand signal before and clearly, so had she. Hannah stopped dead.

  ‘No arguments,’ David said. ‘School.’

  ‘Do you know what?’ said Janet. ‘Why don’t we let the girls have lunch from the canteen today? Special treat?’ Then, more firmly: ‘You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you, girls? No lunchbox. Canteen? So come now, let’s get in the car.’

  She began to guide the girls towards the elevator that led down to the garage.

  ‘I’ll take the SUV,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said David, sounding grateful.

  The elevator came and went. Quiet descended upon the kitchen. David stood staring at me. I wasn’t scared of him. I stared right back.

  ‘So,’ I said.

  ‘So?’ he said, like I had no right to be there, asking questions.

  ‘You haven’t told them.’

  ‘I don’t know what to tell them,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t think it’s going to come out in the playground? You don’t think the media is going to follow them down the street? You’ve got an army of press parked in the street. How can you even think of doing this? Can’t you see what’s going to happen? Every parent in the drop-off lane is going to be staring. Every kid is going to want to blurt something out.’

  ‘The principal said she could handle that,’ said David, but even as he said it, I could see the reality dawning on him.

  ‘Handle it how?’

  ‘She said the parents have been told to tell their children not to say anything,’ he said, with real doubt in his voice.

  ‘Like they can police every five-year-old?’

  ‘Well, I don’t get what you want me to do,’ said David. He had started taking plates off the bench and was rinsing them. ‘At some point, they’re going to have to face up to what’s happened. We all are.’

  I stepped further into his kitchen, surprised to find my heart pounding.

  ‘You included?’ I said. ‘You’re going to face up to what you’ve done, are you?’

  David put a plate back down on the bench and strode towards me. Would I describe his expression as menacing? Yes, I think I would.

  ‘Molly, I’m as horrified by this as anyone …’

  ‘I doubt that,’ I said, ‘after all, this has all worked out rather well for you. Your blackmailing mistress is dead and you say your wife must have done it. How convenient.’

  ‘I went there that night, Molly,’ said David. ‘I saw what Loren did. She was angry. She had not been thinking clearly for a long time. She lost her mind that night. And now … Well, I’m not sure what else to say, Molly.’

  ‘So, what are you going to tell the girls?’

  ‘The truth,’ said David.

  ‘The truth?’ I repeated. ‘I don’t think so, David.’

  David took another step towards me. For a split second, I was frightened. We were alone in that big house. Then I remembered: the press was outside. They knew I was there. David wouldn’t dare.

  ‘I’ll tell the girls that it was an accident,’ he said. ‘Their mom didn’t mean to do it.’

  ‘And then what?’ I said. ‘She accidentally fell off the boat, as well? She accidentally took her own life? Or did you accidentally push her after she accidentally got rid of the biggest problem in your life?

  ‘Don’t insult me,’ I continued. ‘You did this. You killed your mistress, a
nd then your wife. You think it’s a perfect crime, but everyone can see through you, David. This is not a perfect crime. Do you think you’re going to get away with this? There is just no way.’

  David stepped closer still. ‘I’m telling you now, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Molly. The police have the footage from the ship. I’m not a suspect. This is not what you think it is.’

  Fearlessly, maybe even ferociously, I said: ‘It’s exactly what I think it is.’

  David was by now standing less than an inch away from my face. ‘No, it isn’t,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you now: just back off, Molly.’

  Did that sound like a threat to you? Because it sure sounded like a threat to me.

  * * *

  ‘I want to speak to the Chief of Police.’

  ‘Who is speaking?’

  ‘My name is Molly Franklin. I’m Loren Wynne-Estes’s sister.’

  ‘One moment please.’

  It had been six weeks since Loren had gone missing. After the initial flurry of interest – police cars at my house, at Dad’s house, at David’s house, TV anchors taking up all the rooms at the Bonsall – the heat had well and truly gone out of the story, yet no charges had been laid against David, and every time anyone from my family tried to ask Captain Sullivan about it, he said the investigation was ‘ongoing’.

