“Of course not. Please help yourself.”
He took a napkin, spit the gum into it and chose the largest bagel. Cinnamon raisin. He took time to spread a thick coat of cream cheese and took several bites. She wondered if she could eat, knowing her spouse was missing.
“Your wife is pretty. They showed pictures on the news.”
“Sheila always took pride in her appearance.”
Took, not takes. “She work out? You mentioned yoga.”
“Yoga, Pilates, cardio. She’d put on weight and was trying to get it off. She’d turned into a regular gym rat.”
“Do you carry any pictures of her?”
“I do.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek wallet. He removed a picture and handed it to her.
She studied the image of the vibrant, blond woman with a wide smile. She wore her makeup heavy and favored lots of gold jewelry that dipped into a full cleavage. “Very attractive.”
“She was that.”
Was.
“Tell me about her affair last year. That must have been painful for you.”
He set down his bagel. “Hurt like hell.”
“You felt betrayed?”
“Yeah. It was a knife to the gut.”
“Who was the guy?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s what the cops said.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Yeah, I can. I wouldn’t lie when my wife is missing. I keep saying this lover of hers could be behind all this.”
“You have no pertinent details about him, including his name. How do you know he’s involved in her disappearance?”
“It’s the only logical explanation.”
Or you killed her. “Why stay with your wife after the affair?”
“I felt sorry for her.”
In all Dayton’s accounts, he’d been in control. He’d been the one who’d been wronged, had forgiven, had issued forbearance.
She continued to talk to him about his wife. How they met. How long they’d been married. Her spending habits.
Dayton’s answers were smooth, relaxed, rehearsed, and nothing riled him. Nothing. His wife was missing, and he was perfectly calm.
“I wish she’d been more like you, Dr. Granger.”
“Why’s that?”
“You strike me as a woman who’s always in control. I like that.”
Jo kept her expression neutral, but she didn’t like his assessment. “Your wife was out of control.”
He shifted in his seat. “Most of the time, yes.”
“In what way?”
“The outfits she wore. Her spending. Too loud. Liked to drink.”
“And now she is in more trouble than ever.” She continued to ask questions. He answered.
“No quiet exit for Sheila.” He offered her a wan smile.
“No, that would be too easy for her.” He checked his watch. “We’ve covered the same questions at least three times now, Dr. Granger.”
She studied him a beat. “You’re right. Thank you for your time, Dr. Dayton.”
She escorted him to reception where Dr. Anderson and Mr. Black waited. They exchanged pleasantries.
Dayton extended his hand to Jo. She took it and noted the way he squeezed her fingers with a grip, not painful but firm. He held her hand a beat. “It was a pleasure.”
She pulled her hand free. “Nice to have met you.”
Jo escorted Dayton to the other office, and Jo and Dr. Anderson watched Dayton and Black get on the elevator. When the doors closed Dr. Anderson’s smile vanished. “In my office.”
She followed him and when he closed the door he said, “What do you think?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
“I’d be guessing at this point. A more complete evaluation is warranted.”
“I’ll take your guess anytime, Jo.”
She flexed her fingers. “I think he killed her.”
Dr. Anderson shook his head. “Why come here and jump through the hoops?”
She arched a brow. “You know as well as I do. He loves the drama and attention. This is great theater to him, and he is the actor on center stage. He believes he can do no wrong. He is in control.”
“Did he give you any information the cops could use?”
“I thought we were working for him.”
“We are. But it’s good to know.”
“He didn’t incriminate himself. But if the cops stay close, he will. He’s proud of his secret, and it will be hard for him to keep it to himself forever.”
“Scott Connors, age thirty-two,” Brody read from the file. “By all accounts devastated by his fiancée’s disappearance.”
Santos parked in front of the old apartment building. “Let’s see how he reacts to news of her death.”
Out of the car, they strode down a cracked sidewalk to the front door. They located his apartment on the mailboxes and climbed to the third floor.
Brody knocked on the door. Seconds passed with no sound. “According to his boss he called in sick today.”
Santos shrugged. “He wouldn’t be the first to lie about an illness.”
Brody pounded on the door, and this time they heard the shuffle of feet. The door opened to a tall, lean man wearing jeans and no shirt. His hair stuck up as if he’d rolled out of bed.
“Mr. Scott Connors,” Brody said.
“Look, this is a bad time.” He moved to close the door.
Brody blocked it with his boot. “We’re Texas Rangers, and we came to talk to you about Christa.”
Scott sighed. “I’ve spoken to all the cops I’m going to talk to. Enough. I can’t help you anymore. If you have any questions call my attorney.”
Brody put his hand on the door and pushed it open several more inches. “For a guy who was despe
rate to find his girlfriend, I’d think you’d not be all talked out yet.”
Dark under-eye circles made his eyes look sunken. “Yet? Are you kidding? It’s been four weeks since she vanished.”
Brody wanted to annoy, even anger Scott to force a reaction. “Is that the time limit on true love, Scott?”
Scott fisted his fingers. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Means if I really loved a woman I’d think it would take me longer than four weeks to give up on her.”
“I never gave up on Christa. But damn, I can’t stay in limbo forever. Even the cops now are saying she’s likely dead.”
Brody eyed Santos. “When did forever become four weeks?”
Santos shrugged. “Everyone’s in a rush these days.”
Scott’s lips flattened. “You know the chances of finding her alive get worse and worse the longer it takes. Everyone is saying that.”
“Everyone?” Brody heard the shuffle of footsteps behind Scott, and immediately his hand slid to his gun. “Someone in the apartment with you, Scott?”
Scott tensed, glanced back over his shoulder. “No one important.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
“Scott. Who’s at the door, baby?” cooed a woman.
Brody shoved out a breath. “Tell your friend to get dressed and get out. We need to talk.”
“What’s this about?”
Brody peered past Scott to a brunet wearing a man’s white dress shirt. “Ask your friend to leave.”
Scott hesitated, turned and said, “Dee, get dressed. The cops are here, and I have to talk to them.”
“About Christa? Again?” She sounded irritated.
“Yeah.”
She pouted. “It’s always about Christa.”
“Dee. Get dressed.” Scott crossed to her, whispered in her ear and kissed her on the cheek. Pouting, she vanished into the bedroom.
“Her name is Dee?” Brody said.
Scott shoved out a sigh. “Dee. Dee Anders. She works at the financial company with me.”
“How long have you two been together?”
Scott shoved long fingers through his hair. “Last night was the first time.”
Brody wouldn’t bet on that. “I see.”