distinctive trait was to see only good in others. It had led to happiness for Jane in the story, but it had been devastating for Tippi Quarry in real life.
An hour later he rose and said what he always said. “You rest easy, honey, Daddy’ll be back soon. I love you, baby.”
He drove back to Atlee. As he lay on the couch with his gin, his last fleeting image before he fell asleep was Tippi young and smiling at her daddy.
17
T HE U NITED A IRLINES FLIGHT Tuck Dutton had been on had not arrived late. In fact, it had arrived twenty minutes
early
due to a straight-in approach at Dulles and an early pushback from the gate in Jacksonville.
Michelle said, “So he had at least fifty minutes free instead of thirty. Maybe over an hour.”
They were sitting over a cup of coffee the next morning at a café in Reston near their office. To get the press off their backs, Sean had given a statement that hadn’t said much, but was enough to give them some breathing room. But they had not gone back to the office, and were staying at a hotel just in case the reporters got the primal itch to attack again.
“That’s right.”
“You think he was in on it?”
“If he was, why not just stay out of it? Why come back and get your head busted in?”
“To throw off suspicion.”
“Motivation?”
“Husbands kill their wives with astonishing regularity,” said Michelle. “Which is all the
motivation
I need never to walk down the aisle.”
“And Willa?”
Michelle shrugged. “Maybe that’s all part of the plot. Kidnap Willa but we’ll find her somewhere safe and sound.”
“Presumably this would all cost money. There must be a record of that.”
She said, “It would be good if we could get a look at Tuck’s financials.”
“I know where his office is.”
“We going there now?”
“After we see the ME. I talked to her. She just finished with Pam Dutton’s post.”
“So you
do
know the lady?”
“I’m just a friendly guy.”
“That’s what scares me.”
Lori Magoulas was about forty-five years old, short and stocky with bottle-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.
After Sean introduced Michelle, Magoulas said, “Surprised to hear from you, Sean. Thought you’d gone to lose yourself at that lake of yours.”
“D.C. just has that pull, Lori.”
Lori looked skeptical. “Right. I can’t wait to get out of here and find
my
lake.”
She led them down a tiled floor corridor where other people in baggy hospital scrubs hovered over the dead. They stopped at one stainless steel table where Pam Dutton lay, her body permanently marked by the slashed throat as well as the standard Y-incision Magoulas had carved into her.
“What did you find?”
“She was in good health. Would’ve probably led a long life but for that,” she said, pointing at the woman’s mangled neck.
“What about the blood levels?”
Magoulas pecked on a laptop situated on a desk next to the steel table, and studied some figures that appeared on the screen. “As best as I can figure, taking into account what was left on the rug and on her clothes, she’s missing about a pint.”
“Presumably they took it with them?”
“The wound dissected the carotid sheath, slicing open the left common carotid artery and the left jugular. She would’ve bled out in a few minutes.”
“What’s your best guess of how it went down?” asked Michelle.
“Judging from the angle of the stab wound and the trace under the nails, I’d say she was grabbed from behind and her throat was cut. She might have reached back and gouged her attacker in the face. We found a good deal of tissue and blood under her cuticles. She must have ripped the guy pretty good. Probably didn’t improve his mood.”
“Certain it was a guy?” Sean said, drawing a scowl from Michelle.
“We also found beard stubble with the blood and tissue.”
“Just confirming,” Sean said to his partner.
“So if the
left
jug and carotid were cut, that means the assailant was
An hour later he rose and said what he always said. “You rest easy, honey, Daddy’ll be back soon. I love you, baby.”
He drove back to Atlee. As he lay on the couch with his gin, his last fleeting image before he fell asleep was Tippi young and smiling at her daddy.
17
T HE U NITED A IRLINES FLIGHT Tuck Dutton had been on had not arrived late. In fact, it had arrived twenty minutes
early
due to a straight-in approach at Dulles and an early pushback from the gate in Jacksonville.
Michelle said, “So he had at least fifty minutes free instead of thirty. Maybe over an hour.”
They were sitting over a cup of coffee the next morning at a café in Reston near their office. To get the press off their backs, Sean had given a statement that hadn’t said much, but was enough to give them some breathing room. But they had not gone back to the office, and were staying at a hotel just in case the reporters got the primal itch to attack again.
“That’s right.”
“You think he was in on it?”
“If he was, why not just stay out of it? Why come back and get your head busted in?”
“To throw off suspicion.”
“Motivation?”
“Husbands kill their wives with astonishing regularity,” said Michelle. “Which is all the
motivation
I need never to walk down the aisle.”
“And Willa?”
Michelle shrugged. “Maybe that’s all part of the plot. Kidnap Willa but we’ll find her somewhere safe and sound.”
“Presumably this would all cost money. There must be a record of that.”
She said, “It would be good if we could get a look at Tuck’s financials.”
“I know where his office is.”
“We going there now?”
“After we see the ME. I talked to her. She just finished with Pam Dutton’s post.”
“So you
do
know the lady?”
“I’m just a friendly guy.”
“That’s what scares me.”
Lori Magoulas was about forty-five years old, short and stocky with bottle-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.
After Sean introduced Michelle, Magoulas said, “Surprised to hear from you, Sean. Thought you’d gone to lose yourself at that lake of yours.”
“D.C. just has that pull, Lori.”
Lori looked skeptical. “Right. I can’t wait to get out of here and find
my
lake.”
She led them down a tiled floor corridor where other people in baggy hospital scrubs hovered over the dead. They stopped at one stainless steel table where Pam Dutton lay, her body permanently marked by the slashed throat as well as the standard Y-incision Magoulas had carved into her.
“What did you find?”
“She was in good health. Would’ve probably led a long life but for that,” she said, pointing at the woman’s mangled neck.
“What about the blood levels?”
Magoulas pecked on a laptop situated on a desk next to the steel table, and studied some figures that appeared on the screen. “As best as I can figure, taking into account what was left on the rug and on her clothes, she’s missing about a pint.”
“Presumably they took it with them?”
“The wound dissected the carotid sheath, slicing open the left common carotid artery and the left jugular. She would’ve bled out in a few minutes.”
“What’s your best guess of how it went down?” asked Michelle.
“Judging from the angle of the stab wound and the trace under the nails, I’d say she was grabbed from behind and her throat was cut. She might have reached back and gouged her attacker in the face. We found a good deal of tissue and blood under her cuticles. She must have ripped the guy pretty good. Probably didn’t improve his mood.”
“Certain it was a guy?” Sean said, drawing a scowl from Michelle.
“We also found beard stubble with the blood and tissue.”
“Just confirming,” Sean said to his partner.
“So if the
left
jug and carotid were cut, that means the assailant was
Similar Books
