What the River Knows (11 page)

She put her hand on the passenger seat, then turned her gaze to it. A long, blonde hair clung to the headrest—Maggie’s. She picked up the hair, wrapped it into a tiny coil, and placed it in her wallet in the same pocket that held the photo of her and Mags so many years ago.

The dam of reserve that held her tears back burst. So many years she had yearned to see her best friend again, kept apart by parents, distance, and her own fears. Then, by sheer chance, she had found her again, rediscovered their bond, and more. Now, after a few short weeks, it was gone for good. She let the tears flow for a few minutes, then realized that she no longer heard the backhoe. She looked up to see that the men had finished covering up Maggie’s grave. Quickly, she wiped her eyes, for once not worried about running mascara, and left the cemetery before they could approach her.

Chapter 19

“Let’s see, I had a meeting at the bank at ten, Rotary at lunch, then met a client at two, and was back at the office at four.” Moran reconstructed the day Delia disappeared by referring to a detailed planner Scott recognized as an expensive status symbol. “What else do you need to know?” He clasped his hands on the table and gazed steadily at Bates.

“We’ll need the name of who you met at the bank, some of the Rotarians who were at the lunch, and the client you met.”

“Certainly.” Moran turned to the back of the planner. Moran’s suit easily cost more than Scott’s entire wardrobe. Maybe Bates’s, too. “I met with Warren Ochs at the bank, then we joined a meeting with Stanley Jones.” He looked up at Bates. “The bank president.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bates said. “My wife’s on the Chamber with him.”

“Nice guy, isn’t he?” Moran leaned back in the chair, relaxed.

“Ummm.” Bates glanced at his notepad. “Ochs is head of the loan department, right?”

Moran sat forward. “Yes.”

“Is your business in trouble, Mr. Moran?” It was Scott’s turn to play “bad cop.”

Moran studied him a second before responding. “Every business needs capital to maintain cash flow.” He looked toward Bates. “We’re expanding, starting projects before we have others finished and paid for.” He glanced back at Scott. “Business is good.”

“What about the client you met with?” Bates pressed on.

“I’d rather not name the client.” Moran looked down. “The client is not ready to go public with plans.”

“Was that a female client, Mr. Moran?” Scott pressed on.

Moran shot Scott a look with daggers, but composed himself, and his voice was calm. “Yes, it was, Detective Aylward.”

“We need to be able to verify that you were with her at the times you state, Mr. Moran.”

Moran glanced at Bates, who nodded. “We do, Mr. Moran.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“You are until we can verify your whereabouts between the time Delia left the office and we found her body.”

A fine sheen of sweat broke out on Moran’s upper lip.

“Where did you go after you left the office?” Scott took a different approach. Let him stew a little while.

Moran glanced at him. “I went to the gym, then went home.” He looked down at the table. His shoulders sagged just enough to be noticeable. “My wife and I had a charity event at the country club. By the time I showered, it was time to leave, and we were there until eleven. Then we went home and to bed.”

“Your wife can verify this?” Bates kept his eyes on his notepad. Scott knew they would also check with the gym.

Moran nodded. “You’ll be talking to her, too?”

Scott shrugged. “Need to verify your story.” He leaned forward so fast Moran’s eyes widened. “Unless you have a confession to make?”

“N-no,” Moran stammered. “You mean you really think I could have done that to Delia?” He shuddered. “Delia was a sweet gal, good worker. Why would I want to hurt her at all, much less brutally murder her?”

“You tell us.” Bates looked up. “Maybe she wanted to stop her affair with you.”

Moran’s brow furrowed.

Scott spoke up. “Or maybe she threatened to tell your wife.”

Moran looked down at his hands. “Look, my wife and I—” He took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “My wife and I have an ‘arrangement.’” He looked from Bates to Scott. “You know, the same old same old can get pretty boring for both of us. So we ‘overlook’ casual things.” He paused as if he expected them both to agree.

“Not in my marriage,” Bates stated.

“Maybe your wife isn’t as bored as you think.” Scott would never suggest such a thing to Rica. First of all, he loved her and wanted no other woman; second, she’d kill him.

Moran laughed. “She’s the one suggested it. I know she’s been sleeping with her golf instructor and the yard contractor and God knows how many others.”