  What did that even mean?

  ‘This is a very complicated and difficult case,’ Captain Sullivan said, the last time I’d managed to reach him. ‘And we want to make sure we have all our ducks in place before we charge like a wounded bull into a china shop.’

  I’d asked Aaron from the Bugle to interpret the delay, if not the metaphor. He said: ‘On one hand, he’s already got these crimes solved. David says he saw Loren at Lyric’s house on the night she was killed and he helped get her out of there. Then Loren disappeared from the ship and David was nowhere near her when she walked out of her cabin. The Chief could pretty much leave it there. He’s got to charge David with being an accessory of course. Maybe that’s what’s taking time. Maybe David wants to do a deal.’

  ‘But that story is rubbish,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe it is; maybe it’s not,’ said Aaron. ‘I guess that’s what they’re trying to determine.’

  In the meantime, David was still living in the big house on Mountain View Road. The nannies and gardeners were gone – some had been sacked; some had been scared away – but Janet seemed to be staying in the guest house, probably because David had no idea when it came to the girls. As far as I could tell, he still had his Porsche, and Hannah and Peyton were still at Grammar, so life was going on pretty much like normal for him, except that Loren – his needy, miserable wife – was gone.

  I wanted David charged. Why hadn’t he been charged?

  ‘Captain Sullivan can’t speak to you right now,’ said the receptionist, coming back to the phone, ‘but I have a message for you. He says he’ll be in touch when there’s something to report.’

  ‘Oh no he won’t! I’ve been waiting for a call from him for a month. I want to speak to him now.’

  ‘Well, he can’t speak to you now.’

  I said evenly: ‘Then how about this. You tell him that if he won’t speak to me now, I will come to the station. I will come to the station and I will sit on your pretty little porch. I will come with fifty coloured balloons and a giant sign that says Justice for Loren. I will sit there – and I will be well within my civil rights to do so – making balloon toys for passing children until he comes out.’

  The receptionist paused. ‘One moment please,’ she said.

  The phone went quiet, then crackled to life.

  ‘Hello?’ said Captain Sullivan. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘You know perfectly well who it is. This is Loren Wynne-Estes’ sister, Molly Franklin. I’ve been calling you every other day since I got back from Mexico. I dropped in a file of information into your office about David’s affair and his money troubles and I have not heard a peep.’

  ‘You dropped an unauthorised file of information based on a journal that you were not authorised to remove from Mr Wynne-Estes’ house,’ said Captain Sullivan.

  ‘I dropped a detailed and very interesting file of information that proves that my sister was not suicidal, and nor is she the kind of person who could kill anyone. David’s story is not credible. You know it and I know it, and I’m now insisting on a meeting with you to find out where your investigation is at. If you don’t meet me, I’m going to call the Bugle and tell them that you’re refusing to meet with Loren’s family.’

  Captain Sullivan sighed. ‘There isn’t anything to tell you. I’m trying not to waste your time. If you want to come in, come at ten tomorrow, but I won’t be able to tell you anything more than I’ve already told you. The ducks have to be lined up before we draw a circle around them.’

  I arrived fifteen minutes early. From my seat in the waiting area, I could see Captain Sullivan working in his office. Whatever he was doing – scratching notes onto the pad in front of him, and turning occasionally to look at his computer screen – didn’t seem all that urgent. Finally, he got up and came to the counter. Bienveneda’s police station is old. It has one of those counters that lift up to let people through.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  I took a seat opposite his desk.

  ‘I’ll go get us some coffee,’ he said.

  In his absence, I had a good look around his office. It was incredibly crowded. There was his desk, strewn with manila folders, pen holders, paperclip holders, a scorpion caught under Perspex, a stars-and-stripes football on a stand; there were framed certificates and medals on the wall; there were framed drawings of the old Bienveneda’s city lines; an old, box-style computer, with a printer on the short filing cabinet standing next to the desk. There was a hat stand for Captain Sullivan’s hat and jacket, and there was a fancy armoire with leather-bound books inside. Also a Derek Jeter–signed baseball in a Perspex box.

