Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1) (12 page)

He'd had no signal on his cell phone
inside the recorder's office, and when he came out, he saw he had a missed call
from Guillory.

'I've been doing a bit of digging
into the Schneider case after what you told me,' Guillory said, 'and I don't
think the old man did her in.'

'Why's that?' Evan said.

'I've been talking to an old friend
of hers who says she's heard from her since the disappearance.'

'But never thought to tell anyone.'

'Apparently Barbara Schneider asked
her not to. She just got in touch because they'd been such good friends and
didn't want her to worry.'

'Do you believe her?'

'I think so. From what she says
about the husband, it's a miracle she didn't bury him in the backyard. Running
away was the least she could do.'

A picture of Schneider concentrating
hard as he made broken washing machine noises flashed into Evan’s mind and made
him smile. 'I can vouch for that. In fact, I think she might have buried him
years ago but some dog dug him up again.’

‘That’s the trouble with those
do-it-yourself graves.’

‘Getting back to the friend - do you
think she'd talk to me?'

'Well, she didn't want to...'

'Damn.'

'...until I told her what a great
guy you are and what you're looking into. It's amazing the doors that open for
you when you're doing something
worthwhile
, isn't it?'

Evan stifled a mock yawn. 'How will
I ever repay you?'

'Don't worry, I'm working on that.
Her name's Virginia Doyle, take this number down.'

Evan rang her as soon as he got off
the phone from Guillory. After he'd introduced himself she invited him over to
the house rather than discuss it over the phone. She didn't live far from the
Schneider place and was waiting for him as he drove up.

Evan noticed piles of
The
Watchtower
stacked neatly in the hallway as she led him through to the
living room.

'Detective Guillory told me about
the case you're investigating,' she said. 'I vaguely remember it happening, but
I didn't know any of the people involved.’ She sounded disappointed; a missed
opportunity. ‘I can't imagine what it must be like to lose your only child.'

She looked across to a number of
framed photographs sitting on top of a baby grand piano. There was a boy and a
girl; the usual collection of graduation photographs and other family stuff. Lots
of perfect dentistry on show; it would have made Jacobson swell with pride.

'That's why I agreed to talk to you.
I wouldn't normally talk to a private detective. I thought they only did sleazy
divorce work and that sort of thing.'

Her nose turned up and the words
almost caught in her throat. She made
private detective
sound like the
lowest type of life form she was likely to come across in her happy little
suburban life. Her husband was probably a junior under-manager, acting vice
president at some savings and loan association. Doubtless he turned people like
Evan down every day. Evan felt grateful he'd been allowed to sit on the couch
without some sort of protective cover being put down first.

'There's a top and a bottom end in
most jobs,' Evan said, wondering if Guillory had fully explained his role of
repentant sinner atoning for past misdeeds. 'Can you give me a bit of background
information on Barbara?'

'She used to come over here when she
couldn't stand it at home any longer. She stayed over all the time.'

'What was going on at home?'

She gave him her
you wouldn’t
believe it if I told you
look and leaned in closer. Evan did the same.

'Have you met her husband Max?' Her
voice had dropped to a whisper.

Even said that he had. He chomped
down hard on the smile as the mental picture reappeared.

'Well, there you go. Do I need to
say any more? He's a horrible man and he used to beat her all the time. I think
it's because he's German. They never got over losing the war.'

'I noticed an accent.'
And I
think I detect a whiff of xenophobia in this very room.

'When they got married they lived
with his parents in that house he still lives in.’ She made
that house
sound almost as bad as
private detective
. Clearly it was dragging the
whole neighbourhood down, perhaps by as much as ten to fifteen per cent. ‘His
parents were German refugees and were very strict with him. When she moved in
they were very strict with her too.'

'How so?'

'They treated them like they were
children. Didn't like them to stay out late, that sort of thing. He was already
indoctrinated and Barbara felt it wasn't her place to say anything because it
was their house after all.'

'It doesn't sound like an ideal
start to married life.'

He was suddenly taken back to the
start of his own and Sarah’s married life. They’d “christened” every room in
the house within the first day. He couldn’t have imagined moving in with either
his or her parents. He swallowed hard. When would these memories stop ambushing
him?

'It got worse when the parents died.
He started laying down the law as if he owned her.' It was clear from her tone
of voice who wore the pants in the Doyle household, and it wasn’t the junior
under-manager, acting vice president.

'He isn't a sociable man. He had no
interest in going out and he didn't want Barbara to either. But she was full of
life and so she went anyway, and then when she came home he would accuse her of
all kinds of horrible things and hit her.'

She looked down at her hands clasped
together in her lap, as if the answer to domestic violence was hiding in the
folds of her floral skirt.

'Did you ever think that was why she
disappeared? That he'd got carried away and killed her?'

'When she first disappeared it
crossed my mind.'

'Did you say anything to the
Police?'

'I don't remember. I think I might
have done but they obviously didn't take any notice.' A slight flush had spread
across her cheeks and she wouldn’t meet Evan’s eyes.

It was likely he’d be thrown out on
his ear if he asked if it was
Fukner
that she’d talked to, and it didn’t
really matter who it was who didn’t do anything. 'That seems odd.'

She looked up at him now. 'There was
no history; she'd never had to go to the hospital or anything like that. She
was too proud.'

'When I spoke to her husband he said
she was seeing other men. The trouble is, he’s not the most rational man I’ve
ever met and I don't know if I believe a word he says. Do you know if there's
any truth in it?'

