“Malin confirmed McCann’s home insurance was with Midas Mutual on Singer Blvd. It covered the usual. Structures, belongings, liability, legal. But get this. When she talked to one of their claims adjusters, a Mr. Daniel Hamsing, he remembers a phone call he had with the homeowner in February of this year. Even went as far as making a note of it in the file. Mr. McCann asked whether his house was insured against fire, but was particularly interested in the part of his policy which mentioned intentional acts. Mr. Hamsing assured him the homeowner wasn’t covered if there was any intent to cause a loss. Apparently McCann sounded nervous and hung up.”
Fowler licked his thumb and flicked through a pile of papers on his desk before patting them into two neat piles. “What about a third party? Unknown, no intent.”
Temeke toyed with two or three possible scenarios in his head. “It’s more restrictive. But then McCann would have to prove he had never worked with a third party.”
Did McCann hate his wife enough to kill her? Or have her killed? The possibility was too great for Temeke’s peace of mind and for a full ten seconds he thought about the previous day’s events including Mrs. Quinn’s statement and the fire investigator’s report. It all pointed to a disgruntled husband with something to hide.
But where would he go? Gallup didn’t seem like the obvious place since his parents lived in Albuquerque and McCann had no other family Temeke was aware of. Except Linda Quinn’s comment about a long-lost father in Sedona.
“Hackett’s already circulated a photograph,” Fowler said.
“Shame. Because if McCann thinks someone’s following him he’ll go underground.”
“Don’t do anything underhand, Temeke. You were damn lucky none of the agencies found out about you running up and down the mountain looking for Eriksen’s leftovers before Christmas. You know as well as I do that’s State Police jurisdiction.”
Always the Eriksen case. It was like a stuck long-playing record. “We were in the foothills, sir, not the mountains.”
“Foothills, anthills, it’s all the same. I don’t want any complaints this time.”
Which was a pity, Temeke thought, since there was a PI he knew in Gallup, an ex-cop called Harry Hammond. It wouldn’t hurt to call him on the sly, send him a few photos of McCann, let him do a little independent surveillance of his own. He wasn’t authorized to apprehend McCann, but he could certainly gauge how close Suzi Cornwell was to finding him. If Hammond could find nine and a half pounds of heroin concealed in a charcoal fuel filter box under a truck, he could certainly find Flynn McCann.
Temeke stared at the coffee pot on Fowler’s credenza and took a lunge for it. “Want a refill?”
“Suzi’s on his tail,” Fowler said, thrusting out his coffee cup. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s already found him.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s frightened him off, sir. Stiff posture, arms crossed and a nice shiny badge. Doesn’t exactly blend in to the surroundings, does she?”
“Killers don’t stay underground for long.” Fowler’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Murder always has a pond effect. The ripples never end.”
“Very Walt Whitman, sir.”
“Someone has to look out for the victim.”
Temeke ignored the lyrical references and poured a cup of black slurry. The poor old sod looked like he needed a pick-me-up and high octane was better than the regular brew his admin made. The good news was Malin was meeting with Rosie Ellis in ten minutes and if Temeke didn’t get on with it he’d miss all the fun.
“Anything else, sir,” he said, giving the swivel chair one more squeaky turn.
“Have there been any comments about...” Fowler searched Temeke’s polo shirt to make sure he wasn’t wearing a lapel cam, “me and Detective Cornwell?”
Bloody right there have been, you dirty old sod. “Should there have been, sir?”
“No... no, not at all. I had to give her a lift to the scene the other night because her car was in the shop. I heard a couple of officers talking about it in the bathroom, like we had something going on. Her and me, that is. In the carnal sense.”
So, that was it. The cheeky bastard wanted to know if anyone had been sniggering behind his back and having a few laughs at his expense. Temeke could have responded with a tinge of sarcasm but decided to give it a break. He pretended to look at Fowler blankly, eyebrows rocketing up as if the penny had dropped.
“Blimey, you don’t mean...? Nah, you’re having me on.”
“I’d appreciate your discretion,” Fowler said.
What did he want? A round of applause? “You have my word, sir.”
“One more thing. I thought it best to move Detective Cornwell into the office next to mine. Thought you could all do with a little more space.”
Temeke glanced at the empty office Fowler alluded to and tried to keep the relief from his face. The last thing they needed was another body squeezed into a two man office and Detective Cornwell wasn’t the type to squeeze. She would have reported back to Fowler with every twitch they made.
“I’ll show her the ropes,” Fowler said, laboring the point. “Make sure she understands the procedures.”
Yeah, that’s the problem. Right there in a nutshell.
Temeke could feel Fowler’s building puzzlement as he made no comment. Instead, he inclined an ear at the sound of static. A summons over the intercom.
He had a visitor.
THIRTEEN
There was an odd hush in the lobby. Sergeant Moran was standing behind his desk and Officer Jarvis was staring at the front door while hunched over the water fountain and giving his shoes a shower. All Temeke could see through the wall-to-ceiling glass was the face of an angel and he had to blink a few times to remind himself he wasn’t dreaming.
