Who Killed My Husband? (2 page)

“What do you mean, it just fell off?” Jack asked incredulously, tearing his gaze away from the vehicle to look up at Mills.

“Either that or someone took it off,” Mills said with a shrug. “We were able to run the plates and it came up with a match. Darren Jones.”

“Where is his body?” Jack asked, peering back at the car. “I don’t see anything in there.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything.” Mills looked uncomfortable now. “No trace of Jones. He must have burnt up.”

Jack didn’t respond, but simply got back to his feet and paced around the side of the vehicle. Mills stayed where she was, observing, until he came back around the car towards her.

“Have you considered the possibility of a homicide?” he asked.

“It’s always possible in situations like this.”

“That should be the focus of this investigation,” Jack responded, hoping he sounded confident. “I don’t think this has anything to do with a faulty vehicle. Someone did this intentionally.”

Jack remained at the scene for the next hour, staring at the burnt vehicle. He paced back and forth, wracking his brain endlessly.

***

Something was very wrong with this picture. Here was an abandoned vehicle, burnt to a crisp with seemingly no one and nothing inside. The car was not discovered for days, specifically four whole days, since this man was reported missing by his wife.

And there wasn’t even evidence of a body.

“So, the last time you saw your husband was when, exactly?”

Jack was sitting in his office now. It was the next morning, and sunlight streamed in through the window behind him. He’d discarded his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt nearly twenty minutes ago in an attempt to cool down.

A woman sat in a chair across the desk from him. She had dark brown skin and matching eyes. Her face was framed by shoulder-length black hair. She wrung her hands together, a used tissue clamped between her fingers.

“I know this is hard, Mrs. Jones,” Jack said, trying his best to sound sympathetic. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

The woman nodded and blinked her already red and swollen eyes. “Call me Rochelle, please,” she managed to croak. Her voice sounded scratchy and she paused to clear her throat. “I saw my husband about five days ago. We had a fight. He stormed out without telling me where he was going.”

“Was this late at night?” Jack asked, jotting down her answer in his notebook.

“Not too late, no,” Rochelle sniffled. “It was dinnertime. I thought he was leaving to blow off some steam. He needs time to himself, sometimes . . .” she trailed off. “I went to bed expecting to wake up to him the next morning. But I woke up at 3 A.M. and he was still nowhere to be found. He wasn’t picking up his phone, so I called the police.”

“Was he acting unusual before his disappearance? Other than the argument, I mean.”

“He seemed distracted for days before he vanished,” Rochelle answered, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. Jack leaned in closer, ears pricked. “Our argument that night was so silly.” Her eyes began to well up with tears again and her voice cracked.

Jack finished up his round of questions for Rochelle, trying to move things along to get her out of the office before she began crying in earnest. Once the questions were over, he shook her hand firmly and asked whether or not she had a ride home for the evening.

“Oh, yes,” Rochelle said, blowing her nose loudly in the same tissue she had clenched in her fist the entire meeting. “Shelby, my neighbor, is waiting for me outside.” A faint smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “She’s been the greatest help during these past few days. She’s hardly left my side.”

Jack leaned forward in his seat, suddenly interested. “You two sound close. Did she know your husband, as well?”

Rochelle nodded, although she furrowed her eyebrows slightly. “Yes, we were all good friends. Why do you ask?”

“In cases like this, it’s always good to cover all our bases.” Jack leaned back in his seat, mind racing. “Is there anyway you could get Shelby to come in here for a few minutes? I’d like to run some questions by her.”

Rochelle seemed dubious. She nodded and stood up, but hesitated before stepping away. “Do you think Shelby would know anything about Darren’s dea--his disappearance?” She winced as she stumbled over the words, unable to verbalize her husband’s fate.

“Possibly,” Jack said patiently. “She may have noticed something you didn’t.”

Satisfied with this answer, Rochelle turned and exited the room. A knock sounded at the door approximately five minutes later and she poked her head back into the room.

“She’s here,” Rochelle said hesitantly. Jack nodded to her and she opened the door wider, revealing a thin woman with reddish-brown hair and tan skin standing behind her.

“Come in, please,” Jack said, gesturing towards the seat in front of his desk which Rochelle had previously been sitting in. Shelby inched into the room, shooting a nervous glance over her shoulder at Rochelle before settling into the chair.

The door shut, and they were alone.

Jack reached across the desk to shake Shelby’s hand. “My name is Detective Jack Blanks. Rochelle tells me you’re her neighbor?”

Shelby nodded. “Shelby Lynn. I’ve been Rochelle and Darren’s neighbor for the past six years. We’re very good friends.”

“I can imagine,” Jack said with a nod. “You seem close. Now, can you tell me about yourself? Do you live alone?”

