Chapter 34
Pierce watched as his friend emotionally collapsed.
“I just don’t understand why we haven’t found her!
” Jamison said, pacing back and forth on the patio surrounding his pool.
In running gear, he appeared haggard, his face more lined than Pierce recalled, his overall demeanor tense and agitated.
Unshaven and with dark circles beneath his eyes, Jamison looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
He probably hadn’t.
Which was no surprise.
The news wasn’t good.
Naomi was still missing, and as it was Monday, nearly two days had passed since her car had been dragged from the river.
Now the sun was sinking ever lower in the western sky, a few fading rays glinting off the waterfall that fed the deep end of the pool. Mockingbirds called from the nearby trees, a yellow jacket buzzed determinedly over the lip of the pool, and in the distance, a train was rumbling on its tracks.
Meanwhile, the effort to find Jamison’s missing wife was ongoing.
Helicopters and dogs had been brought in, and a search team had been scouring the shoreline and forest around the bend in the river. More divers had delved into the water, only to come up empty, and Jamison had arrived to pace the shoreline and stare, grim-faced, at the river.
Currently, the forensic team was still going over every inch of the Mercedes.
Her phone had been located in her purse inside the vehicle, and Jamison had provided them with her password, so her texts, messages, scrolling history, and calls were being studied.
More investigators had descended on Jamison’s home, with his blessing, and he’d supplied access codes to all of the computers and electronic equipment in the house.
The investigators had promptly unplugged the computers and taken them to be analyzed.
“We’ll locate her,” Pierce said. “But we could use the public’s help.”
“I know, I know. I’ve got a press conference scheduled,” Jamison snapped, his nerves obviously strung to the breaking point.
“In front of the station. I’m just waiting for Naomi’s parents.
They’re settling into the condo they keep in town.
They never sold it when they moved. They use it as an Airbnb and are going to stay there with the girls.
Then all of us, as a family, will make a plea for her safety. ”
“Including your daughters?” Pierce asked, surprised. “You’re going to have them there? In front of the cameras?” He’d heard that Jamison was making a statement to the media from Vivian Johnson, the public information officer, but he hadn’t known that Naomi’s daughters were going to be involved.
“They won’t speak, of course. I wouldn’t make them go through that.
But I’ll talk, and possibly Roxie or Naomi’s mom will.
I figure if someone’s got her, if she’s been kidnapped or something else has happened, and we make a public plea for her safety, it will help for the girls to be visible.
Maybe the culprit or someone who knows what happened, but wasn’t going to say anything, will come forward.
An accomplice or confidante or someone who wasn’t planning to get involved.
Maybe they’ll see my girls and have second thoughts and crack. ”
When Pierce didn’t respond, Jamison threw up his hands as if giving up. “I really don’t know what to do here,” he admitted. “It’s not like I’ve ever been on this end of a missing-person case.” He exhaled in frustration and squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to erase a painful image.
“Whatever you think is best,” Pierce said.
“I wish I knew.” His eyes opened, and he squinted into the setting sun. “I just wish I knew.”
In the distance, beyond the tree line, the Kittles’ dogs began to put up a ruckus. First one, then several of the dogs commenced barking.
“Those damned hounds!” Jamison said, his gaze swinging to the tree line.
“I started out with one hunting dog, then another younger one, and Naomi, she went wild. Bred the two and started this … this family of hounds. She really got into it. Was all about their bloodlines or whatever.” He glared at the thick copse of pine and live oak as if he could quiet the dogs by simply willing it.
He was a powder keg, looking for an excuse to blow up.
Not a good time to bring up a bad subject, but Pierce had a job to do.
“Was?” Pierce repeated, noting the past tense.
“Gave up on it. A few months back. Lost interest. She still takes care of them, but without the same passion, I guess you’d say. Maybe now … well, hell, who knows?”
Pierce decided to broach the subject that had been weighing on him. “You know that Naomi was seeing Knox Quinlan?”
Jamison’s head whipped around. “What?” he snapped. “What do you mean, seeing him? Like she was running into him?”
“Like seeing him romantically.”
Jamison barked out a laugh. “Oh, right.” Then he caught Pierce’s sober expression. “You’re kidding, right? That’s supposed to be funny. You can’t be … I mean, you’re not serious.”
“Not kidding,” Pierce assured him.
Jamison shook his head, his dark hair catching the lowering sun’s rays. “No way. I mean there’s just no way.”