There was no question this was the angel Mrs. Quinn had been talking about. A pair of green eyes and a face that reminded him of a dazed child. She looked all of fourteen.
“Miss Ellis?” Temeke asked. “Thank you for coming in.”
He saw the flicker of a smile and a quick nod. Those same eyes revealed a passion, whether dread or unease or determination, Temeke couldn’t tell. She followed him to an interview room with the air of someone burdened with more secrets than the eye could see.
“Water?” he asked, pointing at the chair opposite his.
“No, thank you,” she said.
Temeke recorded the date and time, and those present in the room. He told Rosie it was just standard procedure and asked her if she understood why she was being questioned. She said that she did.
“You’re not a suspect, ma’am,” he said. “This is an informal interview.
While he was preparing Rosie, he knew Malin was peering through the window next door, listening. “I expect you’ve heard about Mr. McCann. He left rather suddenly without telling anyone. Left us no choice but to issue a description, circulate his photograph, ask everyone to keep an eye open. I doubt he’ll be gone for long.”
Her reaction was indifferent and it made Temeke wonder if it was news at all. Her fingers twisted a black ring engraved with a Celtic design on the fourth finger of her right hand. One he recognized. While she stared at it with an unbroken gaze, he studied her hair, the diamond stud earrings, the slightly downturned mouth and dark eyebrows that followed the curve of her brow.
“So, Rosie, tell me... how long have you known Mr. McCann?”
“About six years.”
“How did you meet?”
“At Elephant Butte. We’re both into water sports. Hit it off, I guess. We dated for about two years. Would have got married but... it didn’t work out.”
Temeke felt the flutter in his chest and chided himself for it. Now wasn’t the time to study good looks, and he leaned forward to get a better handle on the quiet voice.
“When did you split up?”
The mouth twitched a little. “When he met Tarian.”
“She must have been bad news.”
“He was in love. Nothing bad ab
out that.” Rosie gave him a big smile and he smiled back. If he was honest he was heated by her steady gaze and perfect white teeth, and he wished she’d stop stroking that ring.
“How did that make you feel?” he asked.
“I was happy for him.”
Since she didn’t elaborate, Temeke forged on. “How would you describe Mr. McCann?”
The description she gave was detailed right down to the cologne he wore, the scars on his back and a few other things she’d observed. Helpful tidbits. Temeke decided she had seen him from various intimate angles and her memory was sharp. Definitely not traumatized. Definitely not shy.
“I meant his personality, Ms. Ellis.”
Rosie’s smile quirked up and she took another stab at it. “He’s intelligent, detail oriented, doesn’t suffer fools. Takes long walks, hikes, you know. Sentimental. Always wore the ring I gave him.”
“Did Mrs. McCann know it was the ring you gave him?”
“No.”
None of it made any sense to Temeke. Rosie was mellow and refined, and it was hard to keep his mind off the black fitted sweater and the curve of her breasts. She was medium height with a firmness about that body that told him she worked out. He was beginning to squirm under her piercing gaze, beginning to sweat. She was beautiful, but not in a casual slam you up against the wall and get it over with way. This was a beauty that got under your skin and stayed there.
“I found these photos on the pavement outside my house,” she said, taking a packet from her purse and sliding it toward him.
“Explicit,” Temeke said, flicking through a medley of X-rated smut. He recognized Tarian. “Who’s the guy?”
“Cliff Jaynes. He used to work for her dad.”
Temeke was confident Cliff Jaynes was someone he wanted to talk to, someone he wanted to dig deep and investigate, especially if he had been intimate with Tarian and trafficking methamphetamines. “You said you found them outside your house?”
“Scattered all over the pavement.” Rosie gave the photographs a quick glance and looked away. “One of the many times Tarian called to see Flynn during the restraining order. I guess she left them there to make a point.”
“A point about what?”
“That if she couldn’t have Flynn she was having Cliff. She played the jealousy card over and over again.”
“But Mr. McCann only reported one violation to the restraining order.”
“Flynn called the police after the fourth time. I think he was hoping she’d give up.”
Should have called the police after the first time, Temeke thought but refrained from voicing it.
The door opened and his eyes snapped to the khaki pants that stalked in with pockets for everything. Malin announced herself to the tape recorder and mumbled that it was two-thirty on Wednesday afternoon. She sat down and gave Ms. Ellis a long, hard stare.
“Anything you want to tell us, Rosie? It’s OK if I call you Rosie?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“Heard from Mr. McCann?”
“No, I haven’t, ma’am.”
“We have. Your name cropped up during that conversation.”
Something was up, thought Temeke. It wasn’t like Malin to be frosty and not offer a coffee or one of those nice apple fritters she liked so much. When Rosie shook her head, Malin pressed on.
“No texts, no phone calls, no messages?”
Rosie gazed at the two-way mirror before bringing her focus back to Malin. “No, ma’am.”
“Where do you suppose he went?”
Rosie shrugged an I don’t know and left it at that.
“Well, if you do speak to him let him know we’re looking forward to hearing from him.” Malin slapped her card down on the table and pushed it towards Rosie. “My number’s right there. Or text if he prefers.”
