The Defenseless (4 page)

“You don’t seem very upset?”

A bolt flashed across her eyes.
“Would it work better for you if I were in a white, fluffy robe with matching slippers, had a puffy face and a red-tipped nose? If tissues were coming out of pockets because they couldn’t possibly hold anymore?” She simpered and sank further into the couch. “Please.”

This chick was cold as ice.

“You ‘made it work?’ Those were your words. You don’t sound like you were happy.”

She rolled her eyes, dramatically, and accompanied the motion with a deeply rushed exhale.
“We were okay. All right? Is that what you want to hear?”

The brunette shot to her feet.
“I’m not sure why you’re pushing her like this. Do you think she killed him?”

I held up a hand to encourage her to take a seat again. She disregarded the gesture, but it didn’t stop me from saying my bit.
“We’re not accusing her of anything, but if we can get some straightforward answers, we’ll be out of your way, and you both can get on with your day.”

She dropped back onto the couch.

Jenna’s steel gaze went to me.
“You want to know if he had enemies? Yes. Don’t ask me for a list though.”

Since Jenna seemed more inclined to talk to me than she did to Jack, I carried on. “Were any of these people angered because of what he did to his dog?”

Her composure faltered and had her going pale for a fraction of a second.
“I suppose so. I wasn’t around then, but if they were, they had no right to be.” She shrugged. “There wasn’t proof he did it.”

“The dish with Warfin—that’s rat poison—and a bowl of antifreeze were pulled from this house. Is the house not in his name?”

Jenna hugged herself briefly and afterward tucked her hands under her thighs.
“He didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

The house went silent as a tomb. There wasn
’t even the ticking of a clock or the humming of a furnace.

“Listen, the charges didn’t stick, and what was that—twenty-some years ago? Some sicko targeted him after this long?”
Stress tore at Jenna’s facial features, giving her hard lines.
“I honestly believe that his bitch-wife at the time did it. I really do. That woman is a nut job.”

With her words, I remembered reading that she was his second wife in the file. Somehow I had forgotten, probably due to the fact my mind was a cluttered mess from my personal life.

She angled her head to the left.
“I took him from her. She didn’t deserve him.”

“You were his secretary.” The pieces were filling in.

“Yes. I noticed you didn’t phrase that one as a question. You know what he did for work. I love how cops know the answers but still ask. He ran Simpson Construction. He made it from the ground up. He didn’t stand on his parents’ legacy. He created one.”
Passion ignited in her eyes.
“He was a believer in dreams, but he—” Her voice went gravelly and tears filled her eyes. “He made them come true.”

The brunette wrapped her arm around Jenna, and Jenna leaned into the embrace.

I didn
’t dare verbalize the thought, but it was apparent she’d loved Darren Simpson. The bravado presented was simply that, a façade.

“This person, the one who did this—” Jenna’s chin quivered and tears ran down her cheeks. “Was a sick son of a bitch. Darren didn’t deserve this.”

I was left speechless and somehow managed to keep my opinion to myself. This case was one of deep-seated conflict. The abused animals were given voice by the killer extracting vigilante justice, but on the flipside, our unsub was killing men and taking the stand as judge, jury, and executioner. The death sentence wasn
’t even legal punishment in many states.

“You said he had people who didn’t like him. Anyone new in his life?”

“Not that I know of.”

The brunette straightened up.
“What about that guy he mentioned?”

“Guy?”

“Yeah, you’ve been complaining about Darren spending more time away from you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Emily.”

I inched forward on the sofa. “Jenna, it could be something.”

Her eyes pinched and her brow wrinkled as if a twinge of pain caught her unexpectedly.
“You think he could be connected to Darren’s death somehow?”

“It’s possible. Everything helps to get us closer.”

“I don’t know his name. Gawd!” She put a flattened palm to her forehead and faced the ceiling. “I should have listened more when he spoke. I’m such a bad listener.”

“Do you know what he looked like?”

Chapter 5

Paige hated the jealousy that thrived beneath the surface. She’d never experienced any of these emotions prior to Brandon. She even remembered feeling lonely, years ago, when he had left the academy and returned to his wife. She should have known things would come full circle and she’d have to face the consequences of getting involved with a married agent in training. She just didn’t realize how cruel, and ironic, Karma could be in pairing them on the same team with the BAU. Her peace had come with convincing herself she didn’t need to worry about seeing him again. She was in New York, he lived in Florida. What were the chances their paths would ever cross again? But life wasn’t always fair. In fact, most times, reality was cruel. It had a way of serving notices that made most people stand back and analyze their life—where they were and where they were headed, what they regretted and how to make things better. It was one certainty she was convinced would never change.

She and Zach were on their way to visit Gene Lyons
’s wife, and even though her mind should have been on the case, it kept straying to the sidelines. Maybe she should resign? If she couldn’t gather her thoughts and focus, what good was she doing?

She shuffled the internal monologue and told herself it wasn
’t Brandon, it was the time of year.

She glanced over at Zach
’s profile. His attention was steadied on the road and the slippery conditions. The snow kept falling.

“Is Christmas a big deal for you?” she asked.

He didn
’t take his eyes off the road. “Not a huge deal. Maybe more so for my mom. You?”

“Huge, and I love everything about it.”

“You know it’s of pagan origins and dates back to three fifty-four
AD?
”

“Please don’t take something beautiful and destroy it.”

“I’m just telling you, it’s not the glitter and glam it’s made out to be.”

She paused to smile wistfully, letting her mind wander. She conjured the smell of gingerbread, evergreen, and eggnog. She could hear the crackling of a fire in the fireplace. “But it brings people together. Everyone is different at this time of year.”

“They are different all right, more consumed with commercialism.”

“Zach.”

He snuck in a quick glance and grinned at her. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You say you love everything?”

