Chapter Twelve #3
“What was his response when you told him that Allison had been murdered?”
“The first thing out of his mouth was a line about Reggie having a temper. Then I told him that Mandy was shot, too. He seemed genuinely upset about that. Even started crying. Then he told me that he’d never formally adopted Mandy, but he loved her like she was his own daughter.
Then he said that Allison had pissed off a lot of people on the job. ”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jude said.
“You pull Bill aside, and immediately, he tells you Reggie threatened him. Then he volunteers an explanation for any bruises or defensive wounds on either him or Allison. Then he reminds you that Reggie is a bad guy. Then he tells you he’s a good guy because he loves Mandy, but not enough to adopt her.
Then he blames Allison for getting herself murdered and Mandy being shot. ”
Emmy chewed her lip. She guessed she was some kind of idiot who had a blind spot where abusive men were concerned. “No, Bill never showed me his real side. He was controlling the narrative the whole time.”
Jude must’ve sensed her self-disgust. “This doesn’t change anything. It just tells us that we need to keep Bill on the list. Abusers are shapeshifters. They know how to show you the person you’re expecting to see.”
Emmy didn’t remind her that cops were supposed to be immune to liars.
At least the good ones were. She looked around the garage, wondering what else she was missing.
The space felt compact. The garage had been built for narrow, shorter cars.
Not an SUV like Allison drove. Even if Bill took the larger bay, his Chevy Silverado probably extended past the door.
As if by magic, the layout of the house suddenly appeared in Emmy’s head.
She silently mapped out various routes, then told Jude, “If I lived here and I needed to pack my car, I’d take my suitcase from the bedroom, down the back staircase, through the den, into the kitchen, then bring it out through the garage door, then put it in the back of my car. ”
Jude looked up at the low ceiling. “This garage wasn’t built for an SUV. It’s too tight in here to open a hatch and load the trunk. She’d have to pull the car into the driveway to load it.”
“What if Allison was coming down the back stairs and she saw the killer entering through the back door? She ran to get her gun out of her purse. He beat her to it.”
“Then she ran toward the front door?”
“Maybe.”
Emmy was ready to go inside. She climbed the three stairs to the door. Turned the knob. Locked. She looked at the digital keypad. The two, zero and one were all faded. She punched in a guess, telling Jude, “Two-thousand-ten. The year Mandy was born.”
The latch clicked. Emmy entered the house.
The kitchen looked the same but for the absence of Allison’s body.
The den was the same. The back door had been shut.
Allison’s purse was still hanging on the back of one of the bar stools.
Emmy walked around the island. Stood behind the stool.
The purse was unzipped, the top gaping open.
Green leather. Cross-body strap. She looked toward the den.
The back stairs were roughly fifteen feet away.
“I’m Allison,” she said. “I just came down those stairs. There’s an intruder coming through the back door. He’s wearing black gloves. Maybe I recognize him, maybe I don’t. I know he’s here to hurt me or my child. What do I do?”
“If you’re thinking clearly, you run back up the stairs. You’re both unarmed. Physically, you’re at a disadvantage against a man. And crossing in front of him to get your gun out of your purse risks losing control of the gun.”
“Maybe he was armed, but not with a gun. This is a residential neighborhood. A gun is loud. A knife is a quiet choice if you’re planning to kill somebody.”
Emmy looked at the back door, silently rewriting the narrative of the attack.
“Maybe he came through the door with a knife. Allison ran toward her purse to get her Glock. He could’ve beaten her to it. Maybe they struggled for the gun, and he dropped the knife. She ran to the front of the house to go up the main stairs and protect Mandy.”
Emmy followed Allison’s path, walking up the hallway toward the front door.
She stood in the foyer. Looked up the curved stairs.
Glanced into the living room, the dining room.
Took in the few items on the entry table.
Looked down at the floor. The yellow crime scene markers had been removed, but the blood told her where Allison had been standing.
She looked back at Jude, who was close to the spot where the Crown Royal bag had been dropped.
There was roughly six feet between them.
She said, “Allison took all manner of abuse off Bill, but I saw her take down guys twice her size with just her hands. She knew how to fight back. At this distance, she’d definitely go for the gun.”
“Makes sense,” Jude said. “What about your DFR?”
Emmy shook her head. Her DFR was still telling her that she was missing something. “I asked Sherry to leave this area intact. Something’s off.”
Jude nodded for her to continue.
“It’s weird in here, right?” Emmy slowly turned, scanning the foyer again. “This is the only space with any hint of a personality. Except for Mandy’s room, the other rooms are bare. No art on the walls. No bookcases. No family photos.”
