by David Bell
“Was there a reason why she put it up?” Griffin asked. “Was it a special date?”
“I have no idea.”
“So you went to the credit union to tell her . . . what?” Twitchell asked.
“I went there, and I parked outside, and I realized how stupid I was being. Why say anything? Why let someone from the past affect my life? After all, I was married to Michael. He walked away from her, so I didn’t need to say anything.” The memory brought the sting of embarrassment to Angela’s face. She wasn’t the kind of person to lose her cool. She wasn’t the jealous type. But that previous spring, after several false alarms, she and Michael were starting to understand the struggle it would be to conceive a child. She felt raw that day, agitated, and as she was ready to start her car and drive off, Erica came outside, apparently on her way to lunch. “She looked so at ease, so carefree. She could post something that upset me and then just go on. I know it’s silly to feel that something like that is a disruption of my life. I should have just ignored it.”
“So you said something,” Griffin said.
“I acted foolish. I told her to quit posting photos of Michael.” Angela shrugged, lifting her hands and letting them fall to the tabletop again. “She didn’t even recognize me. I had to tell her who I was. We went back and forth a little bit, and then she said the thing that really got me.”
“What was that?” Twitchell asked, his eyes shining ever so slightly in anticipation of a juicy detail.
“I’ll say it, but I realize now it sounds very high school.”
“That’s okay,” Griffin said.
“She said I was just upset because nothing could erase what she and Michael shared together, that they were connected in ways I couldn’t understand.” Angela scratched her head, looked down at the table and then back up at the cops. “So things just escalated from there. I got out of the car. We got close to each other, yelling at each other. One of her coworkers called the police, and they came and calmed things down. No one pressed charges, and I just got back into my car and went about my day. Believe me, my own embarrassment was worse than getting charged with anything.”
Twitchell nodded, his head moving as though he heard music. “What did your husband think when you told him all of this?” he asked, his head still moving.
“You all think of everything, don’t you?” she said.
The two cops blinked at her.
“He doesn’t know. I never told him about it.”
chapter
twelve
Griffin reached into her jacket pocket and brought out a small moleskin notebook. She produced a retractable pen from the same pocket and clicked it open by turning it upside down and pressing it against the top of the table. She turned to a blank page and wrote something down, something Angela couldn’t read even though she tried. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper sounded loud in the quiet house. Twitchell seemed preoccupied with his phone, scrolling through using his index finger. For all Angela knew, he was looking at a baseball score, seeing how the Reds were doing against the Nationals that night.
When Griffin finished writing, she studied her words for a moment and then looked up at Angela. “This is just a routine question,” she said. “We have to ask everyone. Where were you this morning?”
“We’re going out of town soon, and I have a lot of work to catch up on. Reports and things. I was doing that when you showed up here tonight.” Angela gestured over her shoulder with her thumb in the direction of her office, but then realized how pointless the motion was. They didn’t know what her office looked like. They didn’t know where it was in the house. She lowered her hand. “I had a couple of clients I needed to see, to make calls on, but I contacted them and rescheduled. I decided to just work from home today, so that’s what I did.”
“You were here all day?” Twitchell asked.
“Yes.”
“You were here alone? You didn’t see any clients or meet anyone?” he asked.
“No.”
“And your husband wasn’t here either?”
“He was at work. His father died a little over a year ago, and Michael has stepped in to lead the company. He works long hours and usually doesn’t come home during the day.”
“This is the home health care company?”
“Yes. Frazier Home Health. My father-in-law founded it. The company meant a lot to Michael’s father. And his mom. I think Michael wants to keep it going. For them as much as for himself.”
Griffin used her thumb to click the top of her pen. Click-click-click. “Did you have calls today? You know, conference calls? Work calls?”
“No.”
“So you didn’t know Felicity existed and your husband didn’t know she existed, but you’ve been to Erica’s Facebook page. You didn’t see pictures of Felicity there?”
“A lot of people keep their information private on Facebook, unless you’re friends with them. And I’m not friends with Erica on Facebook. She has a handful of photos that anyone can see, but none of them showed a child. If I had a child, I might keep their photos private on social media. Believe me, I’d have remembered if I’d seen a picture of her kid on her page.”
“Just like you remembered that wedding picture,” Twitchell said.
“Exactly.” Angela thought Twitchell might have been trying to get a rise out of her, but the comment was accurate. She’d have noticed and remembered a kid. She’d been noticing everything about children lately. She teared up a little when she saw babies and moms in the grocery store. She felt a lump in her throat when she saw families in TV commercials. She found herself driving slowly past Babies “R” Us stores. Yes, she noticed kids.
“And there’s been no other contact between you or your husband and Ms. Frazier since the two of them split up?” Griffin asked.
“He heard from her early on, when they first divorced. In fact, Erica sent him some pretty hateful e-mail messages back then, ones that just made me feel really uncomfortable.”
“So this was when you were already married?” Twitchell asked.