  Captain Sullivan returned with two old-style coffee mugs. He leaned back in his chair, which went very far back under his weight.

  ‘I’m trying to figure out how I can help you,’ he said.

  ‘I’d like to know where things stand with my sister’s murder,’ I said calmly.

  Captain Sullivan put his mug on a coaster, and his elbows on his desk. ‘I know you think it’s murder, but David has given us a very different account of what happened on that boat.’

  He picked up his mug and gulped some coffee, before quickly putting it down again.

  ‘And you know, even if I accepted that David did in fact commit a crime on the ship, there isn’t much we can do about it,’ he added. ‘You know as well as I do about the jurisdiction. That ship was off the coast of Mexico. And it’s owned by a company in Holland. So …’

  ‘So it’s not your business?’

  ‘You make it sound harsh, but you’re not wrong. Technically speaking, it’s none of my business.’

  ‘My brother-in-law also told you that Loren killed his mistress, didn’t he?’

  Captain Sullivan looked uncomfortable. ‘You know he did, it’s been in all the newspapers.’

  ‘Don’t you find that a little bit too convenient?’ I said calmly.

  ‘No, I don’t, and the reason I don’t is that he has a good explanation for what happened there. He says Loren found text messages on his phone, and went over there in a rage.’

  ‘You don’t believe that,’ I said.

  ‘As it happens, I do believe that,’ said Captain Sullivan, gulping more coffee.

  My own mug sat undisturbed on the desk. The silence between us stretched out to several seconds.

  ‘Besides,’ said Captain Sullivan eventually, ‘what’s his motive for killing Miss Morales? Why not just break up with her?’

  ‘Well, tell me this,’ I said, ‘does Loren have life insurance?’

  Captain Sullivan gazed through the window of his office. There was nothing going on out there. He just didn’t want
to look me in the eye.

  ‘You know perfectly well she does,’ he said. ‘It’s been in the Bugle.’

  ‘I don’t necessarily believe everything I read in the Bugle,’ I said, ‘but I’m guessing from what you’re saying the answer is yes?’

  ‘The answer is yes, but here’s something that maybe you don’t know. Loren’s life insurance doesn’t cover suicide. You can’t take your own life and still get your life insurance,’ he said, shaking his head in a manner that suggested that he understood these things far better than I did. ‘So if you’re thinking David’s done this for money, you’re wrong. There will be no money.’

  Leaning forward on the desk, he added: ‘So you can understand why I don’t see a motive. Plus there seems to be no reason for David to murder his mistress.

  ‘What I do see is Loren’s motive. Her husband isn’t supposed to be seeing Miss Morales anymore. He’s supposed to be concentrating on his marriage. Getting back together with his wife. But that’s not what’s happening. He’s still seeing his mistress, and on the eve of the so-called second honeymoon his wife finds out that the affair’s not over. Her husband isn’t giving up his mistress, and it looks like he’s still pretty keen on his mistress. Now, I don’t know how much training you have, Miss Franklin, but in my book, that’s motive. Not for David. For Loren.’

  * * *

  ‘Molly Franklin?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  I had gone from the frustrating interview with Captain Sullivan back to Mom’s house, with no real news to report. I hadn’t been there more than half an hour when my cell phone rang.

  ‘This is Officer Callie Croft. I just saw you in Captain Sullivan’s office.’

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that was me. What’s happened?’

  ‘I’d actually like to come and see you.’ Callie wasn’t talking so much as whispering. ‘Are you at home now?’

  ‘I’m at Mom’s,’ I said.

  ‘Would you mind if I dropped by?’

  ‘Do you have news?’

  ‘I’ll come this evening. Now I have to go.’

  Impatiently, we waited out the day. Mom made like she was busy clipping leaves off plants. Dad paced the patio. I did my best not to behave like a cat on a hot tin roof. It was after dark when Callie finally arrived in her own car. I barely recognised her out of uniform.