Forty

Mike Hewitt was waiting for Peyton and Stone Gibson at the front door of Garrett Station Thursday at 6:35 p.m.

“He came to us,” Hewitt said. “We have started looking for him shortly, of course, since Sherry St. Pierre-Duvall is missing.”

“Start with the husband,” Stone said.

“Yeah, and he walked in the door with his attorney.”

“He didn’t go to the state police headquarters?”

“No. He came here.” Hewitt looked at Stone.

“For Peyton?”

“Probably. He asked for her.”

“Want me to put on my uniform?” she said.

“Do you think it matters?” Hewitt asked.

“No. I know him. This is the third time he’s asked to speak to me about Sherry.”

Hewitt nodded. “State police are getting Bezdek for questioning. FBI is coming for that. You’ll want to be in uniform for that. But, first things first.” He pointed to an office in the back.

Chip was seated beside a gray-haired man in a dark-blue suit, with a briefcase open before him. The attorney stood, rounded the table, and shook hands with Peyton.

“Jim Talon. My client wants to speak to you.”

So Chip had upgraded lawyers. So much for Len Landmark.

“I’m all ears.” She sat across from Chip; Hewitt sat next to her, a yellow legal pad before him, pen at the ready. Stone took a chair near the door.

“Peyton, I went home, to Portland, for a day to check on my kids. They were staying with my sister. I came back when I couldn’t reach Sherry. I’m worried about her. This isn’t like her. She may have a fling, but she wouldn’t just disappear.”

“You tried to call her?”

“Repeatedly.”

“May I see your phone?” Hewitt said.

Chip looked at Talon, who took off his metal-framed reading glasses and held them before him.

“May I ask why?” Talon looked at him.

“I’d like to have your client’s phone records checked.”

“My client is here of his own volition. Now you’re naming him as a suspect?”

“We have no suspects,” Hewitt said. “We have no crime, unless you know something different.”

“This is about Sherry,” Chip demanded. “She doesn’t handle stress well. You know her.” He pointed at Peyton, urging her to agree with him.

His gaze was intense. He wasn’t going to offer her a glass of wine now. She saw fear in his eyes, and he spoke directly to her, as if no one else was in the room.

It made her think of something. She took Hewitt’s pen and wrote on his pad: Search hotel room 210 for her suitcase. Windbreaker? He nodded.

“I think she’s overwhelmed,” Chip said. “This isn’t how she normally acts. Her parents are dead—in a horrific scene; her brother is accused of murder, and is linked to the murder weapon; and she thinks she loves a man from Prague. It’s all coming at her so fast. I think she panicked and ran.”

“Where to?” Peyton said.

“I don’t know.”

“Does the name Matt Kingston mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“Do you own any properties we aren’t aware of?” Hewitt asked.

“No. Just our home outside Portland.”

“Tell me about Simon Pink,” Peyton said.

“The man Freddy shot?”

“The man Freddy’s accused of shooting, yes.”

“Didn’t they match Freddy’s gun to the scene?”

“Tell me about him.”

“I’ve never met him. I don’t think Sherry ever did either.”

“How many times a year does Sherry go to Prague?”

“Two, three.”

“Describe your relationship with your wife,” Hewitt interjected.

The question came out of the blue, as Hewitt intended, and it set Chip on his heels.

“What do you mean? We have a fine—but sometimes confused—
relationship.”

“Can you describe it?” Hewitt said.

“I love my wife.”

“And it’s mutual?”

“Is this relevant?” Talon said.

“His wife is missing. She recently left him for another man,” Hewitt said. “Isn’t that right, Chip?”

“It’s complicated.”

“But she left you. How’d that make you feel?”

“It hurt.”

“I bet it made you angry, too.”

“I object to that statement, agent,” Talon said. “It’s leading, and you know it.”

“Then how’s this: Are you angry at your wife, Chip?”

“I’m worried about her.”

“Do you know where your wife is, Chip?”

“No. I do not. I came here to help you find her. I have nothing to do with her disappearance.”

“What did you tell your kids about their mother?” Peyton said.

Chip’s hands were clasped before him. He was squeezing them together. “That was the hardest conversation I’ve ever had, Peyton. I had to tell them that Mommy and I might not be living together when we come back.”

“So the marriage is over?”

“She left me, all right? We all know it. It hurts. I’m not angry, just sad.”

“Do you know Kvido Bezdek?” Hewitt said.

“Of course, he works for Sherry. She dated him years ago. Have you interviewed him?”

“Why? Should we?”

“Sherry was staying with him, not me, when she went missing.”

“Chip,” Peyton said, “if you have any theories or thoughts regarding where Sherry is or what might have happened, now is the time to share them.”

“I have no idea.”

“Where are Sherry’s things, Chip?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“She had a suitcase in room 418. She was staying there with Kvido. You had room 210. Where are her things—her clothes, her computer, her suitcase?”

He looked at her. “I have no idea. I assume they’re at the Hampton Inn, still in Kvido’s room.”

Peyton took Hewitt’s pen again, wrote: I didn’t see them. I walked through his room.

Hewitt looked at Stone Gibson.

“I’ll go over there,” Stone said. “I’ll put out a BOLO and call the airport, too.” He left the room.

“Do you know where Sherry was last night at nine-thirty?” Peyton asked.

“I have no idea. I was in Portland.”

“I assume you’ve been watching the news, Chip,” Hewitt said.

He shrugged.

“You know about the IEDs found. One killed a game warden.”

“Yes. I saw that on TV. It made CNN.”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“What?”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“Of course not. Why are you asking me that?”

“We’re here about his wife,” Talon said. “The man is concerned about his wife.”

“As we all are,” Hewitt said.

“I think not, agent. I think you’re looking to pin the IEDs on someone. And you should know that it won’t be my client.”

“We’re just being diligent,” Peyton said.

“What is your plan for finding my wife?”

“We will work with the state police, the FBI, and our agents. We will put out BOLOs and road blocks. Please describe the car she is driving.”

“That’s the thing,” Chip said. “She has no car. I took the Mercedes back to Portland. Kvido has the rental, the Ford Escape.”

“That changes things,” Hewitt said.

“How?”

“It narrows our search. We’ll comb the area around the hotel, maybe even go room to room, search the woods behind it.”

“Oh my God,” Chip said.

“Don’t read anything into it,” Hewitt said.

“You think she killed herself. I’m going to be sick.” Chip was on his feet, sprinting to the door.