Her Last Word(33)
“Why do you think your attacker let you go?” Quinn asked.
“After he raped me, he noticed a stuffed bear on my bed. He said he’d had a bear like that when he was a kid. He asked me if I’d named my bear. I told him its name was Buddy. That seemed to amuse him. I thought we had some kind of emotional connection and he maybe finally saw me as a person. Five minutes later he left.” She scanned both detectives as if they were suspects. “Why all the questions now?”
“Randy Hayward is back in custody and is willing to lead us to Gina Mason,” Adler said.
Maureen stared at them both closely. “What do you want from me?”
“You know, as well as we do, that guys like Hayward evolve,” Quinn said. “First stalking, then rape, and then murder. Serial offenders require more violence to get the same rush of adrenaline and sexual payoff.”
Maureen drew in a breath. “When is Hayward supposed to take you to Gina?”
“End of this week,” Adler said. “I don’t know if we can ever link Hayward to your rape, but I hoped you might be able to tell us something we could use.”
Maureen regarded him a moment. “After my rapist finished, I could tell he was worried about being captured. He climbed on top of me and put his hands around my throat again. Before he started to squeeze, I asked him if he’d named his stuffed bear. The question caught him off guard, and he released my neck and climbed off of me.”
“Did he tell you the name?” Adler asked.
“Charlie. He said his bear’s name was Charlie. Ask Hayward what happened to Charlie.”
Adler nodded. “Will do.”
“Keep me posted,” Maureen said. “Whether he’s my guy or not, that poor kid needs to be found.”
“We will,” Adler said.
They left Maureen Campbell and drove to Ruth Hayward’s home, but found the house closed up, the blinds drawn, and no cars in the driveway or garage.
“Think she’s left town?” Quinn asked.
“We’ll find her,” Adler said. “One way or another, we’ll talk to her.”
“She’s worried. Her kid is about to spill the beans, and she’s going to face a lot of questions,” Quinn said.
“What’s so special about Hayward? He has so many friends and family willing to protect him,” Adler said.
“He was young and charming. Mama’s boy. Everyone’s best friend. Psychopaths can be charming manipulators,” Quinn said.
“Nobody said they were stupid,” Adler said.
As Adler and Quinn made their way to his car, his phone buzzed with a text from a detective in a neighboring jurisdiction. Brad Crowley had returned home and realized the police were looking for him. He was ready to be interviewed.
“We don’t even know Erika is missing,” Quinn pointed out as she slid on her sunglasses. “She could be on a vacation.”
“You really think she’s on a vacation?” Adler asked.
“No. But we don’t have any evidence otherwise.”
“I want to listen in on the interview,” he said.
“I’d like in on it as well. I’ll try not to step on toes.”
A smile tugged at the edge of Adler’s lips. “Don’t kid yourself. You never miss a chance to stir shit up.”
She laughed. “Guilty. I’m a card-carrying provocateur.”
At the station, Adler and Quinn entered the room adjacent to the interview room. Through a two-way mirror, they saw Brad Crowley sitting in a plastic chair next to a scarred wooden table. Crowley wore charcoal-gray pants, a white shirt, and a yellow tie he’d loosened. His blond hair looked as if it had been slicked back but was now disheveled. His gaze downcast, he picked at a Styrofoam cup.
Detective Jeff Beck, a midsize, lean man, sported a blue suit and a full gray mustache reminiscent of the nineties. He stood outside interview room six sipping a cup of coffee.
Adler walked up to Beck and shook his hand. “Thanks for the call.”
“Hey, anytime.” Beck had taken a job with county police three years ago, but Adler and Beck had attended the city police academy together. Beck was one hell of a smart guy. They’d spent a few all-nighters studying for academy tests and had crossed paths during their uniformed patrol days more times than he could count. Each had attended the other’s wedding, and each commiserated when those marriages fell apart under the strain of the job.
“What’s his story?” Adler asked.
“He said he and his wife had an argument last week. He got angry, thought she was being unreasonable, and decided to split for a while.”
