“Donnie Cosgrove’s wife told us he owns a handgun of some kind—a .357, she thinks,” I said. “But considering what she knows about guns, it could very well be a nine millimeter. Whatever kind of gun it is, it’s currently missing from its usual spot in their bedroom.”
Lander whistled. “Sounds like we need to have a sit-down with this guy.”
“Yes,” I said. “We do, but good luck finding him. He took off this afternoon after you left without telling his wife where he was going and hasn’t been seen since. He isn’t answering his phone.”
“You want to post the BOLO on him, or should I?” Lander asked.
In cop parlance, a “be on the lookout” is one step under an all-points bulletin, but it means pretty much the same thing. An unwitting DeAnn Cosgrove had willingly supplied all the necessary information.
“Not to worry,” I said. “My partner’s doing that right now.”
“Back to Redmond?” Mel asked as we left the crime lab.
“I don’t see any way around it,” I said. So back to Redmond we went. When we arrived at the Cosgroves’ little rambler a second time, the porch light was still off but interior lights showed at the windows. A fully dressed DeAnn responded to the bell. She came to the door with a sleeping baby cradled in her arms.
“Did you find him?” she asked anxiously. “Is he all right?”
“No,” Mel said. “We have yet to locate your husband, but we did find something else. We need to talk to you about it.”
By then DeAnn Cosgrove must have cried herself out and reached her own conclusions about our earlier visit. She listened to everything Mel and I had to say with dry-eyed concentration.
“You’re telling me he’s a suspect, then?” DeAnn asked.
Mel nodded.
“So what should I do? When Donnie comes home, should I try to talk him into giving up? Tell him that he should turn himself in?”
“No!” I interjected, probably more forcefully than I should have. “Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it. Convincing armed suspects to surrender is dangerous work even for trained emergency response teams.”
I could have added that unarmed wives are notoriously bad at it, but I didn’t. Even fully armed, Sue Danielson had been no match for her ex-husband. She hadn’t been able to convince him to lay down his weapon and stop shooting. I didn’t want DeAnn Cosgrove and her children to suffer the same fate. Neither did Mel.
“It’s always possible that your husband had nothing to do with what happened up in Leavenworth,” she said in a far more conciliatory tone than the one I had used. “But I think we can all agree that his behavior today is unusual. Until we can locate him and sort this all out, our first concern has to be keeping you and your children safe. I think you should take the children and leave.”
“Leave?” DeAnn repeated dully. “You mean run away?”
Yes! I wanted to scream at her. Get the hell out of Dodge!
“It’s the middle of the night,” DeAnn objected. “The kids are asleep,” she added. “I’d have to wake them up and load them into the van. Where would I take them?”
“You said earlier that some of your friends from church came over this afternoon and helped you. Do you think you could stay with one of them?”
Mel met and held DeAnn’s gaze for a period of several long seconds. When DeAnn looked away first, I knew Mel had her. Give a mother a choice between her babies and her husband, and most women will take the former.
“I’ll call Mary Jane,” she said.
Mel and I stayed around while DeAnn packed up a vanload of food, clothing, and toys. Once the child gear had been loaded into the Dodge minivan in the garage, Mel and I helped carry the three sleeping kids out to the car and strap them into their car seats.
With the engine running, DeAnn backed out of the garage and closed the garage door behind her. In the driveway, though, she paused and rolled down the window. “Shouldn’t I leave Donnie a note?” she asked. “What if he comes home and we’re not here? Won’t he be worried? Shouldn’t I let him know where we are?”
I was afraid that if she went back into the house, we’d never get her to leave a second time. Mel must have shared that concern.
“You have a cell phone, don’t you?” she asked.
DeAnn nodded. “Yes, but—”
“You can talk to him on the phone if he calls you,” Mel advised. “Tell him you and the kids are fine, but don’t tell him where you are or how to find you, and whatever you do, don’t agree to meet him. If he contacts you—if he tells you where he is—you call us. We’ll negotiate with him, not you.”
“All right,” DeAnn agreed at last, putting the minivan in gear. “If you think that’s the best way to handle it…”
Mel and I stood in the street and watched until DeAnn’s taillights disappeared around the next intersection. The process of talking her into leaving had left me drained.
“Can we go home now?” I asked Mel. “This has been a very long day.”
CHAPTER 19
You did a good job with DeAnn,” I told Mel as we headed back to Seattle.