Moment of Doubt

by Sara Gauldin

  “It looks like she worked as a PA and a webpage designer,” I said.

  Jennings whistled. “So if she’s the third victim, we know that these three people were in the same line of work.”

  I nodded. “They may have competed for the same job.” I bundled my hair into a bun to get it out of my way, so I could focus on the screen. It was time to update my resume.

  “What are you working on over there?” Genevieve asked.

  “I’m posting my resume.”

  She smirked. “You’ve been unemployed for over a year.”

  That stung a little. “True, but that’s not the point. I’m not applying for police work. I’ll model my qualifications after Dana’s and see what I can get.”

  “You’re using yourself as bait?” Jennings asked, his brow furrowed.

  “No, I’m not using my actual name.” I was tired of being bait, and being chased, but this killer wasn’t going to just wander in and turn themselves in without a reason to show up.

  Genevieve smiled. “That might just work, but I think we need several lines in the water. Let’s create a few accounts. It may take a little while to come up with the resumes.”

  I pulled up Dana’s resume, trying to block the memory of her painting her nails sitting on the foot of my bed when I was a kid. “Look, we can write our own, but I’d recycle some details from our victims’ resumes. We only need to change them enough to seem like a different person.”

  Jennings shook his head with a look of resignation. “All right, but nobody should respond to any queries alone.”

  “Agreed.” Genevieve gave me a warning look. I felt like I was being scolded by my parents.

  “All right, I hear you.” I grinned.

  ***

  It took me most of the morning to create and post my bait resumes. There was nothing to do but wait on the drunken Mr. Mangrum or the jobfinder site, so Genevieve and I headed out to question Cynthia Ellis. We didn’t ask why nobody interviewed her; that was a question for another time.

  Jeffery Ellis’s wife lived on the outskirts of town. We pulled up at her oversized brick ranch house.

  “Jeffery Ellis worked for a non-profit?” I pointed at the gigantic house and its manicured lawn.

  “Well, we don’t know yet what Cynthia Ellis does for a living,” Genevieve said. “But we can find out.” She unbuckled her seat belt and checked her gun.

  I followed her example. “Let’s find out what she knows.”

  We reached the door, and I rang the bell. I waited, examining the area for any signs of something astray. Everything looked too tidy.

  A petite woman with dark, curled hair answered the door. She was as put together as the house; there was no hair astray, and her makeup was perfect. She reminded me a little of Tori Kain, Ryan’s sister. The false perfection of it all made me uncomfortable.

  “I’m agent Genevieve Richards, this is my associate. We’d like to speak with Cynthia Ellis, please.”

  “I’m Cynthia Ellis. But I won’t be giving a statement today.”

  I tried not to let my shock show. “Mrs. Ellis, we are here to help the local authorities find out what happened to your husband.”

  “I think it’s obvious what happened to him. Someone killed him. You shouldn’t need me to clarify that for you,” she said.

  I drew myself up to my full height and looked at Cynthia Ellis eye to eye. “It seems obvious to me that you should want your husband’s killer to be brought to justice.”

  “If by brought to justice, you mean pinned on me as his spouse, then you have another think coming. I won’t be answering questions.”

  Genevieve stepped toward Cynthia. “Mrs. Ellis, coming here is a courtesy, we can question you here, or we can bring you to the station. Your cooperation is also a courtesy but not a necessity.”

  “My client will not be answering questions today.” I knew that voice. My stomach did a flip flop before my father stepped into the doorway. He was flushed pink and flustered. He was wearing the reading glasses I knew he hated.

  “Hello,” I said, waving.

  His eyes bulged. “Avery, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I could say the same for you.” I was never good at arguing with my father. He was a kind soul.

  Genevieve looked back and forth between my father and I. “Do you know each other?”

  “Yes, Genevieve Richards, meet Bill Rich, my father.”

  Genevieve held out her hand, and my father shook it. Neither looked comfortable with the surprise reunion.

  Dad shook his head. “As I was saying, my client isn’t available for questioning. I would suggest that you take your investigation down another avenue.”

  “Dad, Bill, I mean, Mr. Rich. I appreciate that Mrs. Ellis is inconvenienced by our visit. But we can’t eliminate Mrs. Ellis as a person of interest until we speak to her and hear her version of the events leading up to her husband’s disappearance.”

  “Her husband didn’t just disappear.” Genevieve meant business. “Someone flayed, tortured, cut to bits, froze, and dumped him. We don’t know why. And we can’t guarantee your client’s safety.”

  “Safety? Cynthia, you didn’t say you were in danger,” Bill Rich said to his client. “Give us a minute.” Dad shut the door in our faces.

  “So, he’s your dad. Did you know?”

  “That he was in town, yes. But I didn’t tell him I was here.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “This could complicate things.”

  “Let’s hope not,” I sighed.

  The door opened before I could elaborate. My father waved for us to enter the house. “Mrs. Ellis will answer a few questions. But I decide when she can answer, and I decide when we’re done.”

  “Agreed,” Genevieve answered before I could argue that he was being unreasonable. What did Cynthia Ellis have to hide? Why did she contact my father, a contract lawyer to defend her when she hadn’t even been accused? My head spun as I tried to put it all together.