“Getting gifts, giving gifts. The lights, how they sparkle.”

“I noticed the order.”

She laughed.
“I’m still a woman, Zach.”

“You’re sad you might miss it?”

Faced with the direct question, it stirred up a lot of emotion. She hated that it centered on Brandon. She wanted him to be a part of the festivities this year, but she sensed that life would take another turn.

“You know, even if we haven’t closed the case, we can celebrate here.”

“What? In a local restaurant or our hotel?” She sulked.

“Well, it wouldn’t be exactly the same, but you’d be with us. Just think, it will probably be a lot less drama than other years.”

Her thoughts skipped to last Christmas. Her younger sister had gotten into a fight with their mother over what stuffing recipe to use. She thought about her uncle who was always too close to the family, not in a creepy sort of way, but still, he had never married and integrated himself as if he were an immediate relative.

She bobbed her head side to side.
“True.” She recognized her tone carried a playful edge, but inside she was torn. Part of her had wanted to invite Brandon to celebrate with the Dawson family. Would he even accept if she extended the offer?

Zach pulled to the curb in front of a bungalow. The barrage of snow had been left to accumulate in the driveway and was nearing twenty inches deep. If it wasn
’t for the mound in the shape of a car, and the lights on inside the house, Paige would have guessed no one was home.

“You’re telling me we have to walk through all that—”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Zach, I could beat you right now.”

*****

“I always told him, Karma’s a bitch and she will collect one day. He thought I was talking about myself.” Cathy Lyons sat in a sofa chair, her legs up on its matching ottoman, underneath a blanket. Her dog, Biscuit, a Pomeranian, snuggled tightly against her and shifted his position whenever she moved.

The house was a disorganized mess. Empty alcohol bottles were in the front entry, as if soldiers lined up on the battlefield, only they had lost the fight. Dog hair was meshed together in clumps on the ceramic tile and blew as tumbleweeds in the wake of following her to the living room.

When Paige took a seat on the sofa, the overwhelming scent of dog rushed up, tickling her nose. She didn’t have time to stop the sneeze.
“Excuse me.” Tears whelmed in Paige’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “It’s safe to say you two didn’t exactly get along.”

“Oh no, but we had an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?”

“He lived his life, I lived mine.”

“It had always been that way?” Zach asked.

Cathy angled her head and pulled back.
“Most couples get married because they love each other, they can even stand each other. His gambling killed us.”

“Why not get a divorce?”

Cathy
’s face contorted, mimicking a squished raisin. “That would be a sin.”

Paige studied the woman. She never understood why people fought to hold a relationship together when it had run its course. Drawing comparison to her own situation, the thought turned her stomach.

“You reported him missing five days ago.” Zach attempted to realign the direction of the conversation.

“That I did. The cops didn’t even seem to care until that guy’s body showed up.” She
tsked
and shook her head.
“Found in a back alley, poisoned to death. I read the paper.” For some reason, h
er latter statement carried pride.

Paige’s thoughts
went to Gene Lyons. Here, a man who’d been accused of animal neglect, still had the decency to remain married to and support his bride—a woman for whom he surely couldn’t have had any respect. Did he do it out of love, or out of obligation? Contrast that to what he was accused of doing—hurting an innocent animal—it wasn’t aligning.

“Were you both free to see other people?” Paige asked.

“Absolutely. We were just not allowed to live with anyone of the opposite sex. That would be a sin.”

Cohabiting was a sin but conjugating wasn
’t. Interesting. This woman had the ability to perverse the marital bonds and make it aesthetic.

Zach crossed his leg, letting his ankle rest on the knee of the other.
“The report says you filed a missing persons report when he didn’t show up to drop off your money.”

“Yes.”

“He typically did so reliably?”

“Yes.”

Zach turned to Paige. He must have sensed her amusement with this scenario. She couldn’t understand why the guy would have put up with this woman, married or not.

“You were living together at the time he was charged with animal neglect?”

“Yes.”

Zach
’s chest expanded. “Did you think he was guilty?”

“Yes.”

Zach dropped his leg.
“Did you voice that at the time?”

“What good would it have done?”

Paige was happy that she’d responded with more than a fired-back
Yes.

“Your husband is missing and we suspect that he’s been targeted by the same person who killed Darren Simpson.”

Her brows knit together.

“The man found by the dumpster,” Zach led her.

Recognition lit in her eyes. “Yes, I read that.”

Paige covered her mouth to stifle the snicker but dropped her hand under Zach’s gaze.

“You really believe he’s been kidnapped by a killer?” Excitement carried over each word and her posture had straightened, her legs were no longer crossed at the ankles.

Biscuit let out an audible yawn and jumped down to the floor, where he sat for a few seconds before settling into a ball at the base of the ottoman.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you know of anyone who hated your husband?”

“You mean more than me, because I didn’t kill that man, or take Gene.”

Paige admired Zach
’s patience. She was caught up in the rapture of I-can’t-believe-this-is-my-life-right-now and was fighting off a case of the giggles.
She had to get involved in the conversation or risk losing control of herself.

“What about hate mail, or vicious things that may have happened after the abuse charges?”

Cathy
’s features relaxed. Her eyes went up and to the right, which indicated she was going to tell the truth. “I remember we received hateful letters after the charges first came up. When he got off, they included death threats. Our house was egged a few times, but as the months passed, so did the harassment.”

“Those letters, do you still have them?”

“Oh, heavens, I don’t know. Maybe. I can look.”

“That would be great.”

“So, you really think someone from way back then is coming after him now?”

“Yes, we believe it’s possible.”

“Oh my.” Tension squeezed on her vocal chords and made her voice shaky. “Gene was charged well over twenty years ago.”

“We’ll need those letters if you can find them.”