“No, we were dating. We met just a few months after Michael and Erica split up. Some of her messages mentioned me, so she knew we were dating somehow.”
“And they made you uncomfortable?” Twitchell asked. “In what way?”
“It’s been a long time . . . but she said things like she wanted Michael back. And how much he meant to her. Look, I’m not insecure, but it’s weird to hear that from your new boyfriend’s ex-wife. And . . . Erica was pretty and fit, and I just didn’t like it. Who would?”
“What did he do about the messages?” Twitchell asked. “Did he tell her to stop or what?”
“He decided to take the high road and tread lightly. He didn’t want to cause Erica any more pain than he already had. Michael’s like that. He tries to give people the benefit of the doubt as much as possible. He felt guilty over leaving her after such a short amount of time, so he felt like he could handle some awkward e-mails. And he said Erica had a tendency to act overly dramatic, to carry on a long time over something. He just wanted to let it blow over, and it did. He stopped hearing from her, and life went on.”
“Do you know anyone else who knows Erica Frazier?” Griffin asked. “She and your husband must have had friends back then. Are you or he in touch with them?”
“I don’t think Michael’s in touch with most of those people,” she said. “His family knew her, obviously. His parents and his sister.”
“Does he talk about his ex-wife?” Griffin asked. “Ever?”
Angela thought she heard an undercurrent of emotion in the detective’s question. “Not very much. Almost never.”
“Has your husband ever mentioned a man named Jake Little?” Griffin asked.
“Who’s that?”
“Has he mentioned him?” Griffin asked.
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��No. Is he a friend of Erica’s?”
“He’s an ex-boyfriend of hers. They’ve dated a couple of different times over the years. He was a sort of father figure to Felicity. Have you heard from your husband since he left with Erica Frazier?” Griffin asked.
“No. I’m leaving him alone. He wanted to go, so I let him. He said he’d be back as soon as he could. I’m not thrilled about it. Who would be? But I’m also not going to beg him to stay if he wants to do something like this.”
“Would you mind calling him?” Griffin asked.
Angela found herself shaking her head, telling the cops no before she even said anything. “I don’t want to call him. I . . . Look, I don’t want to come off like some needy wife. He wants to do this; he can do it. It’s fine. Really. Whatever comes our way we can handle.”
The cops again exchanged that glance, their eyes locking as though they could communicate without words. Which they probably could.
“What?” Angela asked.
“We’d really like for you to make that call,” Twitchell said. “We haven’t been able to get ahold of Erica Frazier for the past hour or so. She’s not answering her cell phone, and she’s not at her house where we’d like her to be. Given some other factors we’ve learned about, we’d like to know where she is.”
“What other factors?” Angela asked, her concern rising. Maybe she wouldn’t get to play the cool, detached wife. Maybe there was more at stake.
Griffin nodded, and then seemed to have reached a decision. She spoke with the pen still held in her hand. “About a month ago, Erica Frazier was investigated by child protective services for endangering her child. And now the child is missing, with no actual witnesses to the events she described. She came here and has taken your husband somewhere. We’d like to know where she is. See?”
Angela did. All too well. Before Griffin was even finished talking, she was picking up her phone.
chapter
thirteen
When the call went to voice mail, Angela stood up. She walked away from the table where the cops sat, turning her back to them. She pushed the red button to end the call without saying anything, cutting Michael’s friendly but efficient greeting off in the middle. She walked out to the front of the house, toward the foyer where through the drawn curtains she could see dark night, and dialed again.
She said one word under her breath. A command and a wish.
“Answer.”
While she listened to the chirping ring, she looked at the wall. A picture of her and Michael at their wedding hung there, the two of them looking younger, smiles wide as he held her in his arms, an almost Hollywoodesque ray of sun beaming over his left shoulder. Yes, she thought, it had been so easy then. All they had to do was be in love, eyes cast to the endless future. Jobs, kids, a new house. New possibilities and adventures.
Something else crept into her mind, a slithering snake of jealousy. He and Erica must have felt that way once, in that picture she shared on Facebook.
“Answer,” she said again, teeth clenched tighter.
But he didn’t. So she left a message, doing everything in her power to keep her voice calm and collected. She didn’t want to plead, didn’t want to sound out of control.
“Michael, I need you to call me back. The police are here, and they’re looking for Erica. And now they’re looking for you. Can you call me back when you get the chance? I think you might be getting in over your head.”
She hung up. She reminded herself of how much they had together, how much they had shared. One night couldn’t erase it all. A child from the past couldn’t either.
But even as she thought that, a stab of jealousy hit her in the chest. Why could he have a child with someone else and not with her? Was something wrong with her?
“No answer?”
Angela jumped at the voice. Twitchell stood behind her with Griffin at his side. She held the phone tight, her knuckles straining, the skin slick with sweat where it touched the black case.
“No. I left a message.”
