The First Wife (34 page)

Rumsfeld looked at him. “Son of a bitch, Williams. They could’ve blown our heads off.”

Heat climbed Billy Ray’s cheeks. “They didn’t.” It sounded lame, even to his own ears,
and he felt like a fool.

“Techs are on their way,” Carlson said. He crossed to stand beside his partner. “Big
miss, Williams. Sucker’s loaded.”

“I messed up. Won’t happen again.”

Rumsfeld examined the gun. “A Remington 700. Shoots a .308, among others.”

“Rodriquez was shot with a .308.”

“And Perez worked at Abbott Farm.”

Rumsfeld nodded. “I think it’s time to have a little chat with our friends inside.”
Rumsfeld looked at him. “You want to take notes?”

“Hell, yes. I say we start with Abbott’s wife. She’s the one Perez called.”

But Rumsfeld disagreed and interviewed the other two first. Raine Abbott was distraught
to the point of unintelligible. They did manage to learn that Perez had drug issues
in the past, but as far as she knew he hadn’t used in a long time. They also discovered
she’d found the rifle on his bed and she’d brought it down.

Paul Banner had even less information. Raine and Bailey had called him. When he’d
arrived the women had been on the back deck and Raine had been hysterical.

Which left Bailey.

“Are you feeling all right?” Rumsfeld asked. “Need a glass of water or—”

“No. I’m okay.”

But Billy Ray saw that she wasn’t. Her hands were shaking and she was white as a sheet.

Obviously, Rumsfeld saw it, too. “You don’t look so good, Mrs. Abbott.”

“All right then, a glass of water please.”

Billy Ray set it in front of her. She took it but didn’t acknowledge him, even with
a glance.

“I need to ask you some questions, Mrs. Abbott. About the sequence of events that
led you to be here. Your answers will help determine Mr. Perez’s manner of death.”

She frowned. “But I … it looked like a drug overdose.”

“That’s the way it appears, yes. But ‘manner of death’ refers to how the coroner’s
office will classify his death. Was it an accident? Suicide? Or even murder?”

Her eyes widened as if the thought of the last had never crossed her mind. Billy Ray
noted it.

“I understand he called you?” Rumsfeld said.

“He called me. I didn’t pick up.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t feel up to it. I was sure he was just checking on me and—”

“What?”

“August could be … difficult. He left a message.”

“How long passed before you checked it?”

“Not long. Five minutes. Less, even. Raine urged me to.”

“Raine Abbott?” She nodded and he went on. “So she was with you?”

“Yes. Keeping me company because my husband…” Her voice trailed off.

Was in custody.

“Why did she urge you to check it?”

“She thought he might have some information.”

“About?”

She met his eyes, the expression in hers defiant. “My husband. August was well-connected
in the community.”

“On the message, what did Mr. Perez say?”

“Not much. He sounded … out of it. He couldn’t seem to form his thoughts. I had Raine
listen to it and she was … alarmed.”

“Think, Mrs. Abbott, can you recall anything he said?”

“That he was sorry. He mentioned Henry—”

“Rodriquez.”

“Yes.”

“What did he say about Mr. Rodriquez?”

She hugged herself, rubbed her arms. “I don’t remember … just that he said his name.”

“Is the message still on your phone?”

“Yes.”

“May we listen to it?”

She retrieved the message and handed the device over. Rumsfeld and Carlson both listened
several times, then handed it to Billy Ray.

“Need … talk … you. Something import … Sorry, so … Henr … I saw—”

Billy Ray frowned and listened again. An apology? For what? Henry? Or something else
he’d known but hadn’t shared with her?

“Did you have any idea Mr. Perez was shooting up ketamine?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a horse tranquilizer. Affects the central nervous system. You may have heard
of it called K, Special-K or Vitamin K?”

“No, I’m not … drug savvy.” She brought her hands to her face. “I had no idea he did …
that.” She dropped her hands. “Can I go now?”

Just a couple of more questions. “Did you know him well?”

She shook her head. “He was helping me overcome my fear of horses.”

