The Stranger
Page 59
“Because?”
Too much coming out too quickly. He wanted to trust the cops, but he just didn’t. The cops had a theory here, and Adam knew that once a theory was formed, it was hard, if not impossible, to get them to see the facts and not twist them to suit what they already believed. Adam remembered how Old Man Rinsky had warned him not to talk to the police. The stakes had been upped, no question, but did that mean he had abandoned the idea of finding Corinne on his own?
He didn’t know.
“Adam?”
“We were just talking about my wife.”
“You and Kristin Hoy?”
“Yes.”
“What about your wife?”
“About her recent . . . trip.”
“Her trip. Oh, I see. You mean the one where she just left work in the middle of the day and never returned and now won’t reply to your or your children’s texts?”
“Corinne said she needed time,” Adam said. “I assume, since you clearly went through my communications—and keep in mind I’m an attorney and some of the communications you intercepted could be construed as work product—you read that text too.”
“Convenient.”
“What?”
“Your wife’s text to you. That whole thing about going away and not looking for her. Kinda gives a person time, don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Anyone could have sent that text, right? Even you.”
“Why would I . . . ?”
He stopped.
“Ingrid Prisby was with a man at the American Legion Hall,” Johanna said. “Who is he?”
“He never told me his name.”
“What did he tell you?”
“It has nothing to do with this.”
“Sure it does. Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“And you and Corinne have no marital issues, right?”
“I didn’t say that. But it has nothing—”
“You want to tell us about meeting up with Sally Perryman last night?”
Silence.
“Is Sally Perryman another friend of your wife’s?”
Adam stopped. He took deep breaths. Part of him wanted to come clean to Johanna Griffin. He really did. But right now, Johanna Griffin seemed hell-bent on nailing him or Corinne for whatever craziness was going on. He wanted to help. He wanted to know more about these murders, but he also knew the cardinal rule: You never have to take back words you don’t say. He’d had a plan this morning. Go to Gabrielle Dunbar’s house in Fair Lawn. Get the name of the stranger. He should stick with that plan. It wouldn’t take long to drive there.
More important, it would give him a chance to think.
Adam stood. “I have to go.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. If you want my help, give me a few hours.”
“There are two dead women here.”
“I understand that,” Adam said, moving toward the door. “But you’re looking at this wrong anyway.”
“How should we be looking at it?”
“The man who was traveling with Ingrid,” Adam said, “the one at the American Legion Hall.”
“What about him?”
“Do you know who he is?”
She glanced behind her at Len Gilman, then back at Adam. “No.”
“No clue?”
“No clue.”
Adam nodded. “He’s the key to this. Find him.”
Chapter 42
Gabrielle Dunbar’s house had probably been charming at one point, but over the years, the once-modest Cape Cod had been transformed into a bloated, characterless McMansion by additions and updates and purported “improvements.” The newer architectural touches, like bay windows and turrets, distracted rather than enhanced—they gave the house an overly artificial feel.
Adam approached the ornate front door and rang a bell that played an elaborate tune. Not wanting to wait for the police to drive him back home, he’d used his Uber app to summon a car and get him here. Andy Gribbel was on his way to pick him up and take him to the office. Adam didn’t expect this to take long.
Gabrielle answered the door. Adam recognized her from the Facebook photos. She had raven-black hair so straight it had to be ironed. She had a welcoming smile on her face as she opened the door. The smile dissolved the moment she saw Adam.
“Can I help you?” she said.
Her voice had a quiver in it. She didn’t open the screen door.
Adam dove in. “I’m sorry for just intruding like this, but my name is Adam Price.” He tried to hand her his business card, but the screen door was still closed. He slid it through the doorjamb. “I’m an attorney in Paramus.”
Gabrielle stood there. The color was ebbing from her face.
“I’m working on an inheritance case and . . .” He held up his camera phone with the screen grab on it. He used his fingers to blow up the image, so she could see the stranger’s face clearer. “Do you know this man?”
Gabrielle Dunbar slipped her fingers into the doorjamb and plucked out his business card. She stared at it for a long time. Then, finally, she turned her attention to the image on his iPhone. After a few seconds, she shook her head and said, “No.”
“It was an office party, from the looks of it. Surely, you must—”
“I have to go now.”
The quiver had grown toward something closer to panic or fear. She started to close the door.
“Ms. Dunbar?”
She hesitated.
Adam wasn’t sure what to say exactly. He had spooked her. That was obvious to him. He had spooked her, and that meant that she had to know something.
“Please,” he said. “I need to find this man.”
“I told you. I don’t know him.”
“I think you do.”
“Get off my property.”
“My wife is missing.”
“What?”
“My wife. This man did something, and now she’s gone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please leave.”
“Who is he? That’s all I want to know. His name.”
“I told you. I don’t recognize him. Please, I have to go. I don’t know anything.”
The door started to close again.
“I won’t stop looking. Tell him that. I won’t stop until I find the truth.”
“Get off my property, or I’ll call the police.”