Virginia Doyle opened her mouth to
say something and closed it again. She looked down at her lap again but there
were still no answers there. She was obviously happy to chat until the cows
came home about the faults of Max Schneider, but saying anything against her
friend was a different kettle of fish.

'It's crucial to my investigation,'
Evan said to get her back on track. 'My client really needs to find out what
happened to her little boy.' He put a lot of emphasis on the
little boy
.

Even though she would have liked to
continue with her diatribe about Max Schneider, she could see that Evan wasn't
about to let that happen.

'She was seeing someone else just
before she disappeared,' Virginia said, 'but I don't know who it was,’ she added
a little too quickly.

Evan knew he was only going to get
carefully filtered facts, but anything was a help.

'Didn't she tell you who it was? You
were such good friends after all.'

'She was terrified of Max. She
thought the less people who knew, the better. Me included.' The fact that her
friend hadn't seen fit to trust her completely didn’t sit well with her, that
was for sure.

'Do you think she might have run
away with him?'

'I don't think so - but you couldn't
blame her if she did.'

'Detective Guillory told me that you
heard from Barbara after she disappeared.'

She brightened visibly. 'Yes, she
rang me about six months later. I couldn't believe it when I heard her voice.
She sounded so happy.'

'What did she say?'

'She said she couldn't take it any
more so one day she just walked out. Took one small bag with a few clothes, got
on the bus and never looked back. Good luck to her.'

'So she didn't mention anyone else.'

'She said she'd met someone else and
was very happy.'

'But it wasn't clear whether she met
them before or after running away?'

'No, but I got the impression she
ran away on her own and then met someone else later.'

‘Why’s that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Just a feeling.
Call it a woman’s intuition.’

He would have liked something a
little more concrete than that, but he knew he wasn’t going to get it. 'Do you
still speak to her on a regular basis?'

The brightness faded from her face. 'Not
really. We don't have that much in common now. I'm sorry to say that most of
our friendship seems to have been based on the support I gave her dealing with
Max. Once that went away, there didn't seem to be much left.'

He could see that she was deeply
hurt by her friend's rejection and lack of confidence in her. 'Do you have her
number?'

'I do, but I couldn't possibly give
it to you.’ He thought the amount of emphasis on the
you
was uncalled
for. She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to open her knees a bit wider
so that he could have a quick grope under her skirt.

 ‘She specifically asked me not to
let anyone know where she is or give them her number.'

'That's okay. If I give you my
number, would you pass it on to her and ask her to call me if she wants to.'

He stood up and walked over to the
piano. He picked up one of the photographs and admired it. 'It might help if
you tell her why I want to speak to her.'

That seemed to push the right button
as he’d hoped. She took his number and he left with confident promises that she
would persuade Barbara Schneider to ring him, plus a copy of
The Watchtower
.
Evan didn't share her confidence, particularly if it turned out that it was
Robbie Clayton that Barbara had been seeing before she disappeared.

Would she have any interest in
helping the wife of the man she'd been seeing and might have run away with?
Evan doubted it.

Back at his office Evan went down to
see if Tom Jacobson had any more information for him.

'I've been so busy I haven't had a
chance,' he admitted. 'How about you – what have you dug up?'

Evan told him about his visit to the
County Recorder's office and the dead end he'd run into with the last
recorded owner listed as Jason Saunders. 'That's why I was hoping you'd have
something from the local grapevine.'

'I'm sure the person I have in mind
will be able to clear it up for you.' He was pensive a moment. 'You know, there
is another possible explanation you haven't mentioned.'

'What, like Carl Hendricks killed
Jason Saunders, buried him, and is living in his house.'

Jacobson nodded. 'In a manner of
speaking, yes. What if Carl Hendricks is Jason Saunders?'

It was so obvious; Evan couldn't
believe he hadn't thought of it. He slapped the heel of his hand on his
forehead. 'You mean he changed his name. I can't believe I didn't think of
that.'

'And he didn't get round to notifying
the recorder's office of the change.'

'That makes sense. You'd have to
change your driving license and bank accounts and all the things you use every
day, but maybe you'd forget the property deeds.'

'Or choose to deliberately not
change them...'

'What makes you say that?'

'Maybe you've got something to hide.
Why do people change their name in the first place? It’s not just because you’re
born Dick Assman – that’s a real name, by the way. He’s a gas station owner in Saskatchewan. I saw it on the
Late Show
years ago.’

‘No kidding! Apart from that, I
suppose it’s to leave behind something you’d like to forget.’

‘That’s what I was thinking. And this
just muddies the waters a bit more. A lot of people wouldn't be bothered to
look any further. Blame it on inefficient local bureaucracy.'

'But not a super sleuth like me,
eh.'

'Exactly. There is just one thing
though...'

'What's that?'

'You've got to find out if it's
true.'

Evan realized that it made such
perfect sense, he'd already taken it as the truth. 'Right. I sort of got
carried away there. Shouldn't be too difficult to find out.'

The questions and possibilities were
already starting to multiply in Evan's mind. Certainly none of them pointed to
an innocent explanation.

'I would still like some local info,
Tom. The official records might tell you what happened, but I need some insight
into why.'

'Uh huh. You realize insight can be
spelled g-o-s-s-i-p.'

'I know, but it's still useful to
have. A skilled investigator like me can separate the wheat from the chaff.'

He was almost out the door when
Jacobson called him back.

'Hey Evan, before you go - can you
do this next root canal for me?'

Evan laughed. He knew what was
coming next.

'It's just that since I'm doing your
job, I thought maybe you'd like to do mine.'