My cell rang as J.T. and I climbed into the cruiser. I fished it out of my coat pocket and answered. Melanie was calling, hopefully with the update on Mitchell Carter.
“Hey, Mel. What did you find?” I put her on speakerphone.
“I found out where Mitchell Carter works. He runs the computer department at Synasys, Inc. He does travel now and then, which would make sense if he asked Molly to go out of town with him during the week. Obviously, he couldn’t do that on the weekends when he’s not working and supposed to be home with the family.”
“Does he have kids too or just the wife?” I asked.
“Two boys, ages nine and six.”
I glanced at J.T.
He shook his head. “Double dirtbag.”
“Okay, did you confirm he’s at work?”
“I did, and he is. Here’s the address.”
I set my notepad on the console and wrote down the address. “Great, we’re on our way. Mr. Carter isn’t expecting us, is he?”
“Nope, I only confirmed that he was on site.”
“Even better. He won’t have time to make up an alibi. Thanks, Mel.” I clicked off, programmed the address into my GPS, and led the way. Twenty minutes later, J.T. turned in to the parking lot of a large four-story brick office building.
“What actually is Synasys?” J.T. asked.
“I have no idea. Data storage, maybe? Let’s go find Mr. Carter and let him explain it.”
The marble foyer led to the reception counter directly in front of us. Three women, each with a phone and computer, sat in the space. We approached and asked to speak with Mitchell Carter.
“Certainly. May I ask what this concerns?” a blond-haired woman asked.
I took the lead and enjoyed the wide-eyed expression people usually wore when I pulled out my badge and told them it was an FBI matter. I’d explain, clearly but tactfully, that it was none of their concern. That day was like all the others.
“Ma’am,” I said as I pulled out my badge from beneath my buttoned coat, “we have a private matter to discuss with Mr. Carter. Would you please page him?”
Her face went bright red. “Oh, of course. One moment.”
J.T. and I waited at the end of the counter for several minutes. A bank of elevators and what appeared to be a main hallway were within eyeshot. When a bell dinged, we looked toward the elevators. The doors of the second elevator parted, and a man stepped out and turned in our direction.
I whispered to J.T. that it must be Mitchell Carter. The tall man wore a suit, had a thick head of black hair, and was relatively attractive. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. I sighed, knowing we were back to square one. “Don’t think he’s our guy.” I immediately sized up the bewildered man walking toward us. Clearly he wasn’t our suspect.
He extended his hand as he got closer. “I’m Mitchell Carter. Is there something I can help you with?”
We shook his hand, and I scanned the area. “FBI Agents Jade Monroe and J.T. Harper here, sir. Is there a private place we can talk?”
“Um, sure. What is this about?”
J.T. spoke up. “Please, Mr. Carter, I’m sure you’d rather keep our conversation private.”
“Yeah, okay.” Mitchell dragged his hand through his hair. His face was already turning pale. He pointed at a grouping of four chairs at the far end of the lobby. Two chairs faced two others, with a low, magazine-covered table separating them. I assumed he didn’t have a private office where we could go. “How’s this?”
“Sure, that area will be fine.”
I led the way across the lobby and took a seat. J.T. sat next to me, and Mr. Carter faced us on a chair from the other side of the table. I pulled out my notepad from my purse.
“Why do you agents want to speak with me? Have I done something wrong?”
“That depends on you, sir. We’ve been told you’re close to Molly Davis.” I made sure to note his initial expression when I said Molly’s name. As I expected, his face went white, and he seemed as if he was about to get ill.
“Molly Davis? That name does sound somewhat familiar.”
I smiled. This wasn’t our first rodeo. We’d been through these types of interrogation sessions plenty of times. They were always the same. The person questioned initially played dumb, then they got a severe case of amnesia, and finally, when the jig was up, they’d backpedal, claiming they hadn’t heard the name correctly and thought we were asking about someone else.
“Yes,” J.T. said, “Molly Davis. We heard you two were seeing each other. Seems she confided in a coworker of hers at First Federal Bank. That’s how we knew who you were.”
Sweat droplets formed on Mitchell’s forehead. He pulled the pocket square from his suit coat and dabbed his face. “Agents, I’m a married man and have two sons.”
“We’re well aware of that too,” J.T. said.
I heard the disdain in J.T.’s voice. My partner was a man of high moral integrity, which I admired about him.
“When was the last time you spoke to or saw Molly?” I asked. The pages of my notepad were rolled back and folded under the clean sheet I was about to write on. I waited as Mitchell feigned the amnesia part of the session.
“Um—I think it was last week.”
“Last week since you saw her or last week since you spoke to her?”
“Uh, what? Can you excuse me for a minute? I need some water.”
“Sure, go ahead.” I normally wouldn’t let anyone get up and disrupt the questioning, but since a water fountain with cups was only thirty feet away, I waved him on. I whispered to J.T. “What do you think? I swear he’s about to faint.”