Malin sat back in her chair, hands interlaced over her stomach. She was well on her way to pissed. “How can a man, who’s lost the love of his life dump a rental car in Gallup and disappear into thin air? Does that sound like a good idea? Not with our agents keeping an eye on the place. Nor does choosing this week of all weeks.”
“Maybe he’s afraid,” Rosie said.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid you’d think he had something to do with it.”
“When someone flees the state after a criminal act it does look that way.” Malin seemed to be biting back a smile. “Did he have a thing for setting fire to stuff? You know, leaves, grass clippings, cats.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Fire endangers the lives of neighbors,” Malin fired back. “Sparks travel. So does smoke. And poor Mr. Quinn lost his life. That’s two counts of murder, unless, of course, Mr. McCann can prove otherwise.”
“He didn’t kill anyone, ma’am. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“Can you tell me about the chair in the back shed? The one with arm restraints?”
Except for a hard swallow the room fell silent. Temeke realized his heartbeat had accelerated and his head was prickling. He hoped there wasn’t an oil slick up there Rosie could see her reflection in.
“I don’t know anything about a chair,” Rosie said without expression.
It certainly wasn’t bull Rosie was giving Malin. But she was scared, Temeke could tell by the rapid-fire answers and the way she hugged her waist. He leaned sideways toward Malin—a sign to indicate he wanted to take over.
“When was the last time you went over to Flynn’s house?” he asked.
“A week ago,” Rosie said. “He asked me to bring him a package from the safe at work.”
“Was the package sealed?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone flat.
“Anything in it?”
“About fifteen grand, I think,” she said.
“In cash?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought you said it was sealed?”
“Flynn told me what was in it,” she said.
“Did you think it was odd?”
“A little.”
“Given he’s run off and taken the cash, we think it’s odd too.” Temeke dropped the statement into that troubled mind and searched her face for any sign of nervousness. An accessory to a crime before or after the fact would rise to the level of conspiracy. In one way it amused him. In another it didn’t. “Why so much?”
“I know it’s not my business but she’d almost cleaned him out. He was only trying to save what was left of the bank account.” Rosie paled and shifted under the weight of Temeke’s gaze. “She was using. Made sense to assume she was spending.”
Made sense to Temeke. He had already acquainted himself with Rosie’s past history and there was not one incident to lower the tone. She was impeccable.
“Rosie, we do need to talk to him.”
“I don’t know where he is.” Her eyes were wide now.
Malin sat upright and huffed out a loud sigh. “I asked you to come here and explain how well you knew Mr. McCann. You said earlier you met him at the lake and that you had dated. Then Flynn split up with you when he met Tarian. You neglected to mention how heartbroken you were. How you begged him to come back. I know because one of your work colleagues told me.”
Now, now, that’s not quite true, Temeke thought. Nobody said anything about being heartbroken and a jilted lover would never admit to it.
“We were both sad,” she said. “But it was mutual. It doesn’t mean feelings end right there. It takes time.”
Temeke felt his chin snap forward. He was secretly floored and disappointed at the same time. Here was a woman, both pleasing and desirable and she was in love with a loser. He also began to wonder if Tarian had risked everything including her sanity to date a man raised in a lower financial bracket, one who had no comprehension of what it took to be part of the Tanoan clan—a term he decided to give to those living in the salubrious gated community of Tanoan Estates.
“Would you say you waited in the wings in case he changed his mind?” Malin
said.
Rosie acknowledged the comment with a no. “I ran that race for a time. But there’s no point in it. Not when you’re lagging behind.”
“I suspect Tarian was under no illusion what she was doing was anything less than stealing,” Malin said. “But we’ll never know now, will we?”
Rosie didn’t seem interested in pursuing this tangent on Tarian McCann and Temeke assumed for her the influence of such a terrible loss had left its intended mark. Had she struck out at the one person who had stolen her man? Or was she as innocent as she looked?
“How well do you know Violet Chavez?” he asked, recalling the name from the file.
“I met her quite a few times at Cliff’s house. Vi’s always been close to Tarian. She gets her, you know?”
It was impossible for Temeke to pretend he didn’t notice what Rosie meant by gets her. Whenever he heard that statement it alluded to a smattering of eccentricity, which you either liked or you didn’t.
“Did you know why Mrs. McCann filed a restraining order against her husband?” Temeke asked.
He recognized the connection between him and Rosie fizzing like an electrical current. She was a source of distraction and he felt compelled to remove his gaze and peruse the case file. But there was no case file. He’d forgotten to bring the sodding thing in.
“I don’t know,” Rosie said. “If anyone filed it should have been Flynn.”
FOURTEEN
Nearly two hours on the road and traffic had slowed to a trickle. Flynn was finally in Holbrook, a city founded in 1882 and named for the first chief engineer of the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. The clouds had sucked the color out of the day and instead of the rainbow colors of the buttes and badland hills he remembered, all around him the buildings were gray.
It didn’t take him long to find a barber. He walked in with shaggy brown hair and came out with hair buzzed into a fade and dyed gray. If he didn’t recognize himself, nobody else would.
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