“You’d be surprised,” I tell him, and though he still looks perplexed, he lets it go. We finish our meals in silence and as soon as we are done, we hop back in his car and head for the police station.
At the back of the Sorenson City Police Department are four jail cells. Most of the time they’re occupied by town drunks who need a place to sleep off their latest alcoholic stupor and the doors to the cells are often left ajar. But every once in a while the jail houses someone charged with an actual crime, like Erik Tolliver.
After getting clearance from the front desk and depositing Bjorn in the squad room with some change for the vending machines, I head for the cell area, where I find Erik sitting on the bunk in cell number two, reading the morning newspaper. There is a desk area in front of the cells where an officer would typically sit, but at the moment it’s empty. Erik is hardly alone, however. Cameras mounted near the ceiling are aimed at each of the cells and connected to monitors out at the dispatcher’s desk. There is also a button on the wall of each cell that connects a prisoner to an intercom system in case they need to call for help. I know from past conversations with the cops that the intercom system also allows for eavesdropping, should the need arise. Push a button on the other end and you can hear everything that goes on inside a cell.
Hearing my approach, Erik peeks over the top of his newspaper and then greets me with a weary “Good morning.” I return the greeting, grab the chair behind the desk, and wheel it over in front of his cell.
“I’m almost afraid to ask why you’re here,” he says, setting his paper aside.
“I have a few questions about Shannon.”
He gives me a wary look. “Is this part of your investigation? Shouldn’t I have Lucien here?”
“It is a part of my investigation but not anything official, at least not yet. I’m following up on a hunch and just want to ask you a couple of questions about Shannon’s eating habits.”
Erik looks surprised. “Her eating habits? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m not sure yet. It might be nothing, it might be everything. If my suspicions are right it could work in your favor but I’m still only theorizing at this point. I don’t see any reason to call Lucien, but if it will make you feel more comfortable to do so, go ahead. I’ll wait.”
He weighs his options and decides to trust me. “Okay,” he says. “But if I start to feel uncomfortable about anything you ask, I’m going to call a halt.”
“Fair enough. To start with, can you tell me how Shannon’s modeling career was doing?”
He shrugs. “Okay, I guess. I mean it wasn’t anything huge and the work was pretty irregular. It was mostly local jobs. You know, modeling clothes for flyers and ads in the paper, that sort of stuff. She called the money she made from it her funny money.”
“Did she typically diet when she had a job coming up?”
“Hell, it seemed like she was dieting all the time. She was always saying she needed to lose a few pounds. I remember a couple of times when she consumed nothing but those diet drinks for a few days.” He grimaces and shudders. “I tried one of them out of curiosity once. I don’t know how anyone can subsist on those things. They’re nasty.”
“Were there ever times when she ate a lot? You know, way more than usual?”
Erik smiles. “Don’t we all?”
I wisely decide to take the Fifth on that one.
“She called them her binges,” he goes on. “Some days she’d eat as if it might be the last food she’d ever see. And boy, did she have a sweet tooth. Her job at Dairy Airs was quite the challenge for her at times, what with all the ice cream and cheesecake and such.”
“Did she ever show any remorse over her binges?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes she’d blame it on her hormones. You know, say it was that time of the month and all.”
I nod. I’m familiar with that excuse since I’ve used it myself rather often, ignoring the fact that if it was true, my time of the month would be nearly every day.
“Sometimes she’d moan about what a pig she was and complain about her lack of willpower, but no more than any other woman I know.”
I smile, pausing a moment as I try to find a delicate way to ask my next question. “Do you think that she spent an unusual amount of time in the bathroom?”
“Well, yeah,” he says, giving me one of those duh looks. “But that was because of her IBS.”
IBS is an acronym for irritable bowel syndrome, a condition that can cause frequent bouts of diarrhea, constipation, and abdominal pain. It’s not rare but it’s not all that common either. And I’m pretty sure Shannon didn’t have it, unless she developed it within the last six months.
“How long had she had IBS?”
“The whole time we were married.” I frown and Erik picks up on my confusion. “What?” he asks. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
“It’s just that I remember when Shannon had that emergency appendectomy a few months back. I was the scrub nurse on her case and she never mentioned having IBS. It wasn’t in her history.”
“Maybe she forgot,” Erik says with a shrug. “Or maybe she was just too embarrassed to mention it. I know she didn’t like to talk about it.”
“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t believe it. I had an up-close and very personal view of Shannon’s bowels during that surgery. In fact, I held them in my hand. And there was no indication of a disease of any kind, much less IBS. Nor was there any sign of it during her autopsy.
“Why does it matter?” Erik asks. “Where are you going with all of this?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to say just yet,” He gives me a look of exasperation so I try to explain myself more. “It’s for your own good, Erik. If I tell you what I’m thinking and I’m wrong, it will get your hopes up for nothing. And if I’m right, telling you too soon could compromise the investigation. But it might also exonerate you. So I’m asking you to sit tight, be patient, and trust me on this one.”
He makes a sweeping gesture around the inside of his cell. “It’s not like I have much choice.”
“I promise you that as soon as I have anything solid, I’ll let both you and Lucien know, okay?”
He studies me through the bars of his cell, seeming to weigh my trustworthiness. Apparently I pass muster because he sighs, nods, and says, “Okay, Mattie. My fate is in your hands.”
I should feel relieved to hear him say this, but I’m frightened instead. The weight of this investigation is beginning to press hard on me, and Erik’s fate is a responsibility I’m not sure I want.
Before I have time to consider it further, I hear a familiar voice coming down the hall, one that prompts me to prepare for a hasty exit. Seconds later Lucien enters the room accompanied by a uniformed officer and Bjorn.
At first glance Lucien appears to be a normal, decent-looking guy. He has an average build, strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes, and wears suits, button-down shirts, and ties when he’s working. But his clothes always have that slightly rumpled, slept-in look, and often as not the colors he wears clash violently. His hair, which is just wavy enough to be a bit unruly, is usually slicked back with a ton of greasy gel that makes it look perpetually wet. It all works together to lend him an air of slick sleaziness, an image he manages to reinforce every time he opens his mouth.
The officer gestures toward Bjorn, whose hands and face are smeared with chocolate. “Does he belong to you?”
“He does,” I say, taking Bjorn by the arm and steering him toward a chair. I grab some tissues from a box on the desk and start trying to clean off the chocolate. From the corner of my eye I see Lucien watching me with that grin, the one that means something crass is coming, so I brace myself.