“I would imagine, yes.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Joe said. “Harold—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll call you faster than I can think if I get anything,” the M.E. promised.
He nodded to Jeremy, who inclined his head in return. “Thanks for letting me sit in.”
Harold Albright, his eyes huge behind the magnifying glasses he was wearing, said, “Glad to have you here. You ask me, it’s good to have an outsider with the right credentials in as a witness.”
Joe actually set a friendly hand on Jeremy’s shoulder as they headed out, saying goodbye to Miss Cheerful on the way.
Outside in the parking lot, Joe Brentwood inhaled a deep breath and shook his head. “I’ll never get used to the smell of death.”
“No man ever should,” Jeremy told him.
Joe studied him, then nodded. “Harold won’t wear a mask. Says he can smell cyanide and other stuff. He doesn’t mind what he does—he just minds when he can’t get an answer. We’re all going to die, he says. We just deserve to die as human beings. Well, most of us do, anyway.” He paused and scratched his chin, then asked, “So, you have any ideas?”
“You know this place better than I do.”
“And you know your friend Brad better than I do,” Joe countered.
“You can’t really believe that Brad did anything to Mary,” Jeremy said.
Joe smiled grimly. “That’s the difference between us. I can believe it. I’m not the guy’s friend.”
Jeremy shook his head. “He’s convinced that the fortune-teller they went to that afternoon, that Damien guy nobody can find, is guilty. It’s as good a theory as any other at this point. Brad says he saw cornfields in the guy’s crystal ball. He says he felt threatened, like the guy was trying to tell him that he was all-powerful, that he could kill people, and that it all had something to do with the cornfields.”
Joe studied him again. “What do you think?”
“I think the guy could be guilty. I think he needs to be found, at the very least.”
“Do you think he really showed Brad the cornfields in a crystal ball?”
Jeremy studied Brentwood, wondering if the man was trying to trick him in some way.
“I’m sure there are all kinds of tricks someone could play to make someone else think they’re seeing something specific in a crystal ball, sure.”
Brentwood looked away and shook his head. “Johnstone must be scared to death we’re going to find his wife in the same…position.”
“Rowenna told him she’s convinced that Mary is all right. He seems to believe her.”
“And you don’t?” Joe asked.
Jeremy lifted his hands. “How can she know?” he asked.
Joe shrugged. “I don’t know. But the thing about Rowenna is, somehow or other she generally does know. Anyway, tell your buddy to stick around. Not to leave town, anything like that. Not that he probably needs to be told. He’s certainly determined not to go anywhere until he finds his wife.”
“He loves her.”
Brentwood looked skeptical. “That’s not what the parents think.” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to call them when I get back to the office before they show up on my doorstep again. Having the parents around seldom helps.”
“I can call if you want. I know them,” Jeremy offered.
Joe looked up at the sky. It was pewter, the rays of the sun streaking through the occasional breaks in the clouds. “Thanks, but I’d better handle it. They seem to think your friend is a no-good cheating bastard.”
“They’d had some problems.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“They’d solved them. That’s why they were here, taking a vacation to put things back together.”
“There’s one sure way to fix a problem marriage—kill your partner,” Joe said.
Jeremy felt himself springing to Brad’s defense, but he forced himself to speak calmly and rationally. “A husband out to rid himself of his wife doesn’t usually go out and find another woman to butcher first.”
“Why not? Make it look like a serial killing,” Joe suggested.
“The M.E. said she’s been dead about a week,” Jeremy pointed out.
“I figure she died a couple of days before Mary Johnstone disappeared,” Joe said.
“And Brad wasn’t even in the area before that day,” Jeremy argued.
“I can see where the timing gives him the better side of doubt,” Joe agreed.
“You’re looking for someone local, someone who knows the roads and the fields, even the people, around here. You have no idea who your Jane Doe might be, but I’m willing to bet she wasn’t local, and Mary would have been a stranger, too. You have an incredibly clever, organized killer on your hands.”