She slammed the door shut.
Too much coming out too quickly. He wanted to trust the cops, but he just didn’t. The cops had a theory here, and Adam knew that once a theory was formed, it was hard, if not impossible, to get them to see the facts and not twist them to suit what they already believed. Adam remembered how Old Man Rinsky had warned him not to talk to the police. The stakes had been upped, no question, but did that mean he had abandoned the idea of finding Corinne on his own?
He didn’t know.
“Adam?”
“We were just talking about my wife.”
“You and Kristin Hoy?”
“Yes.”
“What about your wife?”
“About her recent . . . trip.”
“Her trip. Oh, I see. You mean the one where she just left work in the middle of the day and never returned and now won’t reply to your or your children’s texts?”
“Corinne said she needed time,” Adam said. “I assume, since you clearly went through my communications—and keep in mind I’m an attorney and some of the communications you intercepted could be construed as work product—you read that text too.”
“Convenient.”
“What?”
“Your wife’s text to you. That whole thing about going away and not looking for her. Kinda gives a person time, don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Anyone could have sent that text, right? Even you.”
“Why would I . . . ?”
He stopped.
“Ingrid Prisby was with a man at the American Legion Hall,” Johanna said. “Who is he?”
“He never told me his name.”
“What did he tell you?”
“It has nothing to do with this.”
“Sure it does. Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“And you and Corinne have no marital issues, right?”
“I didn’t say that. But it has nothing—”
“You want to tell us about meeting up with Sally Perryman last night?”
Silence.
“Is Sally Perryman another friend of your wife’s?”
Adam stopped. He took deep breaths. Part of him wanted to come clean to Johanna Griffin. He really did. But right now, Johanna Griffin seemed hell-bent on nailing him or Corinne for whatever craziness was going on. He wanted to help. He wanted to know more about these murders, but he also knew the cardinal rule: You never have to take back words you don’t say. He’d had a plan this morning. Go to Gabrielle Dunbar’s house in Fair Lawn. Get the name of the stranger. He should stick with that plan. It wouldn’t take long to drive there.
More important, it would give him a chance to think.
Adam stood. “I have to go.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. If you want my help, give me a few hours.”
“There are two dead women here.”
“I understand that,” Adam said, moving toward the door. “But you’re looking at this wrong anyway.”
“How should we be looking at it?”
“The man who was traveling with Ingrid,” Adam said, “the one at the American Legion Hall.”
“What about him?”
“Do you know who he is?”
She glanced behind her at Len Gilman, then back at Adam. “No.”
“No clue?”
“No clue.”
Adam nodded. “He’s the key to this. Find him.”
Chapter 42
Gabrielle Dunbar’s house had probably been charming at one point, but over the years, the once-modest Cape Cod had been transformed into a bloated, characterless McMansion by additions and updates and purported “improvements.” The newer architectural touches, like bay windows and turrets, distracted rather than enhanced—they gave the house an overly artificial feel.
Adam approached the ornate front door and rang a bell that played an elaborate tune. Not wanting to wait for the police to drive him back home, he’d used his Uber app to summon a car and get him here. Andy Gribbel was on his way to pick him up and take him to the office. Adam didn’t expect this to take long.
Gabrielle answered the door. Adam recognized her from the Facebook photos. She had raven-black hair so straight it had to be ironed. She had a welcoming smile on her face as she opened the door. The smile dissolved the moment she saw Adam.
“Can I help you?” she said.
Her voice had a quiver in it. She didn’t open the screen door.
Adam dove in. “I’m sorry for just intruding like this, but my name is Adam Price.” He tried to hand her his business card, but the screen door was still closed. He slid it through the doorjamb. “I’m an attorney in Paramus.”
Gabrielle stood there. The color was ebbing from her face.
“I’m working on an inheritance case and . . .” He held up his camera phone with the screen grab on it. He used his fingers to blow up the image, so she could see the stranger’s face clearer. “Do you know this man?”
Gabrielle Dunbar slipped her fingers into the doorjamb and plucked out his business card. She stared at it for a long time. Then, finally, she turned her attention to the image on his iPhone. After a few seconds, she shook her head and said, “No.”
“It was an office party, from the looks of it. Surely, you must—”
“I have to go now.”
The quiver had grown toward something closer to panic or fear. She started to close the door.
“Ms. Dunbar?”
She hesitated.
Adam wasn’t sure what to say exactly. He had spooked her. That was obvious to him. He had spooked her, and that meant that she had to know something.
“Please,” he said. “I need to find this man.”
“I told you. I don’t know him.”
“I think you do.”
“Get off my property.”
“My wife is missing.”
“What?”
“My wife. This man did something, and now she’s gone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please leave.”
“Who is he? That’s all I want to know. His name.”
“I told you. I don’t recognize him. Please, I have to go. I don’t know anything.”
The door started to close again.
“I won’t stop looking. Tell him that. I won’t stop until I find the truth.”
“Get off my property, or I’ll call the police.”
She slammed the door shut.