“What about you?”

“I find some entertainment.” Moran folded his arms across his chest.

“With your employees who are recently divorced?” Bates crossed his arms as well.

Moran glanced from Bates to Scott. “I’ve been known to try to cheer up a few of them.”

“And if they don’t like your form of moral support, they lose a job?” If moral fiber made the man, Sandy should treat Moran like she had treated Enfield.

Again, Moran looked from one to the other. “No, no. If they’re not interested in ‘extra-curricular,’ I just let them know I care anyway.”

“Are you this kind to the guys in your organization that get divorced?”

“I don’t know.” Moran leaned back. “Haven’t had any of my department heads get divorced.”

“So,” Scott asked the question he had wanted to ask the moment Moran entered the room. “Was Delia interested or not?”

Moran sat up straight. “She was interested.” He glanced again from Scott to Bates. “Took her a couple of weeks to decide to go through with it, but when she did—” He licked his lips. “When she did, wow. She wanted it a lot, whenever she didn’t have her little girl. If she did, it was every time she went to make a bank deposit.”

“Like she did the day she disappeared.”

He blinked. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

“So why didn’t you meet her that day?” Scott placed a hand on the table. “Or did you?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Moran’s eyes were wide, his breathing fast. “She broke it off a couple of weeks ago, said she was a good girl, couldn’t keep seeing a married man.” He took a deep breath. “Then Tuesday, she asked me to meet her again when she made the bank deposit.” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “She was so aroused, almost frantic, but when we finished, she started crying and said it was wrong, it couldn’t happen again.” He sighed. “I told her it would be okay, I wouldn’t pressure her, I’d try to stay out of her path, but she was pretty upset.” He met Bates’ eyes. “I made it a point not to go by her office on Wednesday, just to keep from upsetting her again. I accepted it was over.”

“Or did you stay away from her office because you knew she wouldn’t be there?” Scott fought to keep the anger from his voice.

Moran stared at him with a puzzled expression. “Knew she wouldn’t be there? What do you mean, she wouldn’t be there?” Sudden realization flashed through his eyes. “Oh, my God, she couldn’t be there because she was already dead.” His face turned pasty.

“Did you kill her, Mr. Moran?” Bates, stone-faced, pressured Moran.

“Of course not!” Moran’s voice shook. “I may be an ass, but I’m not a killer.” He glanced from Bates to Scott and back. “Look, when clients want to go hunting or fishing, I try to find an excuse to bail, because I can’t stand to see living things suffer, but them knowing that would be bad for business.”

“But maybe things got passionate, then she rejected you,” Scott suggested.

“Or you were the one who wanted to meet and she refused you,” Bates offered. “You really don’t seem like the type to take rejection well.”

Moran shook his head. “I’ve had lots of experience at it, but it’s no big deal with women.” Again, he looked from one man to the other. “I can always find another one, know what I mean?”

Bates and Scott looked at each other. In unison, they replied. “No.”

Moran took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his immaculately trimmed hair.

“Will you give us a DNA sample?” Bates asked.

Moran licked his lips. “Well, I’m sure it will prove I had sex with her, so maybe I should refuse till I talk to my lawyer.”

“We can get a warrant and get the sample that way. But it makes you look more guilty.”

“Either way, all it proves is what I’ve just admitted.”

Bates shrugged. “Maybe.”

He sat in silence as Bates and Scott watched him. “Now is that enough? Can I go?”

“Just one more thing,” Scott said. “The name of the client you saw last Tuesday.”

He shifted in his seat. “Mrs. Warren Ochs.”

Chapter 20

Whistling, Scott jogged up the stairs to their apartment. While they hadn’t wrung a confession out of Moran, they hadn’t completely eliminated him as a suspect, either. His wife might not be concerned about his affair with the banker’s wife, but they had the fear of the banker finding out to pressure him for full compliance. They just might be able to get justice for Delia after all. He opened the door, excited at the prospect of having the rest of the weekend to spend with Rica.

“Scott, we need to talk.” He froze before he even dropped his keys in the bowl. Those had to be the four words men feared most. They could lead to all kinds of outcomes, most of them bad. He stood with his keys in his hand.

