If she found out later that he had murdered his wife and child, she would hate him. Vehemently. But for now, he deserved whatever compassion she could give him.
She walked around the table and stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. She could feel him shaking, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to be in his situation—guilty or innocent.
“We’ll call Abel, Ethan. We will. If your story checks out, I’m pretty sure Detective Coulter will release you. But either way, our priority right now is finding Beth and Freddy. That’s what all of this is about—finding them and the person who killed Pilar. That’s what you want more than anything, too. Right?”
She saw his eyes grow moist once again as he nodded and said, “Yes. That’s what I want. That’s all I want. Just do it, please.”
“We will.”
She squeezed his shoulder, gave it a pat, then left him and joined Dirk beside the door. Together, they exited the room as quickly as possible.
Once outside, she drew a deep breath and said, “He didn’t do it.”
At the same moment, Dirk said, “He did it.”
They looked at each other, both shocked. They usually agreed on such things.
“Reckon we’ve got a difference of opinion,” she said, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“Yep,” he admitted. “We sure do.”
Chapter 10
When Savannah and Dirk exited the rear door of the police station house, they saw several cops milling about a squad car with a crumpled fender.
“The chief’s gonna be thrilled about that,” Dirk said. “That’s the third unit wrecked this month.”
“I feel plum awful about that.” She tried to squelch a snicker and failed. “You know how close that man and I are, how dearly we love each other. I hate the thought of him suffering.”
“Yeah, right. If he was drownin’, you’d toss him an anchor.”
“And a set of five hundred pound barbells, just to make sure all that hot air didn’t keep him afloat.”
“Let’s go sit in your car,” Dirk suggested, “and make our calls there. I don’t wanna be answering no questions about the famous movie star we’ve got behind bars.”
“Detained.”
“Whatever.”
They cut a wide circuit around the bevy of boisterous cops, who were too busy teasing and tormenting their fellow peace officer, commenting on every wrinkle in his newly crunched fender, to notice them pass by.
Once they were inside the Mustang—Savannah in the driver seat and Dirk riding shotgun—he tossed his beloved baseball cap onto the floorboard and reached into the glove box for his ever-present plastic sandwich bag filled with cinnamon sticks.
Since the day he had failed to chase down a perp who was more fleet of foot than himself and a non-smoker, Dirk had thrown away his cigarettes and gone cold turkey.
But, not inclined to do anything halfway, he was now a hard-core, three-pack-a-day cinnamon stick sucker.
As he poked the end of one into his mouth, Savannah grinned and said, “I love being married to a former smoker—except for when I’m trying to cut back on my sweets.”
“You’ve cut back on your sweets?”
“I have. A few times. It didn’t work long.”
“What’s you flunking out of dieting got to do with anything?”
“’Cause when you’ve been sucking on a cinnamon stick, and I kiss you, it makes me hungry for apple pie.”
He smiled, his eyes lingering on her lips in a way that set her girly parts a’tingling. But she knew better than to expect anything more with half a dozen of his compatriots in the same parking lot—guys for whom mocking and humiliating one another was a life calling.
They both reached for their cell phones at the same moment, then paused and looked at each other.
“Duh,” she said. “We should’ve asked him for his manager’s phone number.”
“Yeah. I mean, I thought you had it.”
“You did not. You forgot, too.”
“By then he was all mad at me for asking him to take his shirt off. I didn’t want to rile him up any more than he already was, so—”
“Oh, bull pucky. You forgot. I’ll call Tammy. She can get it for us.”
“Isn’t she visiting with her parents?”
“Yes. But something tells me she’ll welcome the interruption. I talked to Waycross on the way over here, and I got the idea it’s not going well at all.”
“That’s too bad. Tammy and Waycross are both great kids.”
Savannah totally agreed, but Tammy had already answered her phone.
“Hi, Savannah,” she said sounding overly bright, far too thrilled, and pretty darned close to breaking into hysterical sobs. “What’s going on? Anything new on the case? Anything I can do to help?”
Yes, Savannah thought. Our Tamitha is in desperate need of a distraction.
“As a matter of fact, we really need you to work a bit of your research magic for us. If you aren’t too busy, that is. I know you have your folks there, and with the baby and all I’m reluctant to ask you to—”
“No, no, no! It’s no problem at all. I already told my parents that we have a very important case right now, and that I might need to work on it with you. Anything you need, just ask.”
Ah, Tammy, Savannah thought, reaching out to her young friend with her heart and giving her a hug from afar. Don’t let ’em get to you like this, darlin’.
“That’s great. We need the phone number of Ethan Malloy’s manager, Abel Orman. I think I heard he lives in San Paulo.”
“The manager, huh? Is he, like, your main suspect right now?”
“No. As a matter of fact our main suspect at the moment is Ethan Malloy.”
“Get out! No way! But he seemed so nice in The Great Gatsby.”
Savannah smiled. She’d never known a person who was quite like Tammy. A golden girl bimbo one moment, and a computer genius extraordinaire the next.
“Do you remember I told you that Pilar had some broken fingernails, like maybe she had scratched her attacker?”
“Sure, I remember. That’s so sad.”