“He dropped everything just like that?” Adler asked.
“I checked with his office, and his secretary did clear his schedule at the last minute. She was supposed to tell everyone that he was attending a conference. She said he had a lot of pissed-off patients. Not everyone makes logical choices when they’re angry,” Beck said.
“Point taken.”
“Does he appear worried about his wife?” Quinn asked.
“More irritated and inconvenienced,” Beck said. “He thinks this is her way of paying him back because he took off.”
Adler studied Crowley through the two-way mirror. His shoulders were relaxed, and his expression oddly calm as he rolled a quarter over his fingers with practiced agility. This guy was far from stressed, or so it appeared. Even an innocent guy would be a little uncomfortable. He was trying too hard.
“I’d like to talk to him.”
Beck studied him. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks.”
“Tag team?” Quinn asked, grinning with anticipation.
Adler looked at Quinn. “Play nice.”
She shrugged. “Sure, might be fun to switch it up.”
Adler and Quinn entered the room. Quinn tossed a smile at Crowley and chose the seat closest to him. Crowley’s glance was dismissive and defiant until he looked at Adler. Anger flashed, and he rightly identified Adler as a threat.
Crowley kept his composure. “Do you have any news about my wife?”
Where Adler sat during an interview said a lot about his goals. If he were dealing with a traumatized witness, he’d pull up his chair beside the individual as Quinn had done. Sometimes he stood. Today he sat across from Crowley to show him he wasn’t his ally.
“My name is Detective Adler, and this is Detective Quinn. I understand your wife is missing.”
Crowley tugged at his left cuff. “I haven’t seen her since Thursday, but I wouldn’t classify her as missing.”
“Thursday is the last day you were home?”
“I went by my house today. I saw the police tape. And I called 911, and they told me to come here. Are you telling me my wife is injured?”
He wanted Crowley to answer as many questions as possible before he started sharing facts. “Where did you see your wife last?”
“At the house. It had been a long day for both of us, and our tempers flared. Normally, we cool off by now. I texted her several times, but she hasn’t answered. That’s why I went by the house looking for her.”
“Is there anyone who would want to hurt your wife?”
Crowley straightened, sniffed, and cleared his throat. “Are you telling me my wife is hurt? What the hell is going on here?”
“Your wife is missing. Another woman who came to visit you was assaulted on your property by an unknown assailant.”
Crowley drew in a deep breath, and he hesitated. “But Erika was not hurt, correct?”
“We have no evidence,” Quinn said. “But we are concerned about her welfare.”
“Why don’t you know where she is? You’re the damn cops, aren’t you?”
“We’re trying to find her,” Quinn said. “There’s no sign of credit card use. No one has seen her. And her cell is dead.”
“Who is the woman who was hurt?” Crowley demanded.
“A friend of your wife’s,” Adler said.
“Who? I know all my wife’s friends.”
“Kaitlin Roe,” Adler said.
“Roe?” Crowley shook his head. “She’s not a friend of my wife’s. They went to the same high school, but they haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Apparently, Kaitlin wanted to interview your wife for a podcast she’s making on Gina Mason.”
That bit of news seemed to surprise him. “Maybe Kaitlin was breaking into my house. She had a drug habit.”
“No evidence of a break-in. Do you have any idea where your wife might be?”
Crowley’s anger melted as the color drained from his face and the reality set in. “No. Where’s her car?”
“We found it at a gas station on Route 1. We had it towed to the police impound. Right now it’s with the forensic team.”
“Forensic team?” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Don’t you think this is getting way out of hand? She’s jerking my chain.”
Adler wasn’t here to answer questions but to ask them. “Are you sure you don’t know where your wife might be?”
“No, damn it, I don’t. Again, do you have evidence she’s hurt?”
“A friend of hers was killed, and we’re concerned for her safety.”
“Which friend?”
“Jennifer Ralston.”
“Jennifer? Jesus, what happened?”