And it was no small accomplishment as far as Riley concerned. The ability to show empathy toward victims really was an important item in a BAU agent’s toolbox. That didn’t seem to come naturally to Jenn, but she was learning it well.
It was only a short drive across town to the address they were looking for. As Riley parked in front of the place, she noticed that it was of a familiar design—a cluster of clean new apartment buildings with pitched roofs, arched windows, and balconies. Based on similar places she’d seen before, she felt pretty sure the buildings surrounded an open area that included a large swimming pool.
Riley, Bill, and Jenn took the elevator to the third floor, then knocked on the apartment door.
Riley was startled when the door first opened. Due to some trick of the light, she almost mistook the man inside for Ryan. They were of similar height and build and complexion. His blond hair was barely touched with gray.
But the resemblance quickly faded, at least somewhat, and Riley felt herself relax a little.
“May I help you?” the man asked.
“Are you Chase Fisher?” Riley asked.
“I am.”
Riley and her colleagues showed their badges and introduced themselves.
The man looked somewhat distressed.
“The police were here this morning,” he said. “I answered a lot of questions. This is a really hard time for me.”
“I know, and I’m very sorry,” Riley said. “But we’ve just joined the case, and we’re looking for a fresh perspective. We’re extremely anxious to catch your wife’s killer. We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”
She recognized that this man was of a different temperament from Ryan. Her ex-husband would be annoyed, but Chase Fisher just sounded tired.
He nodded and led them inside. It was a fair-sized apartment with lush rugs and a balcony. Riley guessed that it had three bedrooms, and that at least one of them was used as an office. She remembered hearing that Chase Fisher was a chiropractor, and his wife had been a librarian. Riley guessed that his practice must be elsewhere. And it must have been a reasonably prosperous practice for him and his wife to live in a place like this.
There were no family portraits, and Riley sensed right away that the couple had had no children. There were a few tasteful paintings on the wall, and a glass case was filled with golf and bowling trophies.
Overall, the place seemed studiously respectable and pleasant. Even so, Riley caught a scent of melancholy in the air. Her instincts told her that this hadn’t been an entirely happy household even before Reese Fisher’s murder.
The group sat down on the comfortable furniture.
Riley said, “Mr. Fisher, I know you’ve been asked this before. But where were you at the time of your wife’s murder?”
“I was in my office in town,” Fisher said.
“And can anyone account for your whereabouts?”
“Certainly. My receptionist, and at least a couple of my morning patients. I guess you already know that I’m a chiropractor.”
Riley was still paying close attention to his demeanor. She was sure that that his alibi checked out. Bull Cullen might be obnoxious, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have overlooked a detail like that. But at this point, Riley was more interested in how Fisher answered her questions than in what he actually said.
“Did you see your wife at all this morning?” Riley asked.
“No,” he said. “She’d spent the night in Chicago, visiting her mother who is in a nursing home there. She came in on the morning train. As far as I know, she never got home.”
Riley felt an odd tingle, a feeling that Fisher was leaving something important unsaid.
Probe gently, she told herself.
She asked, “Has her mother been told what happened?”
Fisher shifted slightly in his chair.
“Yes, I talked to Nadine as soon as I could. The poor woman—she’s not very coherent anymore, and she had a hard time grasping it. She was very upset, and the call didn’t go well. I hope the people who take care of her can help her understand and cope with it. She’s in no condition to come down for the funeral. I’ll have to pay her a visit soon.”
A silence fell. Riley let it settle for a moment.
Then she nodded toward the trophies and said, “I see you’re a golfer. And a bowler too.”
He looked surprised at the comment. Of course, Riley knew that it seemed like a strange thing for a detective to mention at such a moment. But Riley had her reasons.
“Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “Just an amateur at both. I do OK, I guess. A pretty good golfer. I’m not the best bowler in our local team, but we do pretty well.”
Riley noticed an odd shift in his tone. He was being modest, of course, judging by the trophies. But she also sensed something else.
Shame? she wondered.
Why would anybody be ashamed of playing recreational sports? Especially somebody who was pretty good at them? Ryan bragged about his golfing scores at every opportunity.
She said slowly, “Did your wife like golf and bowling, Mr. Fisher?”
Fisher looked at her with a curious expression.
“Well, she didn’t play, but …”
Riley added, “I mean, was she at all interested in the games? As a spectator or a fan or anything? Or in how well you were doing?”
Fisher shook his head.
“No,” he said. “She wasn’t interested in sports at all. Why do you ask?”
Riley didn’t reply. But she knew that this little fact was more important than it seemed. After all, sports trophies were the most prominent objects in this living room. And yet Reese Fisher had had no interest in sports.
Riley asked gently, “Mr. Fisher, were you and your wife happy together?”
Fisher looked into Riley’s eyes and blinked a few times.
“Of course we were,” he said.
Again, Riley let a silence settle in the room.
She was sure that either Bull Cullen or Chief Powell had asked that same question, and Fisher had given them the same answer. But Cullen and Powell had brushed it aside too easily.
Riley held Fisher’s gaze.
She didn’t say so aloud, but with her eyes she said to him …
You’re lying.
He nodded ever so slightly in reply to her unspoken observation.
She sat waiting for him to tell her the truth.
CHAPTER TEN
Chase Fisher lowered his gaze and slumped in his chair. Riley remained quiet, and so did Bill and Jenn. She sensed her colleagues’ anticipation at whatever was about to be said.
Finally, Fisher said in a nearly inaudible voice …
“Reese was having an affair.”
Riley let his words hang in the air for a moment.
Then she said, “Did you mention this to the detectives who talked to you this morning?”
“No,” Fisher said.
Jenn broke her silence sharply. “Why the hell not? Didn’t it occur to you it might be important?”
Riley stifled a sigh. Jenn was regressing to her old bull-in-the-china-shop style. Riley darted her a look that told her to keep quiet.
Then Riley asked Fisher, “Who was she having an affair with?”
Fisher shook his head sadly.
“Somebody in Chicago,” he said.
“You don’t know who?” Riley said.
“No.”
“She wouldn’t tell you?”
Fisher heaved a long sigh.
“We never talked about it. I’m not sure she even knew that I knew. But I did know. First it was just a feeling. But then I did some … well, snooping. I’d call the hotel in Chicago where she was supposed to be staying, and she wasn’t registered there. I’d call her mother’s rest home too, and the staff would say she hadn’t been there—at least not when she’d said she’d been.”
As the room fell quiet again, Riley’s mind clicked away, trying to process what she was hearing.
Finally Fisher said, “I know—I should have told the detectives this morning. I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s just that …”
His words faded away. Riley sensed that he was grappling with a tangle of thoughts and feelings.