Her Last Word
Page 42
“I want to listen in on the interview,” he said.
“I’d like in on it as well. I’ll try not to step on toes.”
A smile tugged at the edge of Adler’s lips. “Don’t kid yourself. You never miss a chance to stir shit up.”
She laughed. “Guilty. I’m a card-carrying provocateur.”
At the station, Adler and Quinn entered the room adjacent to the interview room. Through a two-way mirror, they saw Brad Crowley sitting in a plastic chair next to a scarred wooden table. Crowley wore charcoal-gray pants, a white shirt, and a yellow tie he’d loosened. His blond hair looked as if it had been slicked back but was now disheveled. His gaze downcast, he picked at a Styrofoam cup.
Detective Jeff Beck, a midsize, lean man, sported a blue suit and a full gray mustache reminiscent of the nineties. He stood outside interview room six sipping a cup of coffee.
Adler walked up to Beck and shook his hand. “Thanks for the call.”
“Hey, anytime.” Beck had taken a job with county police three years ago, but Adler and Beck had attended the city police academy together. Beck was one hell of a smart guy. They’d spent a few all-nighters studying for academy tests and had crossed paths during their uniformed patrol days more times than he could count. Each had attended the other’s wedding, and each commiserated when those marriages fell apart under the strain of the job.
“What’s his story?” Adler asked.
“He said he and his wife had an argument last week. He got angry, thought she was being unreasonable, and decided to split for a while.”
“He dropped everything just like that?” Adler asked.
“I checked with his office, and his secretary did clear his schedule at the last minute. She was supposed to tell everyone that he was attending a conference. She said he had a lot of pissed-off patients. Not everyone makes logical choices when they’re angry,” Beck said.
“Point taken.”
“Does he appear worried about his wife?” Quinn asked.
“More irritated and inconvenienced,” Beck said. “He thinks this is her way of paying him back because he took off.”
Adler studied Crowley through the two-way mirror. His shoulders were relaxed, and his expression oddly calm as he rolled a quarter over his fingers with practiced agility. This guy was far from stressed, or so it appeared. Even an innocent guy would be a little uncomfortable. He was trying too hard.
“I’d like to talk to him.”
Beck studied him. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks.”
“Tag team?” Quinn asked, grinning with anticipation.
Adler looked at Quinn. “Play nice.”
She shrugged. “Sure, might be fun to switch it up.”
Adler and Quinn entered the room. Quinn tossed a smile at Crowley and chose the seat closest to him. Crowley’s glance was dismissive and defiant until he looked at Adler. Anger flashed, and he rightly identified Adler as a threat.
Crowley kept his composure. “Do you have any news about my wife?”
Where Adler sat during an interview said a lot about his goals. If he were dealing with a traumatized witness, he’d pull up his chair beside the individual as Quinn had done. Sometimes he stood. Today he sat across from Crowley to show him he wasn’t his ally.
“My name is Detective Adler, and this is Detective Quinn. I understand your wife is missing.”
Crowley tugged at his left cuff. “I haven’t seen her since Thursday, but I wouldn’t classify her as missing.”
“Thursday is the last day you were home?”
“I went by my house today. I saw the police tape. And I called 911, and they told me to come here. Are you telling me my wife is injured?”
He wanted Crowley to answer as many questions as possible before he started sharing facts. “Where did you see your wife last?”
“At the house. It had been a long day for both of us, and our tempers flared. Normally, we cool off by now. I texted her several times, but she hasn’t answered. That’s why I went by the house looking for her.”
“Is there anyone who would want to hurt your wife?”
Crowley straightened, sniffed, and cleared his throat. “Are you telling me my wife is hurt? What the hell is going on here?”
“Your wife is missing. Another woman who came to visit you was assaulted on your property by an unknown assailant.”
Crowley drew in a deep breath, and he hesitated. “But Erika was not hurt, correct?”
“We have no evidence,” Quinn said. “But we are concerned about her welfare.”
“Why don’t you know where she is? You’re the damn cops, aren’t you?”
“We’re trying to find her,” Quinn said. “There’s no sign of credit card use. No one has seen her. And her cell is dead.”
“Who is the woman who was hurt?” Crowley demanded.