“Did Mandy bring any friends home?”
“Twice a week, but only because Talia Wilkinson’s mother works from home on Mondays and Fridays.”
“Keep looking. You knew Allison. What do you see?”
Emmy studied the framed print over the entry table.
Christina’s World was so famous that it was almost a cliché.
The subject was a neighbor of Wyeth’s who’d suffered from a degenerative muscle disorder.
She’d crawled everywhere because she’d refused to use a wheelchair.
Wyeth had captured her making her way across a field.
Emmy said, “Allison knew the history of this painting. Before she dropped out of book club, we read a fictionalized version of Christina Olsen’s life. I don’t remember much, but Allison really loved the book. She read it twice. She never read anything twice.”
“Trapped by a debilitating disease. Immortalized by a man who gave meaning to her struggle.”
“Something like that.”
Emmy lifted the print off the wall. Flipped it around. She looked at Jude. Numbers had been written on the back in green magic marker.
“Two-thousand-two,” Jude read. “If Allison chose the print, she could’ve written the numbers on the back. Could be the year, or a code or combination?”
“Could be she bought it at a yard sale.”
Emmy pulled the brown craft paper away from the edges.
Nothing was inside, just the back of the foam board the print was laminated onto.
She hung the frame back on the wall. She looked down at the solid oak entry table.
Three books stacked in a pile. Two crystal candlesticks on either side.
A diffuser with black reeds beside a glass bowl with an olive-green leather keychain that had an embossed A on both sides.
Emmy picked up the books. She thumbed through the pages.
There was nothing that didn’t belong but for the RFID stickers the library placed on the inside covers for self-checkout.
Emmy picked at the corner of one of the stickers.
Peeled it back. Saw the weird circuitry on the inside.
She did the same to the other books. Nothing.
She passed them to Jude in case there was something she’d missed.
“A romance, a thriller, and Feynman’s Tips on Physics.” Jude started paging through the Feynman. “Was Allison into physics?”
“Not when she was in book club. When it was her turn, she usually chose stories with fairies and vampires.”
“Escapism. Love. Safety. Everything always turns out okay.” Emmy fished a glove out of her pocket and used it to pick up the key ring.
Key fob. House key. Dimple key. Barrel key.
She pressed the unlock button on the key fob.
Outside, the Toyota chirped. She slipped the house key into the deadbolt on the front door. The latch turned.
Jude asked, “Did Sherry track down the other keys?”
“They don’t open anything in the house,” Emmy said. “I know what you’re thinking. The dimple key is for a high-security lock. The barrel key is for a safe. But Taybee told me Allison was barely getting by between her consulting and PI work.”
Jude stacked the books back on the table. “What now?”
Emmy dropped the keys into an evidence bag. “Let’s look at Mandy’s room.”
Jude followed her up the stairs. They both slowed their pace in the hallway.
Emmy wasn’t one to believe in ghosts, but there was an eeriness to the house that went beyond her DFR.
She could only think about the violence that had happened here.
Not just the shooting, but the beatings.
Bill chasing Allison into the hall. Fists flying.
Hurling invective. Mandy climbing into the attic to escape his wrath.
Emmy said, “I wonder if Allison taught Mandy to go into the attic when things got bad.”
“It would make sense for them to have an agreed-upon safe location.”
Jude walked to the end of the hall. She turned to look at Allison’s room. She was standing near the spot where she’d nearly died. If it bothered her, she didn’t show it. She turned and walked into Mandy’s room.
Emmy made it as far as the doorway. She had been here only a few hours ago, searching for something, anything, that might lead them to a suspect.
Emmy had checked all the stuffed animals, looked under the bed, between the mattress and box spring, rifled the drawers, pulled up the rug, peeled the posters from the walls, gone down on her hands and knees and tested every piece of wood in the floor to see if there was a loose section that would reveal a secret hiding place.
Cole had thought she was crazy, but Emmy had been desperate for some kind of clue.
She said, “At the hospital, Mandy remembered that they were leaving. Allison didn’t tell her where they were going, but Mandy knew they had to get away.”
Jude crossed her arms. “She got very agitated when you asked her about it. Fear triggered a physical response.”
Emmy remembered the girl pulling at the restraints around her arms, legs moving as if she was trying to get up from the bed. “When I asked her if they were getting away from Woody, she said no.”
Jude nodded. “She became agitated again when you told her that Talia had mentioned the UnSub.”
Emmy felt her phone vibrate. She read a text from Gregg. “Maybe Skylar Guthrie can fill in some blanks. Her mother says we can come by now. She decided to keep her home from church.”