Chapter Four #2
Dylan answered in a sharp tone. “We texted during the day and talked every night.”
Billings let it go. He caught his partner’s eye and shifted his gaze to Olivia, then the door.
Hasty’s radio crackled. She listened for a second, then reached to her duty belt and turned down the volume. Walking toward Olivia, she said, “I’d like to speak with you outside.”
On her way toward the door, Olivia heard Billings say, “Your wife is not required to report her presence to you. If she turned off her phone, maybe she doesn’t want you to find her.”
Olivia followed Hasty outside before Dylan responded. The clouds had passed, and the sun warmed the air. But Olivia was still chilled and slid her arms into her jacket.
Hasty studied Olivia for a second. “You’re the reporter who was kidnapped a few years ago.”
“Yes.”
Hasty lifted her phone. “I looked you up. You’re a big deal. You won two George Polk Awards. That’s one of the most prestigious awards in journalism.”
“Correct.”
“I read the piece you did on suicide in law enforcement a while back. It was spot-on. Actually, so spot-on, it was hard to read.” Hasty grimaced.
“It was hard to write.”
Hasty’s gaze was assessing. She jerked her chin toward the apartment door. “Does the place always look like that?”
“Yes. Zoe is not neat.”
Hasty tilted her head. “Has she ever mentioned being afraid of her husband?”
“No.”
“Do they fight often?”
“Not that I’m aware,” Olivia said. “I mean, everyone argues.” Except her and Lincoln. Occasionally, they had disagreements, like whether A New Hope or The Empire Strikes Back was the best Star Wars film.
Hasty’s focus tightened on her face. “So they did fight?”
Olivia regretted her answer for a second. No. Finding Zoe was more important than a little embarrassment over marital spats. “She might have mentioned being irritated with him a time or two. Nothing more serious than that.”
“Do you remember any specific incidents?”
“My boyfriend and I met them for dinner a few weeks ago. Dylan made them late. Zoe was irritated with him. Like I said, minor stuff.”
“But you don’t think she was afraid of him?” Hasty didn’t use a notebook. Her attention remained uncomfortably riveted on Olivia. It felt as if she would remember every word of their conversation.
Olivia chose her words carefully. How well did she really know Dylan? “She’s never mentioned it.”
“How long have you been friends with her?”
“A little over fifteen years. We met when we were both journalists with the same newspaper.” They’d had some adventures for sure.
The cop nodded. “And you both left to go into true crime?”
“Eventually, yes. The print newspaper is a thing of the past.” Journalism had changed. Olivia wanted the freedom to pursue the stories she chose, and she would not measure her work by the number of clicks her articles generated.
“How often do you see each other?” Hasty asked.
“A few times a month?” Olivia guessed. “Sometimes more, sometimes less. It depends on our lives and careers. We don’t talk or text every day, but our friendship is solid.
I know if I needed help, Zoe would be there for me.
When we worked together, she always had my back—and I had hers.
Once, I was doing a piece on women being victimized at shelters.
I went undercover as an unhoused person.
Zoe followed me everywhere, also disguised.
She refused to let me out of her sight. This went on for weeks until we discovered that it was one of the shelter personnel who was raping the women.
” A quick shudder passed through Olivia as she remembered.
“Anyway, that’s how I know Zoe wouldn’t have missed our meeting today unless something happened to her.
She knows how important today is for me.
She would never let me down, not today.”
Hasty raised a brow.
Olivia explained, “It’s the three-year anniversary of my kidnapping.”
“Oh.” Hasty made a note. “So if she was having serious marital issues, she’d probably tell you?”
“If she wanted a sounding board or advice, yes,” Olivia answered. “But she wouldn’t complain just to complain.”
The cop took in her careful answer. “How long have Zoe and Dylan been married?”
“Not quite ten years.”
“In the wedding photo, she looks older than him.”
Olivia bristled. “Yes, by eight years.”
“Is the age gap a source of friction between them?” the cop asked.
“I don’t know.” But Olivia knew that Zoe was self-conscious, especially lately. She’d recently started dyeing her hair, and she seemed to be wearing more makeup. But the questions still made Olivia prickly. “If he was eight years her senior, would you even ask that?”
Hasty ignored her very valid point. “Does she have any money?”
“I don’t know the details of her financial situation, but she doesn’t live like she has money.”
“Is her podcast successful?”
Olivia thought of Zoe’s cramped apartment and old Jeep. “I think so, but I don’t know how much money podcasts make. Her show’s success is recent.”
If Zoe had been making a hefty profit, she hadn’t been spending it.
Then again, Dylan also had a job. With two incomes, they should be able to afford a nicer apartment.
Zoe had recently commented that Dylan’s attempts to launch his fitness influencer business were costing more than they made.
She said she understood that new ventures went through a start-up investment period.
But Zoe had high hopes his business would start turning a profit soon.
How much had she invested in his career or her own podcast?
Had she used up her savings launching them both?
If not, why did they live like they were broke? Could they be in debt?
“Is there anyone else who might have information about Zoe’s whereabouts? Close friends, et cetera.” Hasty circled a hand in the air.
“Her producer, Wendy Simon.” Olivia relayed her earlier conversation with Wendy.
This time, Hasty pulled out a notebook and took down the name and a couple of bullet points that Olivia couldn’t read upside down.
“Is there anyone else we should talk to?”
