“Pardon?”
“Whether the homicide was accidental or not, it’s still murder.”
“We get that, Williams. And we have no intention of closing this case. But right now, we’ve taken it as far as it can go.”
The elevator door swished open; the two stepped on. Billy Ray stopped the doors from closing. “Are you aware that three days ago Abbott’s wife was found unconscious and covered in blood?”
He had their attention and went on. “That’s right, Bailey Abbott, Logan Abbott’s wife, was found the same day, in the very woods where Rodriguez was shot, unconscious and covered in blood.”
“Why didn’t we hear anything about this?”
“My jurisdiction, no reason to. Until now.”
“Why now?”
“The story is, she was out riding, took a low-hanging branch to the head and went down. Horse returns to the stable without a rider; a search ensues. Abbott finds her unconscious, gets her to the hospital. Meanwhile other members of the search party came across Rodriguez and called you.”
Rumsfeld let out a long breath. He glanced at his partner, then back at Billy Ray. “Who called you?”
“That doesn’t matter. The point is, we both have pieces of the puzzle.”
“You’ve interviewed her?”
“Tried. Supposedly she has TML.”
“In English.”
“Traumatic memory loss. Amnesia.”
“You said ‘supposedly’? Why?”
“Awfully convenient, don’t you think?”
“She was hospitalized?”
“Yes.”
“And a doctor confirmed the amnesia?”
He was losing them. “Yes.”
“Then keep us posted. The amnesia will pass and if she knows something—”
“Oh, she does.”
Carlson snorted. “Something pertinent, Williams.”
“I think she may have a reason not to remember.”
Rumsfeld narrowed his eyes. “And what would that be?”
“Protect someone she loves.”
“Go on.”
“Mrs. Abbott had a lot of blood on her. I sent samples from her clothes to the lab. Got the preliminary results back. Two different blood types. Hers. And Henry Rodriguez’s. Now, I know that doesn’t prove it was his blood, but as coincidences go, it’s a doozy.
“At least,” he went on, “pay her a visit. Maybe she saw the shooter. Maybe her amnesia was caused by the trauma of witnessing the event, not the blow to her head.”
It sounded like he was begging, and he despised himself for it.
But he’d do it for True. Anything for True.
“When’s the last time you spoke with her?” Carlson asked.
“Tried to talk to her yesterday afternoon. Abbott threw me out.”
“Interesting.” Rumsfeld rubbed his jaw. “They ever find his first wife?”
“Nope. Disappeared without a trace.”
“I sat in one of his interviews back then. His story never quite added up for me.”
Billy Ray hid his glee. “Hit a lot of folks around Wholesome that way. They’re still talkin’ about it.”
The two sheriff’s detectives exchanged glances. Rumsfeld nodded. “Thanks for the lead, Williams. We’ll pay her a visit.”
“One more heads-up. Abbott hovers over her like a hawk. I get the sense she only says what he wants to hear.”
The detective cocked an eyebrow and Billy Ray hoped he hadn’t pushed too hard. “Just want you to have everything.”
“We appreciate that, Williams. We’ll be sure to return the favor.”
He’d done good, Billy Ray thought, relief flooding him. He smiled at the two detectives. “I’ll count on it.”
He started off; they called after him. He stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”
“Heard you had another woman go missing.”
Bad news traveled fast. “It’s not official. We’re still hoping she’s holed up somewhere with someone. I’m moving forward with the investigation anyway. Video surveillance turned up squat, so we’re questioning everyone who set foot in the bar that night.”
“We’re here, Williams. Call us if you need us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Monday, April 21
9:45 A.M.
Bailey stood under the hot spray, letting the water course over her. Logan had gotten up hours ago. She had stirred, tried to will herself to arise with him, but had fallen back to sleep.
She wanted to apologize to him this morning. For her outburst, for charging up the stairs and locking herself in their bedroom. She didn’t understand what had come over her. Her head had hurt so much; Logan and Billy Ray’s back-and-forth, the thought of Henry, his blood on her hands … She just hadn’t been able to take it. But to storm from the room that way, slam the door behind her? It was all so … junior high.
Maybe her hormones were messing with her? She’d heard other women talk about seesawing emotions during pregnancy, and last night’s behavior had surely been that.
Bailey cut off the shower, grabbed a towel and stepped out. As she dried off, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped. Did she look different? she wondered, turning sideways. It was too early to be showing, but it felt as if she were. She suddenly felt … pregnant.
She laid a hand on her still-flat stomach. A baby. She was going to be a mother. A fierce protectiveness rose up in her. It wasn’t just about her and Logan anymore. Not just their lives, their love story to protect.
“I couldn’t protect any of the others. Not even True.”
Logan had said that to her, that night they’d fought and he’d gotten drunk. What had he meant about not being able to protect True? She’d left him. He’d said so. But that statement suggested, maybe, he thought she was dead.
Red. Everywhere. On her hands and jeans.
A chill rolled over her, and Bailey wrapped herself in the towel. No. He didn’t think that. If he did, he would have moved heaven and earth to find her killer.
She finished dressing, then carefully arranged her hair over her bandages. That done, she headed downstairs to find Logan.
She found him in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go. “You’re leaving?” she said, crestfallen.
“I’ll stay with you while you eat, then I have to run out.”
Bailey couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Where?”
He hesitated. “The sheriff’s office.”