Dark to Mortal Eyes (19 page)

He froze in his tracks, and a wave of black hair surged over his eye. He brushed it back and said through a granite-carved smile, “You’re trying to torment me, aren’t you?” The intercom sounded again. “I bet you were here all night, spying on me, toying with me. Have to admit, you had me going. What’d you do? Prick a finger and wipe the blood on my cheek? A question
mark … Very funny. I knew there was a logical explanation behind all this.” He keyed the intercom, paused, got no response.

“You honestly think I tiptoed through the night just to play with your mind?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. Or Rosie maybe.”

The entry chime sounded.

“About time.” Marsh hit the release key, and the door slid open. “Okay, Rosie, let’s hear it. This better be good.”

“Sir?” The household manager tilted her head, her honey-tinted curls budging not an inch from their austere arrangement. She looked around his shoulder, eyes registering nothing. She brushed by to set a platter on an ebony side table. “Orange walnut muffins and a dollop of butter.”

“Rosamund. What’d I tell you? I couldn’t care less about that right now.”

She tucked her hands into her apron and bent her head in supplication. “Pardon my delay. These officers arrived moments ago, two fine young gentlemen expressing an urgency to speak with you. I tried to inform you over the intercom but got no response.”

“Officers?”

“Apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Addison.” A pair of policemen stepped through the door, and Rosie bowed on her way back down the hall. “Office Lansky,” the older cop introduced himself. The rigidity of his stance and handshake implied embarrassment at being here. “And my partner, Officer Graham. With the Corvallis Police Department. It’s regarding your wife, Kara. Did I say that right?
Care-uh?
”

“That’s right.”

“Have a couple of questions to ask you.”

“Oh, she can speak for herself. Believe me”—Marsh lifted his eyebrows, trying to solicit male empathy with such matters—”sometimes you can’t keep her quiet.”

“That so?” The officers exchanged a glance.

Graham hoisted a soiled Ralph Lauren sports bag. “We found this earlier this morning, Mr. Addison, with your wife’s ID inside.” His trimmed mustache was stiff despite the movement of his mouth.

“Looks like Kara’s. Where was it?”

“We were dispatched,” Lansky cut in, “at 5:45
AM
to mile-marker four on
Ridge Road. Down the hill from here. Half-mile from the Dari-Mart. A motorist called the station on his cell, said there was a vehicle in the ravine and that it looked like it’d jumped the guardrail.”

“The Z3?”

“A convertible BMW, that’s correct. Ran the plates. Came up registered in your wife’s name.”

Marsh threw up his hands. “I purchased that car just last month.”

“I trust you have good insurance, Mr. Addison. We arrived on the scene about 5:55. It appeared the vehicle had lost control at the bend and flipped over the rail. The engine was cold. We’re still searching for the vehicle’s operator, hoping for the best.”

Graham added, “The sports bag was thrown from the vehicle, along with a number of other items. You say it’s hers. Are you sure?” From the bag in his hand, a wet leaf fluttered to the carpet. “Has your wife attempted to contact you?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard anything about it.”

“We understand that you may be concerned, sir, but your wife’s probably fine. Remember, we haven’t found a body.”

A body? What the—

Lansky cut in to cover his partner’s impropriety. “Any idea where Kara might be, sir? Any way that we can contact her?”

Marsh Addison, incredulous, was staring at Graham. “So tell me, are you fresh from the academy? Of course, you haven’t found a body. If this is your version of tact, it’s a good thing I don’t need comforting, isn’t it?” He turned to confront Kara seated at his desk. “I can’t even believe this. You know that car’s worth a—”

The chair was empty.

On the black leather upholstery, circles of blood demanded an explanation.

Marsh was stunned. Was he losing his mind? Hadn’t he talked to his wife in this chair only moments ago? He stalked the study’s confines but found no
trace of her. Where had she gone? File this one under don’t-let-your-spouse-out-of-your-sight. He’d bought her some sweet wheels of her own, given her room to run, and look where it’d gotten him. Kara must be nearby, breathing easy, no doubt laughing at his discomfort amid the abundance of evidence.

The bloodstains—if they were hers, he was sunk.

The knotted cord—he recognized it now as the strap from his bathrobe.

The leather gag—one of his own belts? What was it doing here?

Judging by their expressions, the same chain of reasoning was rattling through the officers’ minds, lowering the portcullis between the keepers of justice and the lone, suspicious husband. With no defense against the flaming arrows of inquiry fired from their castle walls, Marsh knew he must guard his words and actions.

To humor the watching officers, to divert attention, he made a show of trying to contact his wife. He placed a call to Kara’s cell phone. No answer. He dialed the house in Yachats. And left a message. He could visualize the answering machine, propped on a beige laminated counter beneath a calendar of Pacific Coast lighthouses. He tried to imagine Kara there, reading on the couch or slicing chanterelle mushrooms that she had picked on a nature hike or playing Parcheesi with Josee.

He hung up the phone. “Not there. She could be out on the beach.”

