“—recap what we know. Sutton Montclair, a beautiful, successful writer, disappeared sometime between Monday evening and Tuesday morning. She left behind a note asking not to be looked for, but her husband, local celebrity Ethan Montclair, called the police late in the day Tuesday, asking for their help finding his wife.
“And then...nothing. There has been no sign of her since. Her phone and credit cards have not been used, and there have been no reported sightings.”
There was movement, a shadow loomed, then Ethan watched Filly walk into the screen.
“Bollocks,” Ethan said.
“I’m now joined by Mrs. Phyllis Woodson, a very close friend of Mrs. Montclair. Mrs. Woodson, please tell us what you know about the investigation.”
Filly practically gleamed with excitement. Her hair and makeup had been professionally done, the lights shone on her moist upper lip. Ethan looked closer. Had she done fillers, or something else equally ludicrous? Her upper lip seemed overweight, out of proportion, the gloss slicked on thick and shiny, a pale pink that was certainly not her shade.
He heard Sutton’s voice in his head, gentle and slightly amused. “Claws, Ethan.”
I can’t help it, wife. Your BFF looks like a bumblebee parked on her face and shat.
Filly’s voice was slightly higher than normal. Ethan chalked it up to nerves, though she sounded so much like a horse neighing he had a hard time not laughing out loud.
You’re not behaving appropriately, Ethan. For fuck’s sake, your wife is missing, probably dead, and you’re laughing at her horsey friend on TV? You’re a sick, sick man. Go wear your hair shirt. Go burn the rushes and drape yourself in sackcloth. Stop using this to your advantage.
“Fuck the fuck off, self.”
From the television: “Well, we’ve been worried sick for days, as you can imagine. Ethan told us she was gone, but we all knew immediately something was wrong. She would never, ever just up and leave without letting at least one of us know. Now, I know that one of us—Sutton has so many lovely friends, but we’re her core, her trusted advisers—”
Ethan snorted.
“—the women she told everything—” she looked into the camera, right at him, and enunciated the words for effect “—and I mean, everything. For her to leave without telling us is completely out of character. To not be in touch, to not let us know she’s okay...well...”
Sniff. Tears. Blot.
The reporter was totally getting off on the performance.
“Do you know if there was any...trouble...in their marriage?” April O’Malley asked, gushing a bit.
“Well, of course there was. After losing that tiny baby, Ethan took his anger out on her. Why, there was even a bruise on her arm one night after a terrible fight they’d had. She took a picture of it, I saw it on her phone. I know the police are already looking into these things. They’ve been asking us all so many questions. And we’re telling them everything we know, everything we can think of that will help bring Sutton home alive.”
So that’s what they’d been up to. The extended silence from the police. Talking to everyone. Listening to gossip. Laying out the case against him. Letting their circumstantial evidence drive them his way.
He turned off the television. There was no reason to watch anymore.
He’d already wrapped his head around the idea that the police thought he killed his wife. There was really nothing more for him to do than sit tight. They’d come round soon enough.
Might as well take advantage of the solitude.
He poured himself a Scotch, a double, and went back to the computer.
Let the words soothe his embittered soul.
NOT EVERYTHING IS AS IT SEEMS
Assembling a murder case against a man without the benefit of a dead body is tricky at best.
They worked themselves to the bone, setting it all up. They took turns watching the house to make sure Montclair didn’t run. Each report came back the same—nothing. He had some groceries delivered. We saw him walking through the house. He peeked out the window. The television was on for a short time. No phone calls from the landline, and nothing unusual from the cell phone. The blogger never called back. If he’s making preparations to run, we aren’t hearing or seeing anything. He might be in there destroying everything, but it seems quiet.
Holly had been tasked with talking to the friends some more, getting every last ounce out of them. She’d finally had a chance to sit down with Sutton’s friend Rachel Temora, who was not much help, considering she was wildly ill. Newly pregnant, she had terrible morning sickness and kept having to rush off to the bathroom under the watchful eye of her sweet partner, Susannah. Finally, Holly had left them in peace. There was nothing new to be gained there.
She tracked down Sutton’s mother in Canada. It was more promising, but she really hadn’t learned anything Ethan Montclair hadn’t already told her she’d say.
Ethan’s an asshole. Sutton was tired of his antics. And my daughter loves a good drama. Look at what she writes. Are you sure she hasn’t just run away? It seems more in character for her to leave than for him to murder her, the man’s a gigantic pussy, but I guess you never truly know anyone. Let me know if you find her, God forbid something’s actually happened. Have you ever been to Canada? It is incredible up here.
Holly had the sense Siobhan Healy would debate whether to cut short her trip if her daughter’s body was discovered.
The rest of the team was doing all the hard work. There was so much paper being generated, logs and notes and files growing like mushrooms in the conference room. The whiteboard was covered in timelines and conjectures. Jim hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours; he had done an outstanding job of tying together the technical forensics, from the money to the phone calls.
It was the amended autopsy report on the baby that sank them. The waiting tissue samples had been located. The backup lab had finished them, but hadn’t yet sent the final report. High levels of diphenhydramine were present.
It wasn’t SIDS.
The baby’s death was reclassified a homicide. The only question was—accidental, or purposeful?
They kept that back from the media. It was too important a point. Moreno surmised if Montclair got wind of it, that would make him bolt. Better to spring it on him once he’d been taken into custody.
Holly filed her reports and learned everything she could. She paid attention to everything, read every page that went into the files.
The energy in the room was Red Bull on steroids. Everyone had something to contribute. Everyone added a stick to the pyre.
The evidence was damning. Not a slam dunk, not yet. But very damning.
And then they were ready. Two days of backbreaking, intensive work.
Ethan Montclair was going to go down in the morning. The paperwork was in order. The media was in a frenzy. There was still no sign of Sutton Montclair.