“A friend of your wife’s,” Adler said.
“Who? I know all my wife’s friends.”
“Kaitlin Roe,” Adler said.
“Roe?” Crowley shook his head. “She’s not a friend of my wife’s. They went to the same high school, but they haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Apparently, Kaitlin wanted to interview your wife for a podcast she’s making on Gina Mason.”
That bit of news seemed to surprise him. “Maybe Kaitlin was breaking into my house. She had a drug habit.”
“No evidence of a break-in. Do you have any idea where your wife might be?”
Crowley’s anger melted as the color drained from his face and the reality set in. “No. Where’s her car?”
“We found it at a gas station on Route 1. We had it towed to the police impound. Right now it’s with the forensic team.”
“Forensic team?” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Don’t you think this is getting way out of hand? She’s jerking my chain.”
Adler wasn’t here to answer questions but to ask them. “Are you sure you don’t know where your wife might be?”
“No, damn it, I don’t. Again, do you have evidence she’s hurt?”
“A friend of hers was killed, and we’re concerned for her safety.”
“Which friend?”
“Jennifer Ralston.”
“Jennifer? Jesus, what happened?”
“You didn’t know about Jennifer?”
“I told you, I’ve been out of town. How did Jennifer die?”
“I can’t discuss that now,” Adler said. “What do you know about Ms. Ralston?”
“She went to high school with my wife. We saw her at a school fund-raiser last year, but haven’t seen her since.”
“You’re sure your wife hasn’t seen her?” Adler asked.
“My wife rarely leaves the house. She goes to yoga twice a week and that’s about it.”
“Why doesn’t she leave her house?” Adler asked.
“She agoraphobic. Leaving the house creates a great deal of stress. It took a lot of therapy just to get her to yoga.”
“Both your wife and Ms. Ralston were two of four girls on the river the night Gina Mason vanished.”
“I know. We never talk about Gina. It upsets Erika too much, so we don’t.”
“Any idea where she might have gone?” Adler asked.
“Nowhere. My wife went nowhere. You’re the cops, and it’s your job to find her. She functions within a three-mile radius of the house.”
“I’d like in on it as well. I’ll try not to step on toes.”
A smile tugged at the edge of Adler’s lips. “Don’t kid yourself. You never miss a chance to stir shit up.”
She laughed. “Guilty. I’m a card-carrying provocateur.”
At the station, Adler and Quinn entered the room adjacent to the interview room. Through a two-way mirror, they saw Brad Crowley sitting in a plastic chair next to a scarred wooden table. Crowley wore charcoal-gray pants, a white shirt, and a yellow tie he’d loosened. His blond hair looked as if it had been slicked back but was now disheveled. His gaze downcast, he picked at a Styrofoam cup.
Detective Jeff Beck, a midsize, lean man, sported a blue suit and a full gray mustache reminiscent of the nineties. He stood outside interview room six sipping a cup of coffee.
Adler walked up to Beck and shook his hand. “Thanks for the call.”
“Hey, anytime.” Beck had taken a job with county police three years ago, but Adler and Beck had attended the city police academy together. Beck was one hell of a smart guy. They’d spent a few all-nighters studying for academy tests and had crossed paths during their uniformed patrol days more times than he could count. Each had attended the other’s wedding, and each commiserated when those marriages fell apart under the strain of the job.
“What’s his story?” Adler asked.
“He said he and his wife had an argument last week. He got angry, thought she was being unreasonable, and decided to split for a while.”
“He dropped everything just like that?” Adler asked.
“I checked with his office, and his secretary did clear his schedule at the last minute. She was supposed to tell everyone that he was attending a conference. She said he had a lot of pissed-off patients. Not everyone makes logical choices when they’re angry,” Beck said.
“Point taken.”
“Does he appear worried about his wife?” Quinn asked.
“More irritated and inconvenienced,” Beck said. “He thinks this is her way of paying him back because he took off.”
Adler studied Crowley through the two-way mirror. His shoulders were relaxed, and his expression oddly calm as he rolled a quarter over his fingers with practiced agility. This guy was far from stressed, or so it appeared. Even an innocent guy would be a little uncomfortable. He was trying too hard.
