Merciless (Alexandria Novels 2)

Brown eyes widened. “Is Brian in some kind of trouble?”

“Why would he be in trouble?” Garrison said. His relaxed demeanor drained the challenge from the question.

“Oh, he wouldn’t be in trouble. But I wouldn’t doubt that his soon-to-be ex called the cops on him.”

“Really?”

“It’s no secret that his divorce has been a mess. When he blocked his soon-to-be ex from his cell phone she started calling the front desk. She is very clever and can change her voice so I’d send the calls through. She’s an actress.”

“Really?” Garrison grinned.

Malcolm marveled at the way his partner could cajole with that smile. His own grin, he’d been told, was more akin to a snarl.

“The last time I let her call through, they got into a huge fight, and when Brian came out his face was so red. He told me to hold all calls until he could get her to stop bugging him.”

“What did she want?” Malcolm asked.

The woman’s gaze shifted to Malcolm and lost what little warmth it had gained. “Money.”

“They fight about anything else?”

“If the weather changed, they fought.” The phone rang, and she answered it. When she’d forwarded the call she glanced up. “Why don’t I get Brian up here?”

“That would be great.”

Minutes after being paged, Brian Humphrey appeared. Malcolm had expected him to be bland and lifeless like the building, but instead he was surprised to see a tall man with broad shoulders and a lean build. He had dark hair, complete with a wave in the front, chiseled features, and tanned skin. He reminded Malcolm of a Disney hero. He’d glimpsed a few when his nephew and niece watched cartoons at his parents’ place. What was that guy’s name in the last video the kids had been playing over Christmas? Beauty and the Beast. Brian Humphrey looked like Gaston.

Malcolm held up his badge. “Mr. Humphrey?”

“Yes.” His voice was a deep baritone, and no doubt the guy had a singing voice as smooth as Gaston’s.

“We’d like to talk to you about your wife, Sierra Day.”

Humphrey’s face grew contemptuous. “She will officially be my ex-wife as soon as I can get her to sign the papers. And I prefer to think of her as my ex.”

“Is there some place we can chat in private?” Garrison said. “Maybe your office.”

Humphrey didn’t need to glance at the receptionist to know she gawked at them. “Sure. It’s small, but it’s private.”

They wove down a hallway created by the configurations of twenty or so gray cubicles. Throughout the central room, the voices of office workers mingled with the tap of fingertips on keyboards and the whir of a copy machine. All conversation ceased as they passed. They reached a small office in the back corner.

Humphrey shut the door behind them. “Delores, she’s the receptionist, has put the word out on the jungle beat that you are here.”

“We have that effect,” Malcolm said. People got nervous around cops.

He glanced around the guy’s office. There was a large window behind Humphrey’s desk, but tinted glass and mini-blinds filtered out most of the sunlight. Pictures taken of Humphrey in various plays covered the walls. Humphrey as Hamlet. Humphrey as a clown. Humphrey as Sherlock Holmes. In a few spots, only a nail and a shadow imprint of a frame remained. It didn’t take much of a leap to guess Sierra had been in those pictures.

On the desk were a half-eaten bagel, a diet soda, and a well-worn script.

“So what do you do for Computer Science Arts?”

“I manage databases for nonprofits and other marketing entities. It’s all very dry and boring, and as you can see from the walls, I have greater aspirations.”

Garrison nodded. “Just paying the light bill.”

“We’ve all got to eat.” Humphrey stood behind his desk, his posture erect, his fingertips pressed to the desk as if addressing a great crowd. “So what does Sierra want from me now? Has she trumped up more lies about me?”

“What kind of lies did she tell about you?” Malcolm asked.

“That I tried to dupe her out of money. That I cheated on her. That I would have loved to see her dead. You name it, Sierra made it up.”

“Did you want her dead?” Malcolm asked.

“Believe me there were times when I could have cheerfully strangled her. She did nothing but break my heart from the moment we said our I dos. But I never would have hurt her. It wasn’t worth the effort.”

“How long have you two been married?” Malcolm asked.

“Six months. We’ve been separated for most of that time.”

“Why?”

“Because Sierra took up with another actor. When I found out I tossed her out.”

“So why is she giving you so much trouble with the divorce?”

“Because two weeks after she left, my grandfather died and left me a nice bit of money. Sierra believes she is entitled to half of it. But I can promise you she won’t get a dime. She didn’t even know my grandfather.”

Is. Believes. He spoke of her in present tense. “When is the last time you saw her?” Malcolm asked.

“A couple of weeks. She stormed in here making more of her dramatic threats. I threatened to call the cops, and she left.”

“When was that exactly?”

He flipped through the pages of his calendar. “Thirteen days ago. It was a Friday. So tell me, what is this all about? What has Sierra done?”

Malcolm never enjoyed this part of the investigation. “We have a body that we are trying to identify. The description of our victim matches a missing persons report filed by Terry Burgess of the West End Theater.”

Some anger seeped from Humphrey’s features. “Terry filed a missing persons report on Sierra?”

“Ten days ago.”

Humphrey frowned. “That means Sierra missed play practice.”

“Burgess thinks she’d not miss practice for anything in the world.”

“She would if there was a better opportunity. But it would have to be a huge opportunity.”

“Such as?”

“That I don’t know. Her attorney might know. Her name is Angie Carlson.” He coated Carlson’s name with disgust. “But then again, you might have better luck getting blood from a stone.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think Sierra is dead?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Do you have the name of her dentist?”

Humphrey sat down as if the air had been siphoned right out of him. “You need dental records to identify the body? My God, what happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Humphrey blew out a breath. “Sierra’s dentist is Scott Marcus. He’s in Arlington and in the book. She saw him right before we got married. Veneers. Which I paid for.”

“You said Sierra was having an affair. Do you have a name?”

He dug long fingers through his thick black hair. “Sure. Marty Gold. I don’t know where he lives, but he’s in a play at the Springfield Theatre now.”

“Did Sierra live with him?”

“She did for a while, but they broke up. I hear she’s renting space from a friend. Zoe Morgan. A dancer. In Alexandria.” He looked up at them. “I didn’t kill her.”

The line sounded clear and perfect, as if Humphrey played to an audience of hundreds.

“We didn’t say that you did.”

“But I am the husband, and cops always blame the husband.”

“Not always,” Malcolm said. Though Humphrey was right. When a woman was killed, statistics proved an acquaintance did the deed.

“What can you tell us about Sierra? Her likes, habits, friends. Anything so we can piece together the last couple of weeks.”

“There’s not much to Sierra. If she wasn’t on the stage she was trying to get on the stage. She’d walk over broken glass barefoot to get the right part. She wanted Broadway, and she wanted Hollywood. She craved fame like a drug.” He shook his head. “I kne

w that about her, even sensed that I was a temporary fix, and I still married her.”

“Those blank spots in the wall have her picture in them?”

“I just took those down about a month ago. I guess until then I was holding on to something. But she drove the final nail in the coffin so I threw them in the trash.”

“What was that nail?”

“She called my dad and told him she’d been pregnant with our child and that I’d forced her to have an abortion.”

“Any truth?”

“Hell, no. It was hard for Dad to hear it. I always knew she was selfish but never evil.”

“Did she hit the bars?”

“Not a lot. She didn’t drink or smoke for fear it would ruin her figure and face. Vain could have been her middle name. And she didn’t go out unless it benefited her career.”

“Family?”

“None to speak of. Distant cousins. Parents dead and no siblings.”