“You can try again in a few minutes,” Griffin said. “If he doesn’t call back.”
“He doesn’t like to answer when he’s driving,” Angela said. “It goes right to the speaker in the car, but he still doesn’t like to do it.”
Both of the cops nodded, understanding. “Do you mind if we have a look around the house?” Twitchell asked. “Just a quick glance. While we’re waiting for your husband to call back.”
Angela didn’t think she could say no. Why would she? “Sure.”
Griffin started up the stairs, her flat shoes making no sound against the carpet.
Twitchell pointed behind Angela. “What’s down this hallway?”
“I have an office there. Michael does too. And a guest room. My mother stays there when she comes from out of town.” Again, she realized how much space they had, how fortunate they’d been thanks to Michael’s family. She and Michael both worked hard, but her father-in-law had built a company that made them all comfortable.
Beyond comfortable.
“Mind if I look?” he asked.
“Go ahead.” Angela stepped out of his way.
Angela didn’t know whether she was supposed to follow, but since no one told her not to, she did. She figured it was her house, her office. If the cop wanted to look around, she could tail him.
Twitchell looked the room over, taking it in like he was a prospective buyer. His eyes paused briefly on the glass of wine, and then he pointed to the open laptop. “This is yours? For work?”
“Work and personal. Mostly work.”
He glanced at but didn’t touch the papers on her desk. His eyes trailed around the room. He pointed to the closed closet door where Angela stored a hodgepodge of more papers, catalogs, samples, and cases. “Do you mind?”
Again, Angela stepped out of the way. “Sure.”
Twitchell pulled the door open. It stuck for just a moment, and Angela wondered what he expected to find in there. A bound-and-gagged child? A dead one? He looked around inside and then shut the door. “Is your husband’s office in the next room?”
“Yes.” Angela led him there.
“Does his computer have a password? Can you log on for me?”
“It does. And I can.” Angela knew most of Michael’s passwords, even though she almost never needed them. He knew hers as well.
But she paused for a moment.
“What are you looking for?” she asked. “I mean . . . He’s not here.”
“Nothing in particular,” Twitchell said. “If you’re not comfortable with this, if you think there’s something we shouldn’t see . . .”
“I don’t think that.” She leaned over the laptop and typed in the password. Then she stepped aside for the cop. “I want you to find this missing child too. Okay? It’s horrible to think about.”
“Okay. I’ll just be a minute.”
“Why didn’t you look at my computer this closely?”
“You’re here,” Twitchell said. “If I wanted to know something about you, I’d ask.”
“It sounds like you think I’m honest.”
“I try to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
“That might be a risk for a cop,” she said.
“Might be.” He turned away and started tapping on Michael’s computer.
Angela felt like a fish out of water, so she walked to the foyer and met Griffin coming down.
“That’s it,” the cop said. “Thanks for letting me look.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Is there a basement?”
“No.”
“Attic?”
“Yes. But we don’t keep anything there. You go in through a pull-down ladder in the garage.”
“We can check that on the way out,” Griffin said. “Has your husband called back?”
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Angela looked at her phone, as though a call might have come through that she hadn’t heard. “No. I’ll try again.”
She hit the CALL button and listened to the ring. Just as it went to voice mail, Twitchell spoke from the other room.
“Griffin, you out there? I think you’re going to want to see this.”
chapter
fourteen
9:32 P.M.
Michael’s phone rang again, and again he ignored it. He saw Angela’s name coming up on the car’s display, and it took a fair amount of discipline and control not to answer.
But he had no desire to hold a conversation with his wife while Erica sat in the car next to him. He felt it was enough to keep an eye on Erica who had smoked what seemed like half a pack of cigarettes on their ride toward Trudeau, lighting a new one as soon as the previous one was finished. And Michael noticed the way she kept her jacket clutched tight to her body. It started to slide off her lap once, and she made a frantic lunge, grabbing it and then pulling it back against her. Michael decided to call Angela when they reached their destination. And he promised to stick to the plan. One stop. An hour there and an hour back. And then he’d let Erica go on and do whatever she wanted to do.
“We’re close, right?” he asked.
“Half a mile,” she said, looking at her phone, scrolling through with the hand that held the cigarette. “Turn left here.”
They entered a middle-class neighborhood, a postwar subdivision that, even in the disappearing light, looked good. Mostly ranches, the lawns well maintained, the homes lighted and bright. They passed a group of kids running through a yard, their squeals coming through Erica’s open window, their bodies indistinct blurs in the fading light. Michael stole a glance at her and thought he saw a look cross her face as though she’d felt a twinge of pain.
They’d lived in Trudeau together the year they were married. Michael worked for a startup, gaining experience before the expected move to his dad’s company. He’d been to a party in that neighborhood once, a holiday thing thrown by some business acquaintance. He and Erica went together, she in a red dress, he in a jacket and tie. To the outside world, they must have appeared to be the perfect young couple. Happy and in love, just starting their lives together.