The evidence collection team arrived, as did the coroner’s investigator. She watched
them go past, her expression lost. A lump formed in Billy Ray’s throat and he quickly
averted his gaze.

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Abbott. We may need to speak with you again, so please
don’t leave the area.”

She nodded. “Could I have my phone, please?”

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to keep it for now.”

“What? But I—I don’t understand.”

“For Mr. Perez’s call. It could prove to be evidence.”

“Evidence?” Her voice rose. “Of what?”

“We’ll get it back to you, I promise. In the meantime, you might consider acquiring
another for temporary use.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Thursday, April 24

10:25
A.M.

The news that August Perez was dead of an overdose of ketamine had spread through
Faye’s like a California wildfire. It’d been all anyone talked about and as the hours
of her shift passed Stephanie had grown more weary of it.

And sadder, as well. She hadn’t known August very well, but he had been a brilliant
horseman and a member of their little community.

More loss. Another friend gone. Not an event to salivate over, the way a dog did a
juicy bone.

Several times she’d had to stop herself from reprimanding a particularly animated
gossip. Faye would’ve been pissed. And she’d have been right. It wasn’t her job to
correct her customers’ manners or reset their moral compasses.

Serve pancakes, deliver eggs and smile. That summed up her job.

It didn’t help that she hadn’t slept well and was to-the-bone tired. Faye had offered
her the week off; like an idiot she’d refused. She’d laid Uncle Henry to rest, she’d
wanted to move forward. That didn’t happen by taking time off work, no matter how
kind the offer.

However, she hadn’t anticipated her little run-in with Billy Ray. Something wasn’t
right about his having been there. She didn’t buy his stated reason—taking down the
crime scene tape—or his assertion that the sheriff’s office detectives were the bad
guys. Poor Billy Ray had to do what they said. What a crock.

When he’d talked about Logan she’d seen a kind of glee in his eyes. He loved this.
He loved that finally his wild accusations were being taken seriously. A serial killer?
Logan? And to blame him for his mother’s death as well? The man had lost his grip
on reality.

“Y’all come back,” Stephanie said, delivering the check to her second-to-last table.
She refilled coffee for the other, then started collecting sugar caddies from the
tables to refill them in anticipation of the lunch rush.

Her thoughts returned to her encounter with Billy Ray the previous evening. He’d been
inside Henry’s cabin. She hadn’t seen him, but she didn’t need to. The missing pictures
of True were all the evidence she needed. What else had he been looking for? She trusted
him about as far as she could throw him.

Her last table stood to leave. She called out thanks, collected her tip and cleared
it.

“Faye, you mind if I take a break? I’m beat.”

“You do that, sugar. Me and Rayanne got this.”

Stephanie grabbed an apple, her phone and water bottle and headed outside. She saw
she had missed a call from the sheriff’s office. Detective Rumsfeld, asking her to
call.

She took a bite of the apple and dialed him back. He answered immediately. “Rumsfeld.”

“Detective, this is Stephanie Rodriquez, returning your call.”

“Ms. Rodriquez, I have some good news. We have a strong suspect in your uncle’s murder.”

“Oh, my God, who is it?”

“I’m sorry I’m unable to tell you that yet. But I anticipate it won’t be long.”

“Thank you.” She blinked against tears. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.
Really.”

“It means a lot to us, too, Ms. Rodriquez. I’ll be in touch soon.”

She thought of Billy Ray. “Wait! There’s one more thing, I was wondering if it would
be okay for me to remove the crime scene tape from my uncle’s cabin?”

“We’ve taken care of that, Ms. Rodriquez.”

“Are you certain? The last time I was there, it was still up.”

“Let me just glance at my calendar.” He returned a moment later. “Deputies removed
it Tuesday afternoon.”

More than twenty-four hours before she’d run into Billy Ray out there.

Stephanie thanked the detective and ended the call. She’d been right to be suspicious.
Lying snake. He’d been putting something in his trunk when she drove up. What? More
than a couple of framed photos of True. And not crime tape.

What could he have wanted from her uncle’s so much that he had lied to her about it?

At the toot of a horn, Stephanie turned around. Bailey, turning into the parking lot.

Stephanie met her at her car and gave her a hug. “How’re you holding up?”