  Dad showed us to a formal dining room. “Have a seat.”

  A million questions I wanted to ask my father spun in my head, but those would have to wait. We were here to speak with Cynthia, not Dad. “Mrs. Ellis, tell me about the last time you saw your husband.”

  Cynthia looked at my father. He gave her a nod of approval. “It was last November the twentieth. He left for work. He didn’t come home.”

  “Was that unusual for your husband?” Genevieve asked.

  Cynthia took a sip of something from her coffee mug. I doubted it was coffee. “Yeah, my husband not coming home was unusual.”

  “When did you realize he was missing?” I asked.

  Cynthia glanced at my father once again. I tried not to comment on their strange dynamic. “We planned to meet for dinner that night. I went to Romero’s. It’s an upscale restaurant on Hill Street. He never showed up.”

  “You planned to go out to dinner?” Genevieve asked. “Were you celebrating something?”

  Cynthia sighed with derision. “We weren’t celebrating anything. Jeff never showed up.”

  Genevieve sat up straight and looked Cynthia in the eye. She was every bit as put together as Cynthia, perhaps more so now that I could see Cynthia’s frayed demeanor. “Did you plan to celebrate something, before your husband didn’t show up?”

  “Yes, we planned to celebrate his job interview.”

  “You said he went to work that morning. When was his interview?” I asked.

  “He went to work like normal. He had an interview at two o’clock.”

  “And did he go to it?” I asked.

  Cynthia took another sip of whatever was in her cup. “He called me and said he was on his way. He was nervous.”

  “What was the name of the company he was interviewing with?” Genevieve asked.

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t disclosed. We only had the job description,” Cynthia said.

  “That’s not unusual these days. It helps companies pre-screen their candidates,” Dad
added.

  “Do you still have the job description?” I asked.

  “Yes, Jeff emailed me. I can send it to you.”

  “That would be very helpful,” Genevieve said.

  “Did you hear from him after the interview?” I asked.

  “No, I waited. I didn’t want to call, in case he was still in the interview.”

  “That sounds very reasonable,” Genevieve said.

  “For the record, I had no reason to kill my husband.” Cynthia sneered.

  “Cynthia, no more,” my father warned.

  “No, they should know that he was with me for my money, not the other way around,” she said.

  “Interesting. I was more curious about why your husband was looking for a new job,” I said.

  “Oh, he needed one. I can’t keep up his lifestyle.”

  “That’s enough questions,” Dad interrupted.

  “There’s just one more thing I need to ask.” I tried to hold Cynthia’s eye contact to keep her from asking Dad’s permission to answer. “It’s not about the marriage or the money.”

  “Only if I approve it,” Dad said.

  “I want to know if either of you is involved with the arts. Especially sculpture.”

  “The arts? What has that go to do with anything?” Dad asked.

  “It does, please answer the question,” Genevieve said.

  Cynthia looked at my father.

  “I’ll allow it.”

  “Fine, yes. We contributed some money to the Kirchhof Museum for an exhibit. It’s a good tax write off.

  “Any artist in particular?” Genevieve asked.

  “I don’t remember. That was more Jeff’s thing than mine.”

  “The Kirchhof Museum, when did you donate?” I asked.

  My dad gave me a confused look. He had no way to know that somebody carved up Cynthia’s husband like an arts and crafts project.

  “It was back in October, well before the tax deadline.”

  “I’m sure everything is in order.” Genevieve tried to look reassuring. “Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to hurt your husband?”

  “No, he always said his boss was a jerk, but I thought he just wanted to take on an easier job.”

  “Well, I know this is a bad time. Thank you for answering our questions.” Genevieve stood up, ending the interview before I was ready.

  “That’s all?” Cynthia asked.

  “For now,” Genevieve said.

  “Oh, well that wasn’t what I expected,” she said.

  I shot my dad a look. Something about his client was very superficial.

  Genevieve handed Cynthia a card. “We may need to speak to you again. Stay in town. And call us if you think of anything unusual about your husband’s last days, no matter how small.

  Cynthia took the card and put it on the table. “I will.”

  ***

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking my train of thought. “What now,” I grumbled to myself. I pulled out the phone, hoping it would be some cheerful message from Jesse. No such luck, instead the message was from Gina.

  Avery… wanted to touch base. Your listing is up. I have a couple who’s interested in renting it out next ski season. We went up to check it out. I hope that’s okay. I emailed you but never heard anything from you.

  “Well, you could have texted me like you just did,” I grumbled to myself. Renting the cabin out was a mistake. I needed to cut ties with the memories, Gina, and the whole darn town. Sometimes, it was better that way, cleaner.

  The irony that my dad was back in the town he left “forever” hit me. I shook my head. It was time to make the phone call. I waved at Genevieve to head to the car and walked down the sidewalk a little way. It was time to deal with this mess.

  Gina picked up after two rings. “Avery!” she spoke with too much enthusiasm.

  “Hi, how are you?” It was hard to be short with someone who sounded that enthusiastic.

  “I’m fabulous. So, I guess you got my text. I didn’t realize you were working out of town. I hope all is well.”