“What—?” He decided to rephrase his response, make it less threatening. “Of course, Rica.” He put his keys away and pulled his suit jacket off slowly, his eyes scanning the apartment to see if there was anything that might give him a clue to what he had or hadn’t done. He walked to where she stood in the kitchen. He didn’t approach her for a kiss; right now, she looked more like a mother about to administer a scolding than the wife eager to please that she had been last night.

“Scott, did you have breakfast before you went to that girl’s funeral this morning?”

He blinked. “Yeah, I made some coffee and had a bowl of cereal. Why?”

She stepped aside from the counter. There stood a nearly full gallon of milk, the box of cereal, his coffee mug, and two spoons. “But you didn’t remember to put anything away, did you?”

Faced with the incriminating evidence, he decided to confess. “Looks like I didn’t.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Rica.” She was getting up as he walked out the door, he remembered. “I guess I thought you might want the milk for your breakfast.”

“Scott.” She gave him THAT look and used THAT tone of voice, the look and tone that said she was dealing with a very slow child. “When in the four years we’ve been married did I ever have milk with breakfast? You know I always just have coffee and fruit.”

He started to shrug, but stopped himself. “I said I’m sorry, Rica.” He stepped toward her, planning to put up the cereal and rinse the dishes to put in the dishwasher. “I can’t go back and un-do leaving things out.”

She grabbed the milk jug and shoved it into the trash can. “What is it going to take to get you to stop leaving them out?” Before he could reach the cereal, she snatched it up and slammed it in the cabinet. He had the dishwasher open before she could break the mug and bowl putting it in the sink. “Scott, how much money do we waste on things like this?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged before he could stop himself. “Not a lot.”

She faced him, leaning against the counter, in almost the same place as last night. “Any is too much.” Her eyes flashed at him, and she flung her hands in the air. “How can we ever afford a house, how can we hope to take care of it, if we can’t take care of life in an apartment?”

“But, Rica—” He faced her, puzzled. “We have $20,000 in the bank, both cars are paid for, and we both make good money. We’ve taken the first-time homebuyer’s class, so we qualify for the down payment grant.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s just it, Scott.” She glared at him. “You don’t understand, you don’t see how your messiness, your forgetfulness, your carelessness undermines your effectiveness. And our future!” She stalked past him, grabbed her purse from the spot it always occupied on the hook by the front closet, and opened the door. “I’m going to the movies with Heather.” She looked at him. “I’ll be back when I’ve cooled down.” She paused before she stepped through the door. “You might look around to see what you can do to mitigate your messiness while I’m gone.” The door slammed behind her, and Scott blinked. So much for spending the weekend cuddling together.

Chapter 21

Over the growl of the vacuum, Scott heard his cell phone. He flipped off the monster and grabbed the phone before checking to see if it was Rica. His eager, “Yeah?” changed to, “Oh, Del, it’s you.”

“Glad to be talking to you, too, buddy,” Bates chuckled. “Expecting someone else?”

“Rica.” Scott didn’t want to explain.

Bates didn’t ask. “I finally got hold of Mrs. Moran.”

“Where was she?” Moran had told them she was out of town, but was vague about where.

“Minnesota. Fishing trip with some of her female friends.”

“Sure.” He sighed. How long before Rica started going places without him because she was angry? Then it hit him. She had already gone to the movies twice without him. “When’s she get back?”

“She just landed at our local airport. Seems they had a private pilot fly them up there and back. And stay with them while they were there.”

“Chauffeur slash bodyguard?”

“Something like that.” Bates paused. “So she is available to speak with us between her shower and dinner at the Club.”

“Wow.” Scott marveled at the ego of some people. “Let me check my planner to see if I can spare fifteen minutes to see if she goes to jail or not.”

“I’ll pick you up in five.”

****

Mrs. Moran was able to fit them into her busy schedule, but just barely. By the time Scott and Bates arrived at the Moran McMansion, she had run through a shower, and they interviewed her at her dressing table, situated in a closet bigger than Scott’s entire bedroom. Bates wrinkled his nose at the scent of the polish she was brushing on her nails.

“So, Mrs. Moran, you were with your husband the entire evening last Tuesday?”