“Was it that dark green stuff?” Coughlin leaned forward, his head cocked in concern. “The kind you take in a little cup? Man, that knocks me out too.”
And they were off. Sean and Michelle, chatting like old friends. She admitted she was a nurse and should have known better than to take that cough syrup after having a glass of wine at dinner. A nurse? Did she work at the hospital? No, part time for a private agency — more flexible, with the kids.
Holzer watched and listened, unobtrusively taking notes. Despite the difficult questions about her husband — Could he have been having an affair? Did he use drugs? Did he gamble? — Michelle never bristled. No, no, no, she answered firmly. The only sign of distress was the constant motion of her hands. Holzer watched them twisting the hem of her sweater, rubbing her temples, fluttering through her hair. Michelle’s hands were hardly bigger than a child’s, the skin smooth and white. A sizeable diamond slipped and sparkled on her left ring finger. He couldn’t imagine those hands changing diapers, scrubbing pots. Not that she came across as a princess. Just too delicate for the hard work of motherhood.
He liked the way she conducted herself with Coughlin. Michelle Fanning didn’t fall back on her looks. She met Coughlin’s eyes, and didn’t look away, even when she didn’t like the question.
“About the new house, Mrs. Fanning, it’s part of a development?”
“No. We have our own architect.”
Coughlin arched his eyebrows. “Any chance your husband might be in over his head? Paying the mortgage here, paying the construction costs there?”
For the first time, Michelle looked doubtful. “I, I don’t know. Brian handles our finances. He has an MBA.” She bit her lip. “I’m happy here. But Brian wanted more privacy. He said it would be a good investment.”
Little Natalie charged into the room waving a sheet of paper and a crayon. “Mommy, my yellow crayon doesn’t work! I have to have it or my picture will be ruined.”
Michelle extended her arms and Natalie ran into her embrace. Ignoring the detectives, she patiently peeled back the paper on the offending crayon. “There you go, sweetie. All fixed.”
“Thank you, Mommy.” Natalie held the paper out. “Look what I’m making for Daddy! Do you think he’ll like it?”
It was a picture of a house, with four lopsided windows, a half-finished smiley sun, and a squiggle of smoke coming from the chimney. Michelle wrapped her arms around Natalie and buried her face in her daughter’s curls. A long minute passed, then Natalie scampered off. Michelle’s face was streaked with tears.
Coughlin backed all the way down the driveway before he spoke.
“She knows he’s dead.”
“Sure she’s worried,” Holzer agreed. “But it’s too soon for her to give up hope.”
“No hoping. She knows exactly what happened to him.”
Holzer twisted around to face his partner. “You’re thinking she was involved in his disappearance? How the hell do you get that from what she told us?”
“Why else did she call 9-1-1, instead of checking with the hospital first to see if he had an accident? Isn’t that what you’d do if Jan didn’t come home?”
“Everyone reacts differently. It’s a big leap to say she knows he’s dead.”
“Wait and see. That’s one cold bitch.”
For once it was Coughlin who remained calm while Holzer grew agitated. “How can you say that? She was cooperative. She was holding herself together for the sake of her kids, but she was clearly distressed.”
The hint of a smile played across Coughlin’s broad face. “She oughta be distressed. I’m gonna nail her ass.”
For the rest of the afternoon, the partners worked the case from different angles. Coughlin focused on Brian Fanning’s business, an import/export firm, while Holzer followed up with the contractor building the new house. Driving out to the site, Holzer thought about what his partner believed. Clearly another of Coughlin’s famous hunches. Sean had earned a rep for having some kind of second sight when he was a rookie patrolman. Responding to a call about a boy found facedown in a stream, Sean had preserved the scene in the presence of the hysterical family. As he turned the case over to his superiors, Sean had said, “The stepbrother did it.” And, after weeks of investigation and forensic analysis, it turned out the death wasn’t a tragic accident; the stepbrother really had killed the kid. There had been other hunches, too, not as dramatic but still spot-on.
Coughlin being Coughlin, he got testy when the guys asked him to forecast point spreads for the football pool, or pick a lucky lottery number. He insisted he was just very good at detecting the subtle signs of guilt. Except in his own marriage. Patty fooled around with the stockbroker dude for months before she took off. Coughlin never saw it coming. Holzer shook his head as he drove. Sean didn’t know squat about women.
Holzer stopped daydreaming when he saw “Fanning” spray-painted in orange on a scrap of wood, and made the turn. The unpaved road twisted through the trees for nearly a quarter mile before opening up to a big cleared space. Holzer whistled. The unfinished house was twice the size of Brian and Michelle’s colonial. A house like this would set you back a cool two mil, easy.
Trucks and vans were arrayed around the site and the rhythmic sound of a nail gun pierced the crisp air. Holzer found the general contractor and asked his questions as the boss looked over the day’s work. The GC said Brian Fanning was pleasant enough, picky about the details of his new home but not unreasonable. The wife had been out to the site a few times. They never argued; she held her husband’s hand and let herself be shown around.
“The uniformed officer found some blood out here this morning,” Holzer said. “Know anything about that?”
“Happened late yesterday afternoon. Manny cut himself pretty bad with a hacksaw. I had to take him to the ER for stitches.”
Holzer paused in front of what would be a huge window. The property dropped away in the back, providing a panoramic view of the valley. You couldn’t see another house from this angle, just trees and the glint of gray granite outcroppings. Maybe Fanning wanted to play lord and master over a big spread but came up short of cash. Maybe he was ashamed to admit failure. Would that make a man walk away from a beautiful woman like Michelle and two great kids? Holzer sighed. You only had to be on this job a few months to learn people had an endless capacity for screwed-up decision-making.
A flash of white moved through the woods. Barks mixed with the nailing and sawing as a sleek pointer streaked into the clearing. The GC whistled and the dog bounded up a plywood ramp into the house. Holzer took a step back. He liked dogs, but this one was filthy and smelled funky.
“Jeez, Uno, what’d you get into?” the GC asked.
Uno sat and looked at them with bright-eyed expectation. The white fur of his muzzle and front paws was stained a deep reddish brown. It wasn’t the color of the rocky Connecticut soil, and there hadn’t been rain for weeks.
When Holzer arrived home that night Jan and the older boys were in the driveway playing a spirited game of two-on-two, while Lukey cheered. He watched his wife sink a shot from over near the garbage cans. She’d played for UConn until a tendon tear sidelined her, but she still had a helluva hook. He shook his head as she stole the rebound from her oldest son, elbowing the next younger one out of her way. Jan would walk through fire for her kids, but she didn’t hesitate to knock them down on the basketball court.
The boys caught sight of him and the game was forgotten.
“Daddy, Daddy — I’m playing on Mommy’s team and we’re winning.”