“He’s probably only guilty of being a cheating husband, but in his mind, that’s plenty. I’m sure he needed a few seconds to get his timeline right too.”
Mitchell returned and took his seat.
“So?” I asked.
“What was the question again?”
“When was the last time you saw or spoke to Molly? Exact dates, please.” I stared him down.
“I spoke to her on the phone Friday as I was driving home from work. I wanted to meet with her, but she said she was going out to dinner with a friend. I wanted an answer about going out of town with me next week. She said she’d think about it and let me know, but I haven’t been able to get through to her. Maybe she found out I was married.”
I wrote down what he said. “So, you’re saying Friday was the last time you spoke to her? Nothing since?”
“That’s correct. My wife doesn’t need to find out about Molly, does she?”
“Molly is missing, Mr. Carter. Did she threaten to expose you to your wife?”
“What? Missing? No, nothing like that happened. She didn’t even know I was married.”
“Have you ever been to the running trails with her?”
“Never. I made sure to keep our meeting places discreet.”
“And she never asked why?”
“She probably had her suspicions since I felt her pulling away.”
“And that pissed you off?” I asked.
“No, it didn’t piss me off. I really like Molly. How long has she been missing?”
I ignored his question. If he wasn’t involved, as he claimed, nothing about the case was his concern.
“How tall are you, and how much do you weigh, Mitchell?” J.T. asked.
“Why?”
J.T. held his stare and waited.
“I’m six foot two and weight two hundred pounds.”
“Were you at work all day Monday?”
He glared at me. “Of course I was.”
“Can somebody corroborate that?”
“Everyone that works here can.”
“How about after work?” J.T. leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Where did you go?”
Mitchell dabbed his forehead again. Sweat rolled down his hairline and settled in his sideburns. “Straight home, I swear.”
“We’re going to ask your wife when you arrived home, and you better hope your stories match. Your extracurricular activities aren’t our concern, so if you need to explain something to her, that’s on you. What’s her cell number?” I asked.
After a moment of hesitation, defeat written across his face, Mitchell rattled off the number.
“Your wife’s name?”
“Jody. Do you have to say why you’re asking?”
“No, but don’t you think a wife would want to know why an FBI agent is asking where her husband was after work on Monday?”
Mitchell buried his face in his hands and moaned.
I stood. “I’ll be right back. Stay put.”
J.T. gave me a nod. He wasn’t going to let Mitchell out of his sight.
I pushed through the double glass doors and dialed Jody’s number as I stood in the vestibule. I was within eyeshot of Mitchell, who was facing my way. Jody and I spoke for two minutes. It wasn’t my responsibility to explain her husband’s infidelity. She confirmed that Mitchell was home by six p.m. on Monday, as he was most of the time except during overnight business trips. She said she remembered that time specifically because they watched the news together as they ate. I hung up from the call and reentered the lobby. Then I took my seat. “You’re off the hook for now, at least with us.”
He responded sarcastically. “Gee, thanks.”
“No problem.” I passed my card across the coffee table to him. “Don’t go far. We may want to speak to you again.” I closed my notepad and tucked it into the side pocket of my purse. “That should do it for now.” I tipped my head toward the door, and J.T. stood. We gave Mitchell a nod goodbye and left the building.
Buckled in the car and heading back to the precinct, J.T. spoke up. “I guess Mitchell can go to the bottom of the suspect list. He’s guilty of being a cheater but probably nothing else.”
I agreed.
“Let’s have a quick dinner as long as we have the time,” J.T. said.
“Pull in there.” I pointed at a nondescript diner at the corner of Williams and Drexel. “Soup and fries are enough for me.”
J.T. parked in the ten-car lot, and we went inside. It wasn’t quite the dinner hour yet, so we had the place to ourselves. I figured soup and fries couldn’t take too long. I ordered a cup of coffee too.
“I’ll have a BLT and fries,” J.T. said to the motherly looking waitress who stood at the end of our booth. She wore an apron tied around her midsection and a pencil wedged above her ear. A pair of teal glasses was perched on the bridge of her nose. Thanks to our easy-to-remember orders, she didn’t need to write them down.
“Want me to bring out the coffees right away?” she asked.
Her mannerisms reminded me of my own mom, and I smiled. “Yes, please.”
It took only a half hour before we were back in the car and with full bellies. That dinner would likely hold us over until morning. I climbed in on the passenger side and pulled out my phone. The vibration signaled a call or text had recently come in. I tapped my password on the home screen and checked. Sullivan had sent me a text ten minutes ago. “Shit.”
J.T. raised his right eyebrow as he pulled out of the parking lot and turned right. “That sounds daunting.”
“It is. Two girls went out together last night, and neither has returned home or made contact with their families. We need to get back to the station and see what’s up.”