“Doubt it,” said Lansky. “Storm coming in, according to last night’s news.”

“Kara loves the ocean right before a storm.” How long, he wondered, had it been since they’d walked barefoot through the sand? Months? Years? He wasn’t sure.

Why was Kara doing this to him? What was going on?

Darling, think about it. You should know the answer …
Her words, spoken from his chair only minutes ago.
How can someone who knows so much see so little?

“We spoke with your housekeeper lady,” Officer Graham broke in. “At the door.”

“Rosamund?”

“She told us how you cleaned out the parlor yesterday, how you were creating a space for your wife. She admitted that tensions’ve been running high
the past week or so. Said she hadn’t seen Kara since before noon yesterday. Is that accurate?”

“Sir,” Lansky confided, “these things happen in the best of marriages. I speak from personal experience. I’m wearing the same ball and chain. No shame in admitting to a squabble now and then. You two had any recent altercations, verbal or otherwise? When was the last time you saw your wife?”

An instant replay: Marsh aiming his Montblanc at Kara’s disappearing form and triggering the pen like a gun. For the first time, he questioned his own innocence here. He glanced back at the bloodstained chair. Who was it he had talked to? Sure looked and sounded like his wife. At the monitor, Steele Knight was gone, as was his message:
I’ve captured your queen … Wish to resign?
The screen had returned to the gaming zone’s foyer where losing players sought rematches by distorted torchlight.

I’m the one losing here. Losing my wife. My grip on reality
.

Marsh steadied his voice. “Listen, my car’s ruined, my wife’s … gone. I’m going to need some time to absorb this. Thank you, Officer Lansky, Officer Graham, for bringing me into the loop. I’ll make some more calls, see if I can’t locate Kara. You have a number where I can reach you?”

Lansky looked up. “Are you asking us to leave? Or may we conduct a brief search?”

“You’re being a bit premature, aren’t you? I’m sure this is all a big mistake. Knowing Kara, I bet she loaned the keys to a friend, probably doesn’t even know what’s happened yet.”

“She’d loan out her brand-new BMW?”

“Kara? She’s generous that way. Always has been. Twenty-two years of marriage, I think I should know.”

“All good and well, Mr. Addison, but if you have an explanation for the blood there on the chair, I’m still waiting to hear it. Otherwise, I say we’ve got a potential crime scene on our hands. In fact, Graham, I’d like you to go down to the patrol car, get on the radio with downtown, connect the dots for them between the car in the ravine and what we’ve found here, see if we can’t obtain a telephonic warrant from the judge. When that’s done, bring the yellow tape on up, and we’ll establish a perimeter.”

Graham trotted off.

“Now, Mr. Addison … Is it okay if I call you Marsh?”

“Let’s stick to formalities.”

“If that’s how you want it.”

“Some nerve you have, coming into my home and throwing out accusations.”

“No one’s accusing anyone. Just seeking answers—all part of my job. For your protection. If, and I repeat, if a crime’s been committed here, you wouldn’t want to find yourself falsely accused because you had contaminated the scene, would you? Graham’ll tape it off, the crime team’ll do their thing, and with a little luck we’ll be out of your hair pronto. By tomorrow, if things go smoothly.”

“I have a business to run. Today was my day off, you might like to know.”

“Should those be your biggest concerns at this moment?”

“Listen, Officer, I’m as perplexed by all this as you are, and I understand it paints me as the bad guy, but you’re wrong. That’s not how this happened.”

“How did it happen, sir? I’m all ears.”

“Do you think I’m guilty of something? Give it to me straight.”

“All I’m saying is, I hope there’s a plausible explanation behind all this.”

“Then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

In a voice coated with professional concern, Lansky proposed that Mr. Addison accompany them down to the station to fill out a report, handle a few questions, sort things out. “Could be a logical explanation we’re overlooking here,” he added.

“Don’t you need to read me my rights?”

Graham jogged back up the grand staircase, police tape and warrant secured. Thus fortified, his senior partner rattled off the words in a monotone. “Mr. Addison, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say …”

Moisture beaded on the cellar walls, and spider webs hung thick with dust, like brown yarn spooled and unraveling between the overhead beams. The cement floor was cold. Steps rose to a trapdoor where cracks of gray afforded dim visibility.

Kara’s eyes kept going back to the trapdoor.

When would that kid be back? She knew him. He’d worked on their machinery at the estate. A normal-seeming kid, just doing his job.

Why this? What does he want with me?

She cried through the gag and the oil rag stuffed into her mouth, imploring God’s protection over Josee. Kara had spent one freezing night alone, tied to this chair in this hellhole, but at least the kid had left—without touching her, without searching her front pocket. Simply dumped her down here. Tied her up, removed the blindfold, and left. Was he still up there? She realized that she might die in this dark spot. How long till anyone found her? The thought left her shaking. She bit down on her panic. She didn’t want to die, not like this, not without her husband knowing what had happened.

Not without seeing her daughter.

Let me see her, just once, and then I’ll accept whatever happens. Please, Lord
.