Cop by Her Side. Janice Kay Johnson
two waffles in the toaster popped up, and Jane hadn’t even taken a bite of her first one. She had an attack of guilt for being such a pig. Poor Drew probably hadn’t had a bite, and here she was wanting to stuff her face to make up for missing dinner.
“I’m going to eat your waffle, too, if you don’t want it,” she said, pitching her voice above the wails.
Alexis cried harder.
Jane sat down, staring at her breakfast and discovering suddenly that her stomach was churning. Sighing, she pushed the plate away and stood, going to Alexis and picking her up.
* * *
DÉJÀ VU.
With no windows in the small room where Clay assumed family members were brought when the news wasn’t good, day could just as well be night. He had used this same room to interview Drew yesterday evening. Now they were at it again.
Seeing his ravaged face, Clay felt some sympathy for the guy. But not so much that he wasn’t going to push today, and push hard. Clay couldn’t get the missing little girl out of his mind. If Drew Wilson had a secret, he was, by God, going to spill it.
“Let’s talk again about what your wife said before she left. Had she told you in advance that she needed to do an errand? Say, the evening before, or that morning?”
The chair scraped as Drew lurched back. “I’ve told you and told you!”
“Tell me again.”
“No! Why would she give me a lot of notice that, oh, gee, she needed some hair gel and tampons and she was going to run to the pharmacy?”
“Is that what she said she needed?” Clay asked thoughtfully. “Was it that time of month for her?”
The other man let out a hoarse sound. “How would I know? She didn’t say, I didn’t ask. We didn’t—”
Clay watched for every twitch on that face. “Did you sleep together the night before?”
“Yes!” A flush spread on his cheeks. “We just didn’t—”
Was the embarrassment because this guy was too repressed to talk about sex, or had he and his wife not had sex in so long, he’d lost track of anything like monthly cycles? If it was the second, that had a whole lot to say about the state of the marriage.
Clay made a point of relaxing in his chair, letting that subject go, if only temporarily. “Okay. So when did she tell you she needed to run an errand?”
“Five minutes before she went.” A nerve twitched beside his eye. “Longer than that, I guess,” he said reluctantly. “She and Bree went at it for a while.”
Clay walked him through the scene. Melissa had already had her purse over her shoulder and her keys in her hand when she announced that she was going out for a few things. Drew had asked where. Rite Aid, she said. Had she asked if he needed anything? Drew claimed not to remember, which meant no. He’d been the one to say, “Will you buy me some athlete’s foot powder?” Right after that discussion, their daughter had pounced. She wanted to go. Mom said no. Bree pleaded. Drew had finally asked his wife why she couldn’t take Bree since it was just a short errand. Clay saw the way his face tightened. His answers became more and more terse. Something about that squabble had bothered Drew, or the whole thing had blown up into a major fight. But the more Clay drilled, the more evasive Drew got.
Clay circled back with more questions about the guy’s job hunt, his wife’s job, how she felt about the possibility of selling their home and moving. Had all this created some tension in the marriage?
Jane’s brother-in-law conceded that there had been some tension. Lissa loved her job and didn’t want to give it up. He didn’t like knowing she was having to carry the financial burden right now. The kids might have overheard enough to guess their parents weren’t happy.
When had he lost his job? April. Since he was home daytimes anyway, and their budget had to be a little tighter, had they considered not putting their daughters in the summer day camp? Of course they’d talked about it, but both of them were sure Drew would be getting a job any day, and then it might be too late to find quality day care. Besides, Lissa had been sure the girls needed the socialization with other kids their age. How much did it cost? Clay winced at the answer. It was a major chunk of change, in his opinion.
They went on and on, Drew’s answers terse while his eyes got wilder, until he suddenly jumped to his feet. “None of this has anything to do with where my daughter is! Why are you here instead of doing your job?”
“Mr. Wilson, I understand it’s distressing having to answer these kinds of questions, but I am doing my job in asking them.” Clay kept his tone deliberately soothing. “Part of any investigation is making sure family members don’t play a part. We are looking hard for your daughter, I promise you. Finding Bree is the first priority of the entire sheriff’s department.”
Drew stared sullenly at him. “Well, I’m done.” He pushed the chair away and walked out. By the time Clay followed, all he saw was Drew’s back as he disappeared through the double doors into ICU.
Clay leaned a shoulder against the door frame and mulled over the conversation. None of the answers had been surprising in any way, but he still felt a tingle that told him there was something there. Drew Wilson knew or suspected more about his wife’s errand than he was letting on. And maybe he had deliberately pushed her to take their daughter because he thought having her along would mean Melissa indeed went to Rite Aid instead of wherever she’d intended.
An affair?
That could be interesting, Clay thought. But if so—why hadn’t Melissa changed her plans and done the routine errand instead? Maybe called her lover and said, “Sorry, can’t make it?”
Clay didn’t know, but he was wondering. He was wondering about a lot of things.
For instance, her job. She was a bookkeeper. Nothing fancy like an accountant. Nonetheless, bookkeepers up on QuickBooks and whatever other software they used nowadays were surely in demand enough that she could get another job easily. Drew, on the other hand, was a mechanical engineer. His skills had required considerably more training, and were more specialized. There wasn’t a lot of the kind of manufacturing that required mechanical engineers in these parts. He’d be bound to earn a hell of a lot more than his wife when he was working, too. How could they not move so that he could find a job in his profession?
This time the tingle was tantalizing enough, it seemed to raise fine hairs on the back of Clay’s neck.
Visiting Melissa Wilson’s workplace had just risen to the top of his list of priorities.
* * *
CLAY DIDN’T MUCH like James Stillwell, Melissa’s boss and the owner of Stillwell Trucking. Of course, there were a lot of people he didn’t like, yet who were nevertheless law-abiding citizens.
Stillwell was a little older than he’d expected, at least if Melissa was sleeping with him. Fifty, maybe, although not bad looking for his age and if a woman liked the type. Five foot nine or so, he was lean and fit. Tanned as if he spent time out on a boat. Silver threaded his salon-cut hair and shone at his temples. His eyes were as blue as Clay’s, but projected sincerity in a way Clay didn’t trust.
“Heartbreaking,” he declared, shaking his head. With a surprisingly resonant voice, he’d have made a hell of a disc jockey. “I’ve stopped by the hospital twice now, but they won’t let me in to see her.”
That would be on Clay’s orders, even assuming Intensive Care staff would otherwise have been willing to allow people who weren’t family to troop through.
“Sit, sit,” Stillwell said, waving expansively at the conversation area on one side of his sizable office.
Could be it was the office he didn’t like, Clay reflected. A trucking company should be utilitarian, shouldn’t it? The exterior of the building was. A long row of loading bays dominated it. He shouldn’t