Dear Wife(31)

I pluck the envelope from the windshield and drop into my car, my fingers shaking as I slide my nail under the flap. I jiggle the envelope upside down, and two small squares drop onto my lap. One is paper, a social security card with a bright yellow sign here sticker. The other is plastic, a driver’s license that looks as real as any I’ve ever seen. I examine it, turning it back and forth in a shaft of sunlight, and the hologram Georgia seal brightens and fades. The signature is not mine, but it’s generic enough that with a little practice, I can duplicate it. Other than that, it’s perfect. Beth Louise Murphy is legit.

My cell phone rings with a number I recognize as Jorge’s cell. I pick up to the sound of chewing.

“You get ID?”

“I did get ID, thank you.” I toss the cards on the passenger’s seat and start the car. “They look great. Totally real.”

He grunts, a sound I take to mean you’re welcome. “Listen, you have friends who need ID, you send them to Jorge. Fifty dollar every friend.”

And there it is, I think as I ease the Buick into traffic. What Martina wanted from me.



MARCUS

The Pine Bluff Police Department is housed in a squat, one-story complex on East Eighth Avenue, blinding white stucco against a sprawling green lawn. The place is a dump, dingy walls and scuffed linoleum floors, but on a bright note, we’re understaffed enough that the detectives get their own private rooms. They’re cramped and stuffy, but they’re a million times better than a desk in the bull pen they surround.

Jeffrey and Ingrid arrive a full twelve minutes late, and just like yesterday, the two are practically vibrating with animosity. He opens the door for her but only because I’m watching, prompting a thanks she doesn’t want to give. These two people detest each other, and I want to know why.

I gesture for them to follow. “This way.”

I usher them through the rowdy bull pen to the open door of my office. “Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the twin chairs across from my desk, but only Ingrid sinks into one. Jeffrey is frozen just outside the door. He pokes his head into the room, and his relief when he sees it’s an office is palpable. The sucker thought this was going to be an interrogation room. I raise a brow, and reluctantly, he steps inside, sinks into a chair.

I round my desk and drop into mine. “We found Sabine’s car.”

“What?” the two say in unison, their voices high and wild.

“Omigod, where?” Ingrid says. “When? And that’s good news, right? It means you have some idea which way she went.”

I don’t shake my head, but I don’t nod, either. A car is not necessarily good news, especially one like Sabine’s—undamaged and untouched. So far, the only DNA we’ve found on it is hers.

“The car was parked at the far end of the Super1 lot on East Harding. According to the security footage, she walked through the door yesterday at 1:49 p.m. Ten minutes later, she purchased a loaf of bread, some sliced turkey and cheese, and a lemonade. She paid with her ATM card and was out the door by 2:03 p.m. The cameras don’t cover the entire parking lot, unfortunately, so we lost her soon after.”

Ingrid scoots to the front edge of her seat. “I don’t understand. You’re saying she never made it back to her car?”

“It sure looks that way. We searched the lot and trash cans for the groceries, without any luck. Somebody could have picked them up, or maybe she took them with her.”

“With her where?” Ingrid shakes her head. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“You both mentioned you talked to Sabine—” I flip through my notes, pausing to find the right page. “Ingrid at 10:45 a.m. and Jeffrey...” I look up, meeting his gaze. “You didn’t actually tell me a time.”

“I was at the Atlanta airport, boarding a flight.”

“The DL 2088, I know.”

Jeffrey told me he talked to Sabine as he was boarding his flight, but he didn’t say which one. He didn’t even mention the airline. I did a little digging.

“The flight left Atlanta at 11:30 a.m,” I say, “so boarding would have been what, a half hour earlier?”

He nods, shifting in his chair. “Yeah, eleven sounds about right. I can pull it up on my call log if you need the exact time and duration.”

I ignore his offer, turning to Ingrid instead. “In either of these conversations with Sabine, did she mention where she was going?”

Jeffrey shakes his head, but Ingrid nods. “She was on her way to the office.”

I frown. Not the answer I was expecting. “This particular Super1 is nowhere near her work. I checked with her office, and she didn’t have any showings that morning. Only a staff training later in the afternoon at the office, which she missed.”

“Oh, she had a showing, all right,” Jeffrey says, his voice thick with sarcasm and something else. Anger, for sure. Disgust, too. And more than a little pain.

Ingrid looks over with a frown.

“Sabine was coming from the hospital.” His lip curls into an ugly sneer. “Her lover told me she dropped by for a little conjugal visit.”

I lean back in my chair. By now I know about the affair. Dr. McAdams already told me, tripping all over himself in his hurry for a face-to-face, a million questions disguised as a statement. The poor guy is desperate for answers, almost too desperate to be believable. “Well, if she was coming from the hospital, the route makes more sense. She could have stopped to buy herself a late lunch.”