Jack went through a series of basic questions with Shelby. The longer she sat in the room with him, the more she fidgeted. She could hardly sit still, constantly running a hand through her hair or tapping her foot or biting her nails. Maintaining eye contact with her was difficult.

“Are you alright, Ms. Lynn?” Jack asked during a lull in the conversation, as he scribbled down her answers. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m a little on edge, yes,” Shelby answered, her voice suddenly hard. “These past few days have been stressful. Especially after yesterday.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Jack looked up at her.

“Were you especially close to Mr. Jones?”

Shelby blinked rapidly, looking away from Jack. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You were a friend of the family who lived next door, and you appear to be very close with Mrs. Jones. I’m simply asking if you had a similar relationship with her husband?”

Something wasn’t right. Shelby was becoming increasingly distressed. Her face had grown bright red and if Jack wasn’t mistaken, she appeared to be sweating.

“Ms. Lynn?” Jack put down his pen. “I need you to be honest with me. A man is dead.”

With those four words, Shelby burst into tears. She bowed her head and cried soundlessly, but he could see the shaking of her shoulders.

Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead,” Shelby cried, choking each word out between sobs. “He can’t be dead. I love him!”

It took everything in Jack to keep a straight face. He was whooping with delight on the inside. Finally, this was something he could work with!

Darren Jones’ mysterious death was Jack’s first ever solo case as a detective. Before now he’d been working under the wing of more experienced men and women, learning the way things worked and gathering experience. Now he was on his own. Until now he’d been terrified that he was going to hit a dead end with this case.

“Were you involved in a relationship with Mr. Jones?” Jack asked, once Shelby’s sobs subsided. She hiccuped softly and wiped the remaining tears from her face.

She stared at the floor silently before speaking.

“Yes. For almost two years now.”

“I’m assuming Mrs. Jones is unaware of your relationship?”

“Yes! Of course,” Shelby was looking anxious again, fiddling with the hem of her shirt and looking over at the door guiltily. “Please don’t tell her.”

“There’s no reason for me to tell Mrs. Jones anything right now,” Jack said. “If it looks like your relationship with her husband could have anything to do with his death, however, I will have to tell her.”

“It has nothing to do with it!” Shelby cried, anger flaring in her eyes. “How could you suggest that!”

Jack sighed and put a hand to his forehead, taking a deep breath. “I don’t mean to upset you. This is an investigation, and we have to consider all possibilities.”

“Darren loved me,” she said, a stubborn light shining in her eye. “He was going to leave Rochelle so we could be together.”

“When did he tell you this?” Jack asked, picking up his pen again to jot things down.

“The first time was seven months ago,” Shelby answered, ducking her head. “It just hasn’t been the right time yet. He didn’t want to hurt Rochelle.” She paused. “Neither did I.”

“Did you and Darren ever argue about your relationship, or about him leaving Mrs. Jones?”

“Of course we did.” Talking about Darren seemed to have given Shelby a new vigor. Her eyes shone and she was eager for every question. “It’s stressful being with a married man. But I knew we would be okay in the end. Well, we should have been.”

Shelby visibly deflated, brought back to the reality of the situation. “Please find out who killed him,” she murmured.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Jack had collected all the information he needed. He showed Shelby to the door, and watched from his office as she and Rochelle embraced and left together. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he returned to his desk and put pen to paper.

Suspect: Shelby Lynn.

***

A week passed, and Jack made no progress. The excitement that came with the discovery of Shelby’s affair had completely disappeared within 24 hours. All investigations on Shelby came up with dead ends.

What she had told him was true. She’d lived next door to Darren and Rochelle Jones for years, and phone records indicated an increase in contact between herself and Darren over the past two years. Shelby had a solid alibi for her whereabouts during the time of Darren’s disappearance: she’d been at a local book club most of the evening and then went out for coffee with her sister. There was no evidence pointing towards Shelby having a hand in Darren’s death.

If he was even dead at all.

Darren couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this case than met the eye. How could there not be anything left of the body, not even a single speck of ash?

Jack switched on his desk lamp. The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of purple and orange. He removed his glasses and rested his elbows on the desk, examining the papers strewn in front of him.

A photograph of Darren Jones’ license plate lay on top. Jack couldn’t help but obsess over the image. He’d stared at it for hours already just today, never mind all the days before. A license plate didn’t just fall off like that. Especially not so conveniently right before the car burst into flames.

Someone had to have removed it. Someone who didn't want the identity of the owner of the burned car discovered. And why at the edge of town? If someone wanted him gone , why wouldn't they go out of town.

Jack shot up in his seat, back rigid. He smashed his glasses back onto his face and began rifling through the papers again. His heart was racing and his fingers fumbled.

He found Darren’s file. His full name stared up at Jack, at the very top of the page: Darren Robert Jones.