“About as well as you’d expected.”

“Have you … heard about August?”

“I was the one who found him. It was awful.”

“Oh, my God.”

“He’d called me—” She bit the last back. “I need your help, Steph. It has to do with
Logan.”

“What have you heard? Is it … bad?”

“It’s not good. That’s why I need your help.”

“Name it.”

“Remember that room at Billy Ray’s house that you told me about, the one with the
board and diagrams?”

“Sure.”

“You were right about what it was.”

“How do you know?”

“He showed it to me.”

Stephanie frowned, obviously confused. “When? Why?”

“He thought seeing it would convince me that Logan killed True. And abducted Amanda
LaPier and Trista Hook.”

“But it didn’t convince you?”

Bailey shook her head. “It actually had the opposite effect. It proved to me how personal
it all is to Billy Ray. He … On the board he had other women’s names, women I’d never
heard of. He even suggested Logan might have had something to do with—”

“His mother’s drowning.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“He said the same thing to me last night.”

Tears flooded Bailey’s eyes. “I’m so afraid.”

Stephanie’s heart went out to her. “It’s bullshit, Bailey. I’ve known Logan all my
life, and he didn’t do what they’re saying he did.”

“I know.” She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. “He couldn’t.”

“How can I help?”

“I need to get into Billy Ray’s house. I need to look at the board again.”

“Why?”

“I have questions I need answered.”

“Why not just ask him?”

“I don’t want him to know what I’m thinking. I don’t want him to see how scared I
am.”

Stephanie understood. A guy like Billy Ray was dangerous when he knew he had the upper
hand. As she knew from experience, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

Stephanie glanced at her watch. Any minute Faye was going to bellow for her, so she
would have to be quick.

“I have to tell you something. Last night, I went out to Henry’s, I can’t really explain
why, but—”

“I know why, Steph.”

Stephanie squeezed her hand in gratitude and went on. “Billy Ray was there. I caught
him putting something in his trunk.”

Bailey paled. “What?”

“He lied to me. He told me he’d taken down the crime scene tape. He seemed really
weird, like he was up to something. So when I talked to the sheriff’s detective right
before you got here, I asked about it. He said his deputies had taken it down Tuesday
afternoon.”

“Why’d he lie?”

“I don’t know, but when I went inside, I could tell he’d been looking for something.”

“I think he found it, Steph.”

“What?”

“Stephanie! For the love of God, girl, you taking a break? Or a vacation?”

“Sorry, Faye!” she called over her shoulder. “I’m coming!”

“Wait.” Bailey caught her hand. “Will you help me?”

“If I can. I’ll call you when I get home, after I’ve taken care of the horses. But
we’ll have to pick the exact, right moment to do it.”

“We?”

Stephanie smiled. “You honestly think I’d let you go alone?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Thursday, April 24

11:50
A.M.

Billy Ray entered the sheriff’s office complex, juggling a coffee caddy and bag of
pastries from Faye’s. He nodded at the woman manning the information desk; she waved
him through. Just like he belonged.

He whistled under his breath. He felt good. Better than he had in years. Too bad about
Perez, but you mess with shit like K, and sometimes you paid the ultimate price.

He climbed the stairs. Today was the day. They expected the judge to grant the search
warrant for Abbott Farm: house, garage, barns and all ninety-plus acres.

And there they would find all the proof they needed to put Abbott away for life.

Billy Ray entered the Investigation Division. Rumsfeld and Carlson were huddled in
front of the computer monitor.

“Morning,” Billy Ray said, setting the coffee and bag on Rumsfeld’s desk.

Rumsfeld looked up. “It’s almost noon, Williams.”

“Rough night last night. Figured you might be ready for another round.”

“Try round four. I’m caffeinated-out, man.”

Carlson agreed but reached for the pastry bag and peered inside. “But I can always
eat.” He selected a cheese Danish. “Thanks, man.”

“Grab a chair,” Rumsfeld said. “There’ve been developments.”

Billy Ray did and waited, concentrating on playing it one hundred percent cool. Nothing
could go wrong. Not now. Not when he was so close.