Threads of Suspicion(25)

“It is. She understood his personality and that’s what’s most valuable to me. She painted a picture so I can see him.” David scanned the rest of his notes. “A couple more personal ones . . . she told me Saul was never going to be a wealthy man, he had too many people he’d slip a hundred dollars to when they were down on their luck, too many friends who needed help. He was generous of spirit, assumed you would get yourself on your feet again, believed you could.

“He was looking for a new apartment, a place where he could have a dog. He could live anywhere and it was time for a change, he told her.

“‘He’d brought this puzzle box over,’ she said, ‘one of those thousand-piece marathons—a Norman Rockwell painting of baseball players in a locker room. He’d set up a card table by the living room window and be hard at it when I got home from work. He wasn’t the type to simply walk out of his life, leave things behind, leave his dreams. He wasn’t a wealthy man, didn’t have all the breaks go his way in life, but he was a good brother. A very good brother. He didn’t just disappear on me.’”

David closed his notebook. “She loved Saul. And if he made that kind of lasting impression on her, chances are good his friends are going to have the same perspectives. This wasn’t a family dispute that went wrong, probably not even a personal one.”

“The rest of his family? She mentioned more stepsibs.”

“Scattered across the nation now; Cynthia is the only one within a hundred miles he saw regularly.”

“The jigsaw puzzle is interesting,” Evie remarked. “He was doing some thinking.”

David nodded. “I thought the same, hence the written quote. A nice diversion, a puzzle, something to have in his hands while Saul lets his mind mull over another matter. I’d love to know what he was thinking about. I haven’t come across a client being billed during that last week.”

“Maybe one of the suspended cases, working it on his own time. Or a personal matter, something he wants to solve for a friend. A good-deed kind of case?” Evie proposed.

“That would fit him,” David said, thoughtful. “He was working a puzzle, figuratively and literally, thinking through how to approach a problem. The question is, did it get him killed or did something more prosaic happen?” He raised a shoulder. “Something as random as looking for someone that put him in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“The fact his car also disappeared seems as relevant a clue as anything else you have. It could have been a murder, and then an ordinary street thief takes the car that’s been sitting for a day or two in a tempting part of town. But when no car gets found, no body, that tends to say they were disposed of by the same person. You’ll find a lead somewhere, David, and figure this out.”

David smiled. “Optimism is appreciated. I’m certainly going to try.” He pushed to his feet. “Thanks for listening.”

“You chose the right case, David. You’ve got the patience to talk with a lot of people—which is a good thing, given your whiteboard is about ready to fall off the wall it’s so crowded with names.”

David laughed as she had hoped. “I’ll be doing some talking to people,” he agreed. “I came back to pull the files of those who most likely would want him dead and then I’ll be heading out again.”



Evie set her phone alarm for her next interview, then turned her attention back to the four boxes of case material. Personal items first, she decided, and opened box two.

The nice thing about people’s habits is that they leave trails, she thought—notes, lists, receipts, phone numbers. She picked up Jenna’s purse, spread its contents on the desk, then opened Jenna’s wallet. Library card, student ID, health-insurance card, a dentist’s business card, an insurance agent with a renter policy number written on it. The checkbook showed occasional checks to a church, her landlord, the student-union   bookstore.

Evie pulled out the less-organized bits and pieces in the front of the wallet. A reminder note to call Susan about volleyball, a Post-it note with a phone number and the name Chad, the time and place for a study group meeting, a diner’s receipt for a chef’s salad and Diet Coke. And then Evie stopped sorting items. She was holding a ticket stub with a swirling stack of cursive M’s, a creative logo she immediately recognized. “David.”

Her voice had enough urgency that he immediately appeared in the doorway. “What is it, Evie?”

She held it up. “My missing college student was at a Triple M concert the night she disappeared. I’m holding the ticket stub.”