I sat on the sofa the following morning, petting Boo, and thinking about all of the energy I’d put into Marshall Bellamy, a man who now seemed like yet another dead end.
If he wasn’t involved in Rebecca’s death, who else was there?
It occurred to me I hadn’t considered a woman could have been behind it all. A woman like Kathryn Bellamy who knew of her husband’s affair. Or perhaps it was indeed a man. I needed to look closer at Jamie, someone Rebecca knew, someone from her past. And what about Naomi’s husband, Calvin, a man who still cared for Rebecca long after they were no longer together?
I thought back to my conversation with Jamie and about how bad he’d looked when I saw him.
Was it possible he was Bunny?
Was it possible his demeanor reflected guilt over something he’d done?
I envisioned a scenario wherein Jamie and Rebecca had started having sex again. I needed to test my theory, and I knew just how to do it.
I hopped on the internet and found a photo of Jamie on the yoga studio’s website. I then found a photo of Calvin Sinclaire on his Facebook page. I printed both photos and then went to Marshall Bellamy’s web page and printed one of him standing next to his wife.
I drove to Ernest and Judy’s house. Ernest was in the kitchen making rye bread when I arrived. He showed me in, and I explained I still hadn’t gained much traction on finding out what happened to his daughter.
“Hope you’re not thinking of giving up on us,” he said. “You may not have any concrete answers yet, but you’ve told us more than the police have.”
“I have no plans to give up,” I said. “You deserve to know the truth, no matter how long it takes me to find it.”
“Glad to hear you’ll stay the course. We appreciate all you’ve done for our girl. Now, I assume you’re here for a reason. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to show Oliver photos of a few men who knew Rebecca to see if any of them are Bunny.”
“Seems fine. Who are they?”
It seemed fine because he didn’t know who they were yet. Would he feel the same way once I showed him the photos? I was about to find out.
I handed him the printouts. He put his glasses on, leaned back, and stared down at the first one. “The senator? I voted for this guy. How? When?”
“Sometime in the last year. Their affair may have been short, and according to the senator’s wife, he’s sterile, so the baby Rebecca was carrying wasn’t his. Rebecca may not have known that about him though, so there’s a chance he could still be Bunny.”
Ernest set the photo of the senator on the coffee table and moved to the next. “Who’s this?”
“Calvin Sinclaire. They had a relationship some time back, and one of Rebecca’s friends said he may have never gotten over her. I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“All right.” Ernest shifted his focus to the photo of Jamie, and his ears went red. “Why am I looking at a picture of Jamie Nash? You think he had something to do with Rebecca’s death?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I dropped by to see him at the yoga studio the other day. He was a wreck, and I’m not sure why. It could be over the loss of Rebecca, or because he’s unable to see Oliver, or—”
“Because he’s responsible for what happened to her. Well, I’ll be. I mean, I don’t care much for the guy. Never have. Didn’t consider him capable of murder though.”
“He may be innocent. Oliver should know whether Rebecca ever called him Bunny.”
“Sure, sure. I understand. Good thing you dropped in while Judy’s at the market. Not sure she’d be thrilled about what you’re asking. Way I see it, if it helps you find the man you’re looking for, I’m all for it.”
“Great. Where’s Oliver?”
Ernest stood. “He’s playing in his room. Wait here. I’ll get him.”
He wandered off down the hall. One minute passed, and then two. After three minutes, he began shouting Oliver’s name. I ran down the hall and found Ernest leaning up against the wall with a hand pressed against his chest.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you all right?”
“I … no. I’ve checked all the rooms in the house, and I’ve looked outside. The window in Oliver’s room is open, and the screen’s missing. I think he’s gone.”