Olivia shook her head. “She doesn’t have any family.”
“None?”
“Her parents are dead. No siblings.”
“She’s never mentioned any extended family?” Hasty’s voice was flat, but Olivia could sense her disbelief. “Not even an aunt or second cousin twice removed?”
“No.” Olivia had never questioned Zoe’s backstory, but now, answering the cop’s question, the strangeness became apparent. Olivia had a large family. How many people didn’t even have a stray aunt or distant cousin?
Hasty shoved her notebook into her pocket and gestured toward the door. Olivia went back inside. She stepped aside to give the cop room, but Hasty closed the door and remained outside.
Billings asked Dylan for a photo of Zoe. Dylan pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen. The cop wrote down a basic physical description and the address of Zoe’s office. “Can you check your credit card and bank accounts for activity?”
Dylan tapped on his phone screen again. “Our joint bank account hasn’t been touched. We have individual credit cards. I can’t access Zoe’s.”
Billings’s brows rose. “Does she have her own bank accounts as well?”
“Yes. We keep a joint account for bills and household expenses. Other than that, our finances are separate.” Dylan’s lips compressed, as if their separate accounts annoyed him.
“Do you know how much money your wife has in her account?”
“No.”
“Not even an approximation? A hundred dollars? A million?” Billings asked.
“No.” Dylan’s voice went as flat at his mouth. He circled a hand in the air. “But I doubt it’s much, considering where we live.”
The cop didn’t press the issue, but the corners of his eyes crinkled tighter. “Has Zoe’s behavior changed over the past few days? Did she seem distracted, frightened, different at all?”
“No.” Dylan crossed his arms in a defensive posture.
“Does she have an E-ZPass on her vehicle?” Billings asked.
Dylan shook his head. “I tried to get her to apply for one. It’s free, and you save a lot on tolls. Seems like a no-brainer to me, but she wouldn’t do it.”
“Did she say why?”
“She’s wary of anything that tracks your movements. She can be a little paranoid about being watched by the government.”
“But she had a smartphone?” Billings asked.
“Yes,” Dylan said. “I pointed out the ridiculousness of her argument. I mean, as long as she was carrying her phone, she could be tracked. But she wouldn’t budge, which annoyed me, to be honest. She was always nagging me about saving money.”
“Was money another issue you fought about frequently?” Billings asked.
Dylan paled, like a feral cat that had walked right into a humane trap only to have it slam shut before he’d even tasted the tuna. “Everyone argues about money.”
When Billings didn’t agree, Dylan went on the offensive. “What are you going to do to find my wife?”
Before Billings could answer, Hasty opened the door and walked in, her eyes cold. She stepped up to stand next to her partner, leaning forward, her posture the opposite of defensive. “The neighbor says you and your wife had a fight last night.”
Dylan’s weight shifted backward onto his heels. “I wouldn’t call it a fight.”
Hasty leaned in, pressing into Dylan’s personal space. “What would you call it?”
“A minor argument.” He tried to sound casual, but his voice was tight.
Hasty jerked a thumb at the wall. “It was loud enough that the neighbor overheard.”
Sweat broke out on Dylan’s upper lip. “This is a cheap apartment. The walls are thin.”
Hasty’s brows rose. She wasn’t buying his explanation. “What did you argue about?”
“She worked too much. I was complaining about her putting her podcast first. I know I married a workaholic, but sometimes I just miss her. She left annoyed, not furious.”
“Were you also annoyed?” Hasty asked.
“A little,” he admitted.
Olivia’s gaze automatically tracked to the recycling bin. Annoyed enough to drink two bottles of wine?
“Could she have been angry enough to stay out all night? Maybe she wanted to teach you a lesson,” Hasty suggested.
Dylan cleared his throat. “When she didn’t come home, I did briefly consider that I’d misread her.
” His posture jerked straight. “But she would never shut off her phone and refuse to take my calls because she had some residual anger from our argument. She’d want me to call. She’d want to talk about it.”
Hasty didn’t comment, but doubt clouded her eyes. “Have you had this argument before?”
“Yes,” Dylan admitted.
Billings’s gaze never left Dylan’s face. “How angry were you when she left?”
Dylan’s mouth went slack with shock. “What are you implying?”
Billings’s focus didn’t waver. “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking.”
“I called you. Why would I do that if I had something to do with my wife disappearing?” Dylan’s eyes shone with indignation.
Neither cop responded. They glanced at each other. Their matching expressions said they were not swayed by Dylan’s logic. Arsonists liked to watch firefighters work. Murderers went to their victims’ funerals. His argument didn’t hold much weight.
He propped his hands on his hips. “My wife is missing. What are you going to do to find her?”
Billings gestured to the apartment around them. “Mind if we look around?”
Dylan waved a hand. “Feel free. I don’t have anything to hide.”
The cops split up. Hasty headed to the bedroom. Billings toured the living room, then went into the adjoining kitchen. He paused in front of the recycling bin, then opened the top drawers.
Dylan stepped sideways to stand next to Olivia. “I can’t believe this. I call for help, and all I get is an accusation.”
“They have to consider all the options,” Olivia said.
What she didn’t say: Statistically, women are usually victimized by their significant other.
She checked the time on the clock. No one had seen Zoe since midnight.
It was now noon. Zoe had been missing for twelve hours, and the cops had made it clear that the first line of investigation they would pursue was Dylan.