  I wracked my brain. Had I told Gina I planned to visit my father? “Everything is fine.” Except for your creepy fascination with my life, I thought.

  “Great! So for the rentals, have you thought about which of the pricing packages you want to go with? It would help if I knew which one to pitch.”

  I braced myself, somehow letting Gina down when she seemed so excited felt wrong. “I was calling you to tell you I think I’d be better off selling the cabin. There’s no reason for me to return once I get the rest of my things. Most of the furniture can go with it—it came furnished, and I don’t mind selling it that way.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll get right on that. If you don’t mind, it may take a few days to work up all the contracts.” Gina’s voice sounded flat.

  “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to spring this on you, but the more I thought about it, the more it just seemed like the right time to close the door on the cabin.”

  Chapter 13

  The commander called Genevieve as soon as we made it back to the car. I watched her pacing in front of the car while I waited inside. I could tell by her reaction that it wasn’t good news. She ended the call and opened the driver’s side door.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “They found another body, likely that of Holly Mangrum, near the same area as the first two. It was a surprise considering the area was an active crime scene.” Genevieve drove to the scene like we were being chased, but after the events of yesterday, we couldn’t even rule that out.

  It was the second time I had been to the remote lakeside location since I was back in town. “I thought this area was being monitored, no one in or out,” I grumbled to Genevieve.

  “That’s the strange thing. The cameras didn’t pick up anyone coming or going, and neither did patrol.”

  I chewed my lip. “Well, that settles it, our killer is a ghost.”

  Genevieve put the car in park. “It seems that way. There must be another trail to this area that we didn’t put cameras on.”

  I hopped out of the car and headed down toward the dock. “Or they could have used a boat.” I pointed to a Kayak rental rack a ways down the bank.

  Commander Jennings pulled up next to Genevieve’s loaner car. He stepped out and headed our direction.

  “I think the boat is more likely. A fishing group found the body this morning about forty yards downstream.

  “Was it…” I didn’t want to think about the mutilated bodies, but there was no way to avoid the reality of it.

  “I’m afraid so,” Jennings volunteered. “My officer told me that the head came up on a fishing hook. The poor guy that caught it thought he caught a good-sized fish until a head came bobbing up instead.”

  “Oh no,” Genevieve said.

  “That would be the end of my fishing days for sure,” Commander Jennings said.

  I nodded in agreement. “Have they found the rest of the body?”

  He shook his head. “Well, parts of it. This time, the killer didn’t dump any of the remains on the shore, not that we can find. It looks like whoever brought the body here put all of it in the water.”

  Genevieve wrote something in her notebook. Tucking the pen behind her ear, she looked up at me. “What’s your impression of this body dump?”

  I paused for a moment and looked around the shabby campsite area next to the boat ramp. “Well, the perp has dumped three bodies in the same general area. We have someone who is observant, or somehow they were tipped off. I think this place must have some significance to him or her. I also think the killer knows too much. They knew about the trail cameras and surveillance. They were cautious enough to change what they were doing and to adapt to the changes. We also have someone who isn’t interested in hiding the bodies.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jennings asked. “They dumped the bodies in the woods and near the water.”

  “Right, but Dana’s death was all ov
er the news. The killer must know that we found the body, so they know the spot is no secret. Yet, they dropped another body here. They keep coming back to this spot for a reason.”

  “I agree,” Genevieve said. “But the real question is what the reason is. This person is risking it all to drag body bits to a place where they know someone will find them.”

  I looked at the expectant expressions on Genevieve and Commander Jennings's faces and found myself once again in the parent-child situation. “Well, there are two ways to look at this. Either the killer is so unstable they can’t reason any of this through, and they are acting out something we can’t understand.”

  “Or what?” Jennings asked.

  I chewed my lip for a moment as I considered his question. “Or the killer is performing for an audience. Dropping the body here is fulfilling something—it’s sending a message.”

  “Sending a message to whom? The police?” Jennings asked. His normal ruddy color intensified, as he realized a threat to his department and not just his community.

  “Maybe, but there’s no way to know for sure. Not yet.”

  A uniformed officer jogged up to the boat ramp where we were standing. “Excuse me, sir.” He was addressing the commander.

  “Yes, Reynolds.”

  I looked at the officer more closely. I realized I remembered this man, Noah Reynolds. He had been overweight when I worked for the department, but now he was fit. It made him look ten years younger.

  Reynolds paused and gave me a strange look. I wondered if he remembered me. “Sir, Morris just radioed in that the dive team brought up a leg from about one hundred yards downstream. Also, they found a boat anchored to the bank a mile away.”

  “Is there any reason to think the boat is connected to this? I’d hate to confiscate somebody’s fishing boat if it’s just tied off for them to go on shore.”

  “There’s no way to know, sir. It’s the only boat we’ve found nearby, except the fishing tournament guy’s boats.”

  “All right. Tag the location, and tow the boat back here. We have to check it out to be sure.”

  Reynolds nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  I chewed my lip, trying to decide whether to step on my former commander’s toes with my request. “Maybe we should check out the area. If they used the boat for the body drop, the suspect may still be nearby.”