“It is. And guess whose chest is all scratched up?”
“No way! How could the priest who helped that nun rescue all those orphans do something like that?”
Savannah had to search her memory banks awhile before accessing that reference. Last year Ethan Malloy had starred in Into the Sunset, a movie that had garnered him a Golden Globe award, and, apparently, the undying trust and respect of one adoring fan, Tammy Hart.
“He says he got the scratches in an accident on a set a couple of days ago,” Savannah told her. “He wants us to check it out with his manager. Says Orman will verify it for him.”
“Of course, it’s a bunch of crap,” Dirk mumbled around his cinnamon stick, “but God forbid we don’t check it out.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Tammy said. “If there’s anything else—”
“I won’t hesitate to ask,” Savannah assured her. “Thanks, sugar. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Don’t worry about having to ‘do without’ me, Savannah,” Tammy replied with a strength of conviction that Savannah seldom heard in her young friend’s voice. “You won’t ever be without me. The work we do . . . it’s too important.”
Savannah swallowed hard. “Yes, you’re right. It is. Thank you, Tammy. We love you, darlin’.”
Savannah heard her catch her breath and then whisper, “You too.”
When she hung up a moment later Savannah turned to Dirk with a sinking heart. “Her parents are trying to pull her away from us,” she told him. “They’re doing everything they can to get her away from here, away from me, and from you and the rest of her Moonlight Magnolia friends. Worst of all, they’re trying to get her away from Waycross.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just know. I heard it in her voice just now. She’s fighting for her life—her life here with us. I thoug
ht they were coming to California to see their new grandchild and meet their son-in-law. But they’re here to get Tammy, to take her back to New York with them.”
Dirk reached over and ran his fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck. “Don’t worry, babe. It won’t happen. She’s stronger than that.”
“I hope so.”
* * *
Tammy was fast. When it came to research—tracking down a bad guy, hacking into his bank account, discovering his dirty secrets through social media, and finding out when he had last changed his socks—nobody did it quicker or better than she.
Only four minutes had passed when Savannah’s phone jingled with the merry little tune she had chosen for her sunny-natured, best friend/assistant.
“I’ve got it,” Tammy announced proudly. “Abel Orman’s phone number, his address, home and business, and his bookie’s phone number, too. He gambles too much and cheats at cards.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Tamitha,” Savannah said with a chuckle. “You’ve been busier than a cranberry picker before Thanksgiving.”
Savannah motioned to Dirk to get out his notebook and pen. “Okay. What’s Orman’s phone number?”
Tammy rattled off the number, and Savannah repeated it for Dirk.
When Dirk had finished writing it, Tammy said, “You can call him if you want to. But I can tell you right now that Mr. Malloy was telling you the truth about that accident.”
Savannah sat upright in her seat, at full attention. “How do you know that?”
Tammy laughed. “You were just telling me a few minutes ago how good I am at what I do.”
“That’s true. Why should I be surprised?”
Savannah glanced over to Dirk and thought how much fun it was going to be in a couple of minutes when she could tell him he was wrong about Ethan and she was right.
In that instant, life was rich and worth the hassle.
“Actually,” Tammy said, “I didn’t have to use my Super Duper Sleuther skills. I just googled ‘Ethan Malloy’ and ‘accident on set’ and checked for postings within the last three days, and I found several. They were filming the last scene in his latest movie. It’s this romantic, sort of cowboy flick, set in Australia—but they filmed it up there in the hills above Simi Valley—about a girl who’s falsely convicted of a murder, and she’s set to hang for it the very next morning, so during the night she escapes, but now she’s out in the desert with no horse and no water, and she’s about to die when Ethan Malloy rides up on this big black horse and scoops her into his arms, but they fell off.”
Savannah’s mind was spinning, but she managed to say, “The horse?”
“No, the horse was okay. It was Ethan and the actress that fell off into some sagebrush and got scratched up. Her not so much. Like a real hero, he kinda pushed her out of the way, and took the worst of it himself. Isn’t that romantic?”
“I’m getting hot and bothered just thinking about it.” Savannah saw Dirk giving her a funny look, which made her all the more eager to tell him how mistaken he had been about her new client.
She wouldn’t bother to mention that, just a little more than an hour ago, she’d been pretty convinced that he was a killer, too.
“They had to take him to the hospital and everything,” Tammy was telling her. “It’s documented. I checked.”
“You’re thorough, kiddo. I’ll give you that. You’ve no idea how happy I am to hear this. Dirk’s going to be thrilled, too.”
Savannah winked at Dirk, and he scowled back at her. He had already heard enough of the conversation to sense the way the wind was blowing. Not his direction.
“I’m glad I could help, Savannah,” Tammy told her, her heart in her voice. “I really am. Waycross told me that you guys might be able to join us for dinner at the restaurant tonight.”
Savannah felt the familiar tug of torn loyalties. Her client on one side. Her precious friend on the other. Both of them in need of her.
“We’ll try as hard as we can to get there, sugar,” she told her. “You know we’re eager to meet your folks and get to know them. Everyone who’s important to you is important to us.”
