Robinson swiped to the left, and Ethan saw a mass of red hair on the ground.
“From what I’ve been told, when they took the body, the scalp fell off. They bagged it and took it into evidence. Only it wasn’t a scalp. Once the ME started messing with it, he realized it’s a wig. The scalp of the victim was burned, and the real hair, if any, was seared away. This is definitely a wig.”
Ethan got a glance of strawberry and dirt, then the phone lit up, obscuring the picture. Robinson answered, smiled grimly, and pocketed the phone.
“It’s not her. Dental doesn’t match. They’re coming to let you go.”
Ethan was too shocked to fully comprehend what was happening. “But...her rings... Who is it? Who’s dead in the field?”
“Who, and who killed her, I dunno the answers to either. Truth be told, right now, I don’t care. All I know is whoever it is, it’s not your wife. And that’s very good news indeed for you, my friend. Without a body, everything they have is sketchy and circumstantial. You’re not in the clear by a long shot, you’re still their number one suspect, but now they have nothing definitive to hold you on.”
“What do they have? How in the world could there be evidence when I didn’t commit a crime?”
“Guy who runs the farm out there? He saw you walking in the field Thursday night. That’s pretty damning evidence for the cops, you being at the scene of the crime, after dark, with a witness to place you there.”
“But I went there to pay off Wilde.”
“So you say. The cops see suspect and dead body within five hundred feet of one another, and they draw their own conclusions. Anyway, there’s all kinds of computer stuff pointing your way, stuff I barely understand, and the search of your house turned up gas cans and rags in the garage, but that’s something I can easily explain away. Every responsible car owner has a spare gas can lying around. There’s something else happening, too. It’s to do with your son’s case.”
The thorn that had been pulled from his heart when he realized Sutton could still be alive smashed back into place. “What is it?”
“That’s what I need to find out. I was hopeful that there’d be a discovery after the arraignment this morning, but since you aren’t going to court, I’m not going to find out right now. My main objective is to get you home. We’ll go from there. They’ll be down here shortly. Ethan.” Robinson shook his finger. “Do not, I repeat, do not say anything, just gather up your things and leave. I’ll be waiting outside to drive you home.”
Ethan nodded. As Robinson was walking out, he said, “Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
Robinson nodded. “I know.”
*
Half an hour later, Officer Graham came through the door. She looked like she’d been up all night. Her hair was standing on end, she had circles under her eyes, but when she approached, her smile was genuine.
“Time to go home, Mr. Montclair.”
He stood, hands in his pockets, feeling the tug of his loose waistband sliding onto his hips. They’d taken his belt and shoes when he entered the jail.
“I know you’ve heard that the body we found is not Mrs. Montclair. I was also told you’ve positively identified the rings the body was wearing as your wife’s wedding set.”
He followed her out the door, not speaking, as Robinson had instructed. Graham walked him to the counter where they’d done his intake processing. He wondered if he could ask to see his mug shot.
“We’re not finished, not by a long shot, but for now, Mr. Montclair, you’re free to go. Shirley here will get your things back to you. Your lawyer is waiting outside. There’s a boatload of media, too, but I figured you might want to walk out smiling for once. If you’re able.”
He gave Graham half a smile, accepted his wallet, shoes, and belt from the gray-haired battle-ax behind the counter. Fitted the worn leather through the hoops, slid his feet into his loafers. Stayed silent as the grave.
Graham walked him to the jail door. She pushed it open. A shaft of sunlight and fresh air encompassed him, and he took his first full breath in days.
Against the advice of his attorney, he softly said to the cop, “Thank you for believing me.”
Graham shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I believe you, sir. If you killed Mrs. Montclair, I will find out. And then I’ll nail you to the wall.”
ADMIT IT
Paris, France
Sutton didn’t panic, not right away. She just couldn’t believe how quickly it had all fallen apart. She hadn’t even been in Paris a full week, and here she was, at a police station, a murder suspect.
So they knew who she was. That was problematic, but explainable. She prepped the conversation in her mind, for when she was forced to speak the words aloud.
My husband was abusing me.
I ran away.
The new identity is for my safety so he can’t find me. I’ll be in danger if he does.
She listened to Inspector Badeau with half an ear. Deciding she’d wait for a lawyer to be present was self-preservation at its best, but Sutton’s grudging silence hadn’t stopped the woman from talking and talking and talking.
It wasn’t until Badeau said the name Ethan that Sutton tuned back in. My God, had she nodded off?
“Pardon?”
“Madame Montclair, are you listening to me at all?”
“It’s very late. I’m very tired. What were you saying?”
“Your husband was arrested earlier today.”
She couldn’t help herself. “Arrested? For what?”
“Murdering you.”
Sutton’s brows creased. What in the world? This was a trick, a trick to get her to talk. She said as much, then asked again for a lawyer.
When Badeau frowned, a small crease appeared on her forehead. Sutton had gotten used to this.
“Madame Montclair. Allow me a moment to speak frankly. I will admit, now that we have become aware of this information, something feels...off about this situation. According to the American police, your body was found, murdered and burned in a field outside the town in which you live. I was told the body was wearing your wedding rings. Your husband was arrested for murdering you.
“And yet, here you sit, very much alive, a murder suspect in your own right. There are two bodies here in the morgue, brutally murdered at Sacré-Coeur. We have video of you at the crime scene. We have the murder weapon that you were trying to dispose of. And there is this.”
She pushed a small gray-and-black box in a plastic bag toward Sutton.
“This was found in your apartment.”
It looked like a ring box. As she watched, Badeau unsealed the evidence bag, creaked open the box. Flakes of black fell onto the table. Inside was a small diamond engagement ring.
“The blood on this ring box also matches that on the knife. There is no more logical conclusion other than to assume it must have been taken from the Sacré-Coeur crime scene.”
“I’ve never seen that before in my life.”
Badeau’s brow furrowed. “I thought you would claim as much.” She leaned forward, almost as if she was going to touch Sutton’s hand. “Madame, you are in very serious trouble. I implore you, explain yourself.”