The Stranger
Page 42

The county swinging dicks would spend a long time looking at Marty as the perp. He hadn’t done it. Johanna knew that, but there’d be no point in trying to explain, because the truth was, she knew because, well, she knew. The county dicks would laugh that off and talk about the percentage of murders like this being committed by the husband. Fine with her. And who knew? Maybe they were right (they weren’t), but either way, the county dicks could go in that direction. She’d try others.
Marty nodded numbly. “Yeah, okay.”
“So you just got home, right?”
“Yeah. I was at a convention in Columbus.”
No reason to ask for confirmation. The county dicks could chase that down. “So what happened?”
“I parked in the driveway.” His voice was flat and very far away somehow, beyond detached. “I opened the door with my key. I called out to Heidi—I knew she was home because her car was there. I walked into the den and . . .” Marty’s face twisted into something barely human and then collapsed into something all too human.
Normally, Johanna would give a grieving spouse time to recover, but the county dicks would be here soon. “Marty?”
He tried to regain his composure.
“Is anything missing?”
“What?”
“Like in a robbery.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t see anything missing. But I didn’t really look.”
A robbery, she knew, was unlikely. The contents of the house didn’t have a lot of value, for one thing. For another, Heidi’s engagement ring, which Johanna knew had been her grandmother’s and was the most expensive thing she owned, was still on her finger. A thief would have taken that for certain.
“Marty?”
“Yeah?”
“Who’s the first person to pop into your head?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who might have done this?”
Marty stopped and thought about it. Then his face twisted up again. “You know my Heidi, Johanna.”
Know. Still using the present tense.
“She doesn’t have an enemy in the world.”
Johanna took out her notepad. She opened it to an empty page and stared at it and hoped that no one would see her eyes well up. “Think, Marty.”
“I am.” He let out a moan. “Oh my God, I have to tell Kimberly and the boys. How am I going to tell them?”
“I can help with that, if you’d like.”
Marty leapt on that like onto a lifeboat. “Would you?” He was a nice guy, Johanna thought, but no way had he ever been good enough for someone like Heidi. Heidi was special. Heidi was the kind of person who always made everyone around her feel special. Simply put, Heidi was magic.
“The kids adore you, you know. So did Heidi. She’d want you to be the one.”
Johanna kept her eyes on the blank page. “Has anything happened lately?”
“What? You mean, anything like this?”
“I mean, anything like anything. Have you gotten any frightening calls? Did Heidi get in an argument with someone at Macy’s? Did someone cut her off in traffic on 271? Did she give someone the finger when they cut the line at Jack’s? Anything.”
He slowly shook his head.
“Come on, Marty. Think.”
“Nothing,” he said. He looked up at her, his face lined with anguish. “I got nothing.”
“What’s going on here?”
The authoritative voice came from behind her, and Johanna knew that her time was up. She stood and faced two county dicks. She introduced herself. They eyed her as though she might steal silverware, and then they told her that they would take over now.
And so they would. Johanna would let them. They had experience at this, and Heidi deserved the best. Johanna headed out, content to let the homicide detectives do their thing.
But she’d be damned if that meant she wasn’t going to do her thing too.
Chapter 27
Are your kids home?” Len Gilman asked.
Adam shook his head. The five of them were still standing on the curb. Len Gilman didn’t look like a cop, though he had the gruff part down to an art form. He reminded Adam of one of those aging motorcycle gang members who still wears leather and hangs out in dive bars. Gilman’s graying handlebar mustache had yellow nicotine stains. He favored short-sleeved shirts, even when in uniform, and had enough hair on his arms to be mistaken for a bear.
For a moment, no one moved, just five town dads hanging by the curb on a Thursday night.
This made no sense, Adam thought, and maybe that was a good thing.
If Len Gilman had come here in his capacity as a police officer to deliver the worst kind of news, why would he bring Tripp, Gaston, and Cal with him?
“Maybe we could go inside,” Len said, “and talk.”
“What’s this about?”
“It’s better if we do this in private.”
Adam was tempted to say that they were in private, on the curb in front of his lawn where no one else could hear them, but Len was already starting up the walk and Adam didn’t want to do anything that might delay the conversation any more. The other three men waited for Adam. Gaston had his head down, studying the grass. Cal was jittery, but that was pretty much his default state. Tripp was noncommittal.
Adam moved in behind Len, the other three trailing on the path. When they got to the door, Len stepped aside and let Adam use the key. Jersey the dog rushed toward them, nails clacking on the hardwood, but, perhaps sensing something wasn’t quite right, her greeting was muted and perfunctory. Jersey quickly sized up the situation and slinked back to the kitchen.
The house fell into silence, the kind of silence that seemed deliberate, as though even the walls and furniture were conspiring to keep everything still. Adam didn’t bother with niceties. He didn’t ask anyone if they wanted to take a seat or have a drink. Len Gilman headed into the living room, as though he either owned the place or was a cop comfortable in his own skin.
“What’s going on?” Adam asked.
Len did the talking for the group. “Where is Corinne?”
Two things hit Adam at once. First: relief. If she’d been hurt or worse, Len would know where she was. So whatever was going on here, even if it was something bad, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario. Second: fear. Because, yes, Corinne seemed safe for the moment, but whatever this visit entailed, by both this show of force and the tone of Len’s voice, it was indeed going to be something bad.
“She’s not home,” Adam said.