“Old boyfriend,” Pierce pointed out.
“Oh, come on.” Jamison snorted, then gave Pierce a long look.
“Well … yeah, they were together a long time ago, but—” He held up both hands, palms out as if warding off any arguments.
“No. That was over a long time ago. The guy’s a loser.
Was way back when and still is. She ditched Quinlan as soon as we got together. ”
“I remember. But old feelings die hard.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Just letting you know. When we talked a while back, you mentioned that you and Naomi had hit a rough patch in your marriage.”
“Everyone has them,” he said defensively, his back starting to go up. “It’s natural and, you know, midlife. But it isn’t a big deal. Just a communication problem. We were going to fix that this weekend.”
“And try for another baby.”
“Rrrighhht,” Jamison said, but his thoughts were seemingly churning, his eyes growing dark. “Naomi wouldn’t … I mean there’s just no way she would …” His voice trailed off.
Pierce could only guess that Jamison was remembering.
A feeling of unease? That something wasn’t quite right?
Dates that had been unexpectedly broken?
Hours unaccounted for? Times when his wife was distracted, in her own world?
Or had he found little clues that didn’t add up and wondered about what secrets she kept?
Well, now Jamison knew.
And he didn’t appreciate it.
“I find it hard to believe,” he said tightly, his anger surmounting his fear.
“They’ve been seen together at the riding academy.”
Jamison’s expression hardened. “Naomi takes Shana there. Maybe they ran into each other. Knox, he’s a rancher, probably supplies some of the livestock or …”
“Nikki talked to him. He didn’t deny it.”
“Nikki?” Jamison repeated, his face flushed, nostrils flaring. “Your wife? A reporter? He told her. But not the police?”
“Not yet. But he’s coming in for questioning.”
“He volunteered?” Jamison asked in obvious disbelief.
“No. He was reluctant but didn’t argue about it. I’m on my way back to the station now.”
“Fine.” Jamison reached into his pocket for his car keys. “Let’s go!”
“No. Just me.”
“I’m the ADA,” Jamison declared.
“You’re the husband,” Reed reminded him.
“Exactly! And I want answers.”
“You know how this goes. Protocol.”
“Fuck protocol!” Jamison was already striding along the edge of the pool toward the garage and his BMW.
“Hey! Stop!” Pierce caught up to him and grabbed his elbow.
Fists balled, Jamison whipped around. His eyes were bright, his teeth clenched, and he was itching to throw the first punch.
Bruised male pride surfaced. “You’re telling me that my missing wife is having an affair, cheating on me, risking everything we have for some ex-con boyfriend and then you expect me to what—just sit on my goddamned hands?
” His fury was palpable, radiating off him, and every muscle in his body was tense, ready to explode.
Fine.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Pierce braced himself, his own fists clenching.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a fistfight or who it was with, but he would bet his pension it was in a match with a younger, headstrong, winner-at-all-costs Jamison Kittle.
One of those drunken, college tests of manhood when someone says the wrong thing, and all of a sudden you’re in a wrestling match.
Pierce had been in more than his share. Back in the day.
Sometimes with his friend. And in those stupid, testosterone- and alcohol-infused matches against athletic, no-holds-barred Jamison, Pierce had invariably lost.
Kittle had claimed victory.
Always.
But not this time.
The sounds of the afternoon seemed to mute as he focused on his angry friend. The soft splashing of the waterfall faded, the chirps of mocking birds muted, even the drone of insects disappeared.
“Careful,” Pierce warned his friend as Jamison, on the balls of his feet, started to circle him, looking for a soft spot to land the first, lightning-fast punch.
“Use your head, Jamison. If Knox has anything to do with Naomi’s disappearance, we want to nail him.
Legally. Don’t do anything that would fuck it up.
” Pierce moved, keeping his eyes focused on his friend.
He knew Jamison was a time bomb, ready to explode, needing to pound out his frustration in a burst of energy that would mean quick-fire jabs to Pierce’s ribs.
If he let him.
Jamison glared at him, a muscle working overtime in his jaw. His lips barely moved as he said, “I just want to …”
“Beat the shit out of him,” Pierce said and didn’t shift his gaze away from Jamison’s eyes. “I know. But this isn’t the way. Be smart, Jamison. Brains over brawn. Let’s nail him.”
Jamison drew back. Pulsing with repressed fury. There was no changing his mind. A fight simmered in the air.
Pierce could smell it.
And he was ready.