“Your message said you know how the bunny got there?” my voice cracked. I was sitting in a McDonald’s parking lot with the windows rolled down in my cruiser, rubbing my stiff jaw and rotating my neck in pointless circles.
“It was Clara Appleton. I talked to her today,” Sergeant DelGrande explained. It sounded like he was driving, wind blowing and low music whistling in the background. I thought I heard the raspy lyrics of Bonnie Raitt.
“What?!” I cranked my driver’s window back up and leaned forward in my seat.
“Clara’s husband used to make stuffed toys. I showed it to her and she confirmed that it was one of his. I guess she put it there before they moved in. She knew a little girl was coming and thought she might like the toy.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know how anyone could like that creepy little thing. So, what else did ya find? What’d the luminol show?”
“Well, that’s what’s bothering me. There’s no spatter or areas that appear to have been cleaned up. The only thing we can tell is that someone smeared that blood around on the floor. Those empty containers with the rusted-out bottoms, the ones we found in the bag? The only blood we can get off them is bovine, too. It looks like someone dumped containers of cow blood on the floor, then smeared it around. The only trace of a human there is those teeth.”
“So, you think she, or someone else, staged the scene then?” I sighed.
“That’s how it looks to me. She was running from her husband. Maybe she wanted him, and everyone else, to think she was dead,” Sergeant DelGrande suggested.
“But, then why call us in the day before and tell us her daughter went missing? What would be her motivation there?”
“No idea. The whole situation is strange,” Sergeant DelGrande agreed. “Maybe she wanted to distract us while she ran out of town.”
“Kind of hard to get the hell out of dodge without your car,” I said, picturing the Celica parked in the driveway.
“That’s true. But, maybe she had a boyfriend, or a friend, who picked her up.”
“Clara Appleton described a truck that matches Martin’s, so I definitely think he was involved. Unless she’s changed her story about what she saw?”
“No, she hasn’t. But we did find an abandoned truck less than a quarter mile away. No license plates on it. I’m trying to get the Vin number off it now, but it looks like someone tried to rub it off. Got some guys working on it now, though, so we should know pretty soon who it’s registered to,” he said.
“Does it meet the description Clara gave?”
“Black, two-door, pick-up. I showed her a picture. She didn’t recognize it but said it could be the one. It doesn’t belong to anyone in Northfolk, at least it doesn’t appear to. So, Mr. Nesbitt’s truck might never have left Granton, far as we know now,” Sam explained.
Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the seat. Nothing about this case made sense. One minute, Martin Nesbitt seemed guilty as sin and the next minute there was some other random vehicle to throw in the mix.
“What about Clara Appleton’s house and outbuildings? Anything suspect there?” I asked, massaging my temples.
“No, of course not. Clara’s a good woman and she’s being as helpful as possible,” Sam said, a slight edge to his voice.
“I know you guys are friends, but we have to dig deeper, sarge. What about her husband? She said he left her for another woman. I’d like to talk to him, just to verify his current whereabouts.” I expected Sam to put up a fight on that, too, but he gave me his name: Andy Appleton.
“She said he was in Florida with his mistress. I don’t know the address or phone number there, or her name,” sarge said slowly, seemingly lost in thought.
“Well, I’ll ask Clara, okay? That way you don’t have to. We need to double check that her husband wasn’t involved in Nova’s disappearance. Can’t rule anything out,” I pondered.
There was a soft knock on my window and I jerked up in my seat. “Let me call you back, sarge,” I said, clicking off my cell phone.
There was a man bent down, staring in at me. He had caramel-colored hair and eyes, and his face looked grim and worrisome.
“What do you want?” I asked through the window.
For as long as I’d been old enough to understand the dangers of being a woman alone in a parked car, I’d refused to roll my windows down for strangers.
But now I was a cop, so I sort of had to. This man could be in trouble, I realized.
Reluctantly, I cracked my window. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m Brad Cummings. Would you like to have lunch?”
Un-fucking-believable. Even in uniform, I couldn’t get a man to respect me.
“Sir, I’m a police officer. I’m working, so I’ll be dining alone. But thanks.” I started to roll my window back up, when he snorted with laughter.
“Sorry. I’m Detective Brad Cummings. I’m so used to everyone knowing me around here. I wasn’t hitting on you just now, I swear. I saw you parked here and thought maybe we could talk about something during lunch hour.”
My cheeks flushed with shame. “Oh, alright. What did ya want to talk about? I was going to hit the drive thru. I’m in town getting information for a case back in Northfolk, West Virginia. I’m leaving town soon.”
Cummings’s cheerful expression morphed back into its steely mask. “Well, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I work for the Granton police force and I heard that an officer was down at my precinct today, picking up a police report on one Nova Nesbitt.”
“Yep, that’s correct.” For some reason, I felt like I was about to get scolded. But as he opened his mouth and started talking, I realized that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“I need your help. I’m conducting a missing persons investigation that might be linked to yours,” he said, his tone deadly serious.