Chapter Twelve #2
Emmy scanned the yard, then looked at the house.
It seemed larger than before, more imposing.
The broken glass from the side window was already at the GBI lab so they could piece it back together.
A sheet of plywood covered the hole. Police tape sealed the front door, but the splintered jamb hadn’t been repaired.
She glanced at Darla Bell’s house. “Coach Bell told me she was getting her mail when she saw Woody and Mandy on the front porch.”
“Pretty brazen. Anyone could’ve seen them together.”
“Woody never makes a move without a reason. He knew Coach Bell would rat him out. He was letting Allison know that he could get to Mandy.”
“Lean horse, long ride,” Jude said. “Let’s keep our focus on reading the crime scene with fresh eyes. That’s our beginning. The rest is noise.”
Emmy knew she was right, but she still couldn’t make herself go up the porch stairs.
She tried to call up a layout of the house in her head, to map out a game plan, but her brain felt like wasps were bouncing against the inside of her skull.
She was fresh out of ideas. She had to humble herself again, which hurt a hell of a lot more than the sore muscles in her back.
“I’m delegating. Tell me what to do.”
Jude didn’t stop for a victory lap. “Let’s try to shift our perspectives. Go in through the garage. Look at everything fresh. You knew Allison. What feels off? What isn’t right?”
It sounded exactly like the kind of touchy-feely crap Emmy should’ve expected from her emotional support investigator, but she was too tired to do anything but comply. She walked past Allison’s car, taking in the spotless interior.
Reluctantly, she offered, “This neat freak stuff is new. Before she moved in with Bill, Allison’s house was always a mess. None of this feels like her. It doesn’t feel like anybody.”
“You mean devoid of any personality?”
“More than that. She was working her PI job. Consulting with Clayville PD. Bill works full-time. Mandy’s at school all day, then she usually goes to a friend’s house after. The car and house are spotless. Allison must’ve spent all her free time cleaning.”
“A lot of abusers reinforce stereotypical gender roles as a control mechanism. They hold the victim up to a standard she can’t meet, then gaslight her into believing other women are doing a better job.”
Emmy felt like a thundercloud had moved into her chest. Jonah had done the same thing to her. The house was never clean enough. She never looked nice enough. She was a bad cook. A bad mother. There was always some magical woman who effortlessly did it all.
She said, “All right, Dr. Archer. Give me one of your famous lectures. What else do abusers do?”
Jude raised an eyebrow, but that was all the protest she offered. “He destroys things he knows she cares about. Photographs, family heirlooms, plants.”
Emmy was pretty good at destroying her own plants. “What else?”
“Creates social isolation. Controls where she goes, who she spends time with, what she reads, what she watches on television, listens to on the radio, posts online.”
“Allison’s Facebook page hasn’t been updated in five years. I couldn’t find her on any other socials.” Emmy went to the keypad on the side of the garage door, punched in the code Sherry had found written on a card inside a kitchen drawer. “What else?”
“Humiliates her for having hobbies and interests. Expresses jealousy for time she’s engaged in self-care. Makes all the decisions for her under the guise of caring. Lets her make small decisions and ridicules her for her choices.”
Emmy mumbled a curse under her breath as she walked into the garage. That last part had pretty much encapsulated her marriage. She’d let Jonah handle their finances even though he barely worked, which was how she and Cole would’ve ended up homeless but for her parents.
It was a wonder Hannah had held her tongue as long as she did.
“Now that you’ve got me thinking about Bill, have you considered the possibility that Allison put the tracker in Mandy’s shoe?”
Emmy felt like her head was spinning. “Why would she do that?”
“Because Bill would’ve limited the easier options. It’s called Digital Coercive Control: using the internet or electronic devices to control, harass, frighten or monitor the victim.”
Emmy watched Jude walk into the garage. She looked around the space, probably searching for clues into Bill’s psyche.
“He probably monitored Wi-Fi access and locked Allison out of passwords. That’s why she couldn’t put up cameras to monitor Mandy’s interactions with Woody.
The family likely used some form of location-sharing app on their phones, but Bill would punish Allison by excluding her.
Mandy doesn’t have a car, so Allison couldn’t track her that way.
An AirTag would send a notification to Mandy’s phone.
