“Good point,” Estelle said. “You’ve got a gun?”
I made a sour face and waved a hand in dismissal. “Let me know ASAP about Barrie. My gut is turning flip-flops. That’s always a sign. Maybe the missus will talk to you if I’m not along. And as devious as you are, you should be able to talk her out of any information she has.”
“I’m not devious,” Estelle Reyes said.
“So you say.”
When she left, I had the feeling my hours of relaxation at home were at an end. There’s only so much rest a man can take.
Chapter 25
“He’s skipped,” Estelle Reyes said. I held the phone tight to my ear.
“His wife is still home?”
“Sure is. Depressed as hell, obviously. She didn’t know what to do at first, and didn’t want to talk to me. She finally gave in. I spent half an hour listening to her sob before I could get two coherent words out of her.”
“What were those?”
“David Barrie apparently left sometime the day before yesterday. She thought he was going to the store, and was a little worried about him. She said he was irritable and absent-minded. She called the store mid-morning, and it was closed.”
“She didn’t bother to call anybody? Like her friendly sheriff’s department?”
“Nope. Apparently she had a feeling that it was a skip, not something else. She isn’t anxious to talk about it. Anyway, he cleaned house.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the receipts he could lay his hands on. He cleaned out their joint accounts at First National. He even took a coin collection that had been in a safety-deposit box. A bunch of other stuff as well.”
“And she has no idea where he went?”
“Nope.”
“Is she going to file suit?”
“Another day or two to think about it, and she might. Right now, she’s just sitting in her house, feeling small.”
“It shouldn’t be hard to find a silver Corvette. He took that, didn’t he?”
“Yup. And it took about half an hour to find it. I put it on the computer this morning as a hit. The Las Cruces PD found it. They were very proud of themselves.”
“Where was it?”
“Parked in the lot at Las Cruces-Crawford Airport.”
“Well, son of a bitch.” My pulse soared. “Get a warrant for the hobby shop, Estelle. And one for the house.”
“Judge Deal said I can pick it up on my way over.”
“Stop and pick me up on the way.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. I feel fine.”
Estelle didn’t argue with me, and didn’t waste any time. Ten minutes later, she pulled into my driveway, and I was ready. I yanked open the door before she even had time to shut off the engine. “Did you get the warrant?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go use it.”
Mrs. Barrie seemed more than eager to cooperate-she’d had some time to think, I guess. That her husband had obviously split and left her nearly destitute except for some inventory and real estate had produced first a mix of guilt and remorse, then some healthy self-pity fired with rage.
She met us at the store, and opened the front door with a kind of grim satisfaction. “It’s all yours, officers,” she said.
“Mrs. Barrie, were you and your husband having difficulty before this week?”
She almost laughed, and it came out as a half-sigh. “Difficulty isn’t the word. I’m fairly sure he was seeing somebody else on a regular basis.”
“Another woman, you mean?”
She nodded. “He was keeping some strange hours. But I guess it didn’t matter. After his daughter was killed, we really didn’t have much to say to each other.”
I was leaning against the doorjamb, listening with half an ear while I surveyed the store’s interior layout. Her emphasis caught my attention. “His daughter?”
“Yes. Jenny was from his first marriage. She and I were so close, I felt she was mine, too, but she was really my stepdaughter.”
Too bad that hadn’t been true with the Fernandez kid, I thought. There was more I wanted to ask this woman. When we had first interviewed parents after the July Fourth car crash, I had talked with David Barrie. His wife had sat silently by, watching and listening to the conversation.
But now, any questions I might have found breath to ask were interrupted by the screech of tires outside. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Martin Holman’s car jar to a stop behind ours. Holman got briskly out and so did his passenger-Dr. Harlan Sprague. The fact that he was blundering right into the middle of a field investigation apparently didn’t occur to Holman.
I held up a hand. “No further,” I said flatly. I directed it more at Sprague than Holman, since Holman was free to do pretty much what he wanted. “Dr. Sprague, did you want something in particular?”
“I thought it would be all right,” Holman said lamely.
The physician blushed slightly. He didn’t like being caught in the middle. “I came at Sheriff Holman’s request. Dr. Perrone wouldn’t come, but apparently suggested me as someone you knew and maybe trusted.” He looked at me shrewdly. “You know the risk you’re taking, in your condition and away from medical care?”
“I tell you what, Doc. I appreciate your concern. If you want to wait outside in the sheriff’s car, or across the street in the coffee shop, feel free. I don’t want unauthorized personnel in here. I’m sorry to be so rude, but that’s the way it is.”
Sprague nodded with resignation. After he left, Holman took me by the elbow. Estelle was already prowling. Mrs. Barrie sat down in a chair by the cash register and waited.
“Look, Bill,” the sheriff started to reason, but I cut him off. I kept my voice down to a gravelly whisper.
“Sheriff, David Barrie skipped town early yesterday. He took what money he could, and drove to Las Cruces. They found his car at the airport.”
“And that has something to do with the Salinger murder?” he asked quietly.
“We think so. It’d be too much of a coincidence otherwise. Give us some time, and then I’ll explain why.” It didn’t take much time. Estelle Reyes emerged from a back room carrying a large, brightly colored box. The top was off, tucked under.
I looked at the Japanese characters, supplemented with English and German. “Giant-scale stunter,” I read aloud. Estelle had the plans for the big model airplane unrolled. “Just junk in here,” I said, rummaging through the scraps of plywood, balsa, pine, and plastic. There were several almost empty squeeze bottles of glue, used straight pins, and several clothespins. “And bingo,” I said. I held up the roll of plastic covering.
“And here,” Estelle Reyes said. She had unrolled a sheet of full-sized plans. She pointed at a long piece of wood that formed the leading edge.
“That thing is big,” Holman said in wonder. “And what are we looking at model airplanes for?”
“Says here that it’s one-third scale. The wingspan is ninety inches. And look at the size of that engine,” I said ignoring the question.
“Mrs. Barrie?” Estelle Reyes showed the woman the plans. “Did this belong to your husband?” Mrs. Barrie nodded. “Do you know where it is now?” Estelle asked.
“I have no idea. All I know is that he spent months building it. He worked down here at the store. Not at home.” She looked peeved. “Of what concern is a stupid model airplane? He sold them, you know. This is a hobby shop.”
It seemed the right time. “Detective Reyes, would you go out to the car and get the evidence envelope?”
Estelle did so, and I pulled out the bit of plastic and spruce. There was no need to hold it up against the scraps in the box. “Mrs. Barrie, this material was found in Scott Salinger’s back pocket. We have reason to believe he picked it up just before he was killed.” Mrs. Barrie’s face was blank. She looked at the plastic and wood, and then at the plans that Estelle still held. For emphasis, Estelle turned and picked up the partial roll of the plastic that lay in the box.