He supposed he could search her house for anything that might relate to his wife. But he really hoped she was home. He’d make sure she shared everything she knew about her.
Walking with purpose, he strode to the gate in the picket fence and unlatched it. He stepped through, closed it behind him and continued to the house.
Glancing up, he saw the door open, and out stepped a tall, handsome woman, wearing what was called, he believed, a sundress. Yellow, frilly, thick straps. A hem not far below the knees. She carried a watering can and paused en route to a half-dozen opulent pots. Her glance toward him was of curiosity but more friendly than frown.
“Can I help you?”
“Good morning. Dorella Elizondo?”
She nodded a pleasant greeting. “That’s right.”
He walked to the bottom step, no farther. He held up his old badge, tucked it away. Then, using his best canvassing voice, confident but friendly: “I’m Detective White, Ferrington Police. I’m trying to locate Allison Parker and her daughter. We understand you’re friends. Have you heard from her in the past couple of days?”
“Oh, my,” she whispered, her face troubled. “Is Alli all right?”
“I’m sorry to say they’ve been missing since last night. Her husband was released from prison yesterday and violated a restraining order. We think they’ve fled. We’d like to find them, get them into protective custody until he’s recaptured.”
Lines furrowed her carefully dusted brow. “Alli told me he was abusive. Missing? Do you think he... hurt her? And Hannah?”
“No reason to believe that at this time. We’re just trying to find her.” A placid voice. Jon Merritt knew the rule: always stay calm when talking with victims, witnesses and the suspects themselves. The voice of Jon the Charmer-Detective.
“Well, Detective, we haven’t been in touch for a week or so, I guess.”
“You have any thoughts about where she might’ve gone? Outside of Ferrington? We heard she was headed north.”
“North?” the woman mused and set down the watering can, which seemed heavy. “I remember Alli mentioned some place she was interested in going to. She thought maybe we could go together. Her daughter too. It’s a spa. Ladies’ weekend, you know. Near Spartanburg.”
The town, a quaint tourist attraction, was northeast, nearly two hours from Ferrington. A good place for his ex and daughter to hide.
“I think I’ve got the address.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Of course.”
She walked inside.
A few minutes later, he heard Dorella’s voice. “Found it!”
A lead, at last.
He saw her approaching through the screen.
As the door swung open she said in an amused voice, “I’m just curious, Jon. Did you really think Alli never showed me your picture?”
She calmly leveled the shotgun and fired one round into Merritt’s right thigh, racked the gun, then parked another center mass in his belly.
48
Private eye?”
“No,” Shaw said. “Not licensed. I’m a security consultant.”
The county deputy, about Shaw’s age, was writing in her notebook. She was blond—the shade slightly darker than Nilsson’s, he found himself thinking. The thick strands were pulled tight into a severe bun, as women cops often wore it. Her face was angular, her hips narrow. A shadow of a tat peeked from her left blouse cuff.
“I’m helping to find the woman and her daughter who were here. The FPD’re underwater.”
She took this in with a knowing nod, though she said nothing critical about LEA in a different jurisdiction.