“I’d like to talk to him.”
Beck studied him. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks.”
“Tag team?” Quinn asked, grinning with anticipation.
Adler looked at Quinn. “Play nice.”
She shrugged. “Sure, might be fun to switch it up.”
Adler and Quinn entered the room. Quinn tossed a smile at Crowley and chose the seat closest to him. Crowley’s glance was dismissive and defiant until he looked at Adler. Anger flashed, and he rightly identified Adler as a threat.
Crowley kept his composure. “Do you have any news about my wife?”
Where Adler sat during an interview said a lot about his goals. If he were dealing with a traumatized witness, he’d pull up his chair beside the individual as Quinn had done. Sometimes he stood. Today he sat across from Crowley to show him he wasn’t his ally.
“My name is Detective Adler, and this is Detective Quinn. I understand your wife is missing.”
Crowley tugged at his left cuff. “I haven’t seen her since Thursday, but I wouldn’t classify her as missing.”
“Thursday is the last day you were home?”
“I went by my house today. I saw the police tape. And I called 911, and they told me to come here. Are you telling me my wife is injured?”
He wanted Crowley to answer as many questions as possible before he started sharing facts. “Where did you see your wife last?”
“At the house. It had been a long day for both of us, and our tempers flared. Normally, we cool off by now. I texted her several times, but she hasn’t answered. That’s why I went by the house looking for her.”
“Is there anyone who would want to hurt your wife?”
Crowley straightened, sniffed, and cleared his throat. “Are you telling me my wife is hurt? What the hell is going on here?”
“Your wife is missing. Another woman who came to visit you was assaulted on your property by an unknown assailant.”
Crowley drew in a deep breath, and he hesitated. “But Erika was not hurt, correct?”
“We have no evidence,” Quinn said. “But we are concerned about her welfare.”
“Why don’t you know where she is? You’re the damn cops, aren’t you?”
“We’re trying to find her,” Quinn said. “There’s no sign of credit card use. No one has seen her. And her cell is dead.”
“Who is the woman who was hurt?” Crowley demanded.
“A friend of your wife’s,” Adler said.
“Who? I know all my wife’s friends.”
“Kaitlin Roe,” Adler said.
“Roe?” Crowley shook his head. “She’s not a friend of my wife’s. They went to the same high school, but they haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Apparently, Kaitlin wanted to interview your wife for a podcast she’s making on Gina Mason.”
That bit of news seemed to surprise him. “Maybe Kaitlin was breaking into my house. She had a drug habit.”
“No evidence of a break-in. Do you have any idea where your wife might be?”
Crowley’s anger melted as the color drained from his face and the reality set in. “No. Where’s her car?”
“We found it at a gas station on Route 1. We had it towed to the police impound. Right now it’s with the forensic team.”
“Forensic team?” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Don’t you think this is getting way out of hand? She’s jerking my chain.”
Adler wasn’t here to answer questions but to ask them. “Are you sure you don’t know where your wife might be?”
“No, damn it, I don’t. Again, do you have evidence she’s hurt?”
“A friend of hers was killed, and we’re concerned for her safety.”
“Which friend?”
“Jennifer Ralston.”
“Jennifer? Jesus, what happened?”
“You didn’t know about Jennifer?”
“I told you, I’ve been out of town. How did Jennifer die?”
“I can’t discuss that now,” Adler said. “What do you know about Ms. Ralston?”
“She went to high school with my wife. We saw her at a school fund-raiser last year, but haven’t seen her since.”
“You’re sure your wife hasn’t seen her?” Adler asked.
“My wife rarely leaves the house. She goes to yoga twice a week and that’s about it.”
“Why doesn’t she leave her house?” Adler asked.
“She agoraphobic. Leaving the house creates a great deal of stress. It took a lot of therapy just to get her to yoga.”
“Both your wife and Ms. Ralston were two of four girls on the river the night Gina Mason vanished.”
“I know. We never talk about Gina. It upsets Erika too much, so we don’t.”
“Any idea where she might have gone?” Adler asked.
“Nowhere. My wife went nowhere. You’re the cops, and it’s your job to find her. She functions within a three-mile radius of the house.”