The shoe tracker was the only way Allison could keep up with her daughter without Bill’s permission. ”
Emmy remembered the personal hell of trying to extricate Cole from Jonah’s family sharing plan. “I asked Bill if he had Life360 on his phone, but he told me he didn’t.”
“It’s illegal to lie to a police officer.”
“I’d need a warrant for his phone to prove he lied, and I can’t prove he lied without the phone.” Emmy thought of something else. “Allison would need an app to access the tracker.”
“Where are you on cracking the password on her phone?”
“In line at the GBI behind a thousand other police agencies who urgently need to get into a victim’s or suspect’s phone.”
“All right. Let’s keep moving forward.”
Jude went into the right bay of the garage, so Emmy took the left.
All of the houses in the neighborhood had been built with single-space carports, most of which had been expanded and converted into garages over the years.
The second bay was usually wider than the original to accommodate the expanding girth of newer cars.
Allison and Bill’s garage looked like an advertisement from a magazine.
Emmy didn’t see any cobwebs in the rafters of the low ceiling.
The epoxied floor was cleaner than the tiles in her kitchen.
Likewise with the wooden shelves lining the walls.
No dust. No debris. Nothing was left out in the open.
Plastic storage bins were stacked top to bottom.
There was a workbench with a peg board. All the tools were outlined in black tape.
Extension cords were bungeed. Battery chargers were mounted to the wall.
Three stairs led to the door that opened into the kitchen.
A green City of North Falls trashcan and a blue North Falls recycling bin were tucked into the corner.
She used her elbow to open each one. If there had been bags inside, Sherry had already taken them into evidence.
Jude asked, “What’s your gut telling you?”
Emmy said the first thing that came out of her mouth. “That domestic violence is at the heart of this, whether it’s from Reggie or Bill or somebody else. You said it before—if a woman is with one abuser, she’ll probably be with another one.”
“Did Bill give Allison an allowance, or did she control her own money?”
“No idea, and we’re weeks away from the bank complying with our subpoenas.” Emmy checked the drawers in the work-bench. Nothing was loose. Everything was in a plastic container or small bag. “I can ask Taybee. Allison let her hire a forensic accountant to look into Bill’s finances last year.”
“Who needs a subpoena when you’ve got a Clifton.” Jude seemed content to watch Emmy search. “How did Bill take Allison’s affair with Reggie?”
“I imagine he beat the hell out of her.” Emmy tried another drawer. “Reggie told me it made the poker game uncomfortable.”
“Reggie plays poker with Bill even though Reggie slept with Bill’s wife?”
“It’s a big deal to be invited to the game.
It’s mostly cops from Allison’s old drug squad and a few North Falls people who have more money than sense.
Happens once a month. No girls allowed. Except prostitutes, apparently.
One of them gave Bill the clap. He passed it on to Allison. At least that’s what Reggie told me.”
“Did Allison know that Bill was seeing prostitutes before he infected her?”
“I don’t know,” Emmy admitted. “I was tied up with Mom this whole last year. I should’ve called her more. Maybe she would’ve confided in me.”
“You can only do what you can do in the moment.”
Emmy worked to keep her mouth shut. It was like talking to a fortune cookie.
“You’ve had interactions with Bill before. Did he ever show you his real side?”
“If he’d tried to hit me, he’d be under the prison right now. If Dad hadn’t killed him first.”
“No, Bill would never be stupid enough to go after you. Abusers have incredibly low self-esteem. The criticisms they direct at their victims are the same sorts of criticisms they level at themselves. They often rely on drugs and alcohol to quiet the self-doubt. And before you make the joke, no, I didn’t become an alcoholic because I was an abuser. ”
Emmy felt her lips part. She had no idea why she kept giving Jude shit for being a recovering alcoholic, but maybe it was time to stop.
“I know Bill likes a drink, but I’ve never seen him intoxicated, and he’s never come across as insecure.
He’s actually incredibly arrogant considering he’s forty pounds overweight and losing his hair. ”
“Tell me how he behaved when you told him that Allison had been murdered.”
Emmy had to think back. Yesterday at the ballpark felt like two hundred years ago.
“I didn’t tell him immediately. He started talking as soon as I pulled him aside.
I guess he thought I was there to give him another warning.
He told me that he got drunk with Allison the night before at the motel. That she gave as good as she got.”
“And?”
“He accused me of police harassment. Said that Reggie had already threatened him to stay away from Allison.”