“That’s what makes us family,” Savannah heard Tammy say, though she had the feeling Tammy might be saying it to someone else, someone other than her.
Maybe she was speaking to her own heart.
“It sure does, sugar,” she told her young friend. “Some family we’re born with. Some we adopt along the way. But they’re all precious. Every one of them.”
“That’s right. So, you call me if you need me again.”
“I sure will.”
Savannah ended the call and turned to Dirk. “You’ve gotta get in that station house and de-detain Ethan Malloy before he gets ahold of his attorney and sues you for false arrest and—”
“Detainment.”
“Whatever.”
They bailed out of the Mustang and hurried across the parking lot toward the rear door of the building.
“I can just see it now,” Savannah mused. “The two of you in court. Him suing you for three million dollars. Him winning because the jury’s all female.”
“Three million bucks? For fifteen minutes’ worth of false arrest?”
“Nope. For forcing him to strip and pose for dirty pictures.”
* * *
Savannah and Dirk found Ethan Malloy exactly where they had left him, still sitting in the interrogation “sweat box.”
But he was hardly “sweating.”
Three of San Carmelita’s finest station house personnel sat at the table with him: Susie Blaylock, who usually worked the switchboard, but appeared to be taking a break; Kim Johnson from Records; and Patrolman Sherry Harralston.
They were sitting and staring at the actor, unabashedly goo-goo-eyed over him, as he sipped a can of soda. One of three on the table before him.
Next to the soft drinks was a tuna sandwich, obviously a personal sacrifice from somebody’s lunch bag, along with a fruit-on-the-bottom strawberry yogurt, and some chocolate chip cookies.
The women were shameless, Savannah decided. What were they thinking?
The chocolate chip cookies were obviously store-bought. She would have offered him home-baked ones, warm from the oven, enhanced with macadamia nuts.
Ethan was the only one who didn’t appear to be in a festive mood. He was sullen and tense, gripping the can so hard that Savannah half expected the soda to shoot out the top at any moment.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” Dirk demanded, taking in the finer points of the situation. “Susie, go answer the damned phones. Kim, go record something. And Sherry, get your butt out there on the street and patrol, make the world a safer place.”
“I’ll have you know, Sergeant Coulter, that I and my butt are off duty,” Sherry replied indignantly.
“Then go home and annoy your husband,” he barked. “You’d think you gals were thirteen and never saw a man before.”
The disappointed and moderately mortified threesome stood, nearly knocking over their chairs in their haste, and hurried out the door. Dirk slammed it behind them and turned to his detainee.
But before he could speak, Ethan jumped to his feet and said, “Well? Did you call my manager? Are you ready to apologize for holding me here in this . . . ?” He glanced around the tiny room with its gray padded walls and austere metal furniture. “. . . this suffocating broom closet on a day when I need to be out searching for my wife and son or at home waiting for her call?”
Dirk glowered at him and for a moment, Savannah cringed, expecting the worst. Her husband had many skills. The art of delivering a gracious and sincere apology was not among them.
For more than a decade, she had attempted to explain to him that a true expression of heartfelt remorse did not begin with the words, “Well, hell, I’m sorry if that teeny, itty-bitty thing I said got you al-l-l pissed off but . . .”
So, she was both surprised and proud of him when, in a calm and conciliatory tone, he s
aid, “I apologize, Mr. Malloy. Whether you believe it or not, I understand that now’s an awful time for you, and the last thing you need is for me to make it worse for you.”
But Ethan Malloy wasn’t ready to make peace just yet. He walked around the table, straight to Dirk, and leaned forward, well into his personal space.
The two men were nose to nose.
Savannah saw Dirk clench his fists. For a moment, she considered the possibility that she might have to rescue her husband from her larger, younger, overly muscular client.
It had been a long time since she had laid hands on someone who was paying her bills. But she hadn’t forgotten how. She figured she could do it again in a pinch.
“Do not pretend that you know how I feel right now,” Ethan said, his deep voice low and menacing. “If, God forbid, your wife goes missing someday, then you’ll understand.” He turned to Savannah and in a softer tone said, “I’m not wishing anything bad on you, ma’am. Truly. I’m just trying to make my point.”
“I think your point’s been made, Mr. Malloy,” she said softly.
“I don’t need your understanding,” Ethan said, turning back to Dirk. “I need you to find my wife. I need you to find my baby boy.”
His big body began to shake, and for a moment, Savannah thought he was going to burst into tears or start screaming in rage. But he did neither. He fought for control and gained it. “I should apologize to you, too. I wasn’t as forthcoming there at first as I should have been. Not with either one of you, and that was a waste of time. Time that we don’t have waste.” He drew a deep breath. “I’ll tell you anything you want. All of it. Just ask.”
“Good.” Savannah walked over and stood next to him. “Start with giving me the phone number and address of your wife’s ex . . . the guy who cried when the duck bit him.”
“But I told you that he—”
“I know what you told me,” Savannah said. “But I can tell you that when a woman goes missing it’s almost always at the hands of some dude who, at one time or another, held her in his arms and told her that he loved her more than life itself. It’s almost always an ex-husband or former boyfriend. Or whatever guy she was involved with on the day she died.”
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