Once Gone by Blake Pierce Page A

Evelyn’s been a gift from heaven. I don’t know what would have become of me without her. I guess maybe I’d have died.”
    His voice grew thick with emotion.
    “We’ve got a baby girl now. Six months old. Her name’s Lucy. The joy of my life.”
    The sitcom laugh track on the TV erupted with inappropriate laughter. Geraty sniffed and cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair.
    “Anyway, I sure can’t figure what you want to ask me about,” he said. “Seems to me I answered every kind of question you can think of two years ago. It didn’t do any good. You couldn’t catch the guy then, and you’re not going to catch him now.”
    “We’re still trying,” Riley said. “We’ll bring him to justice.”
    But she could feel the hollowness in her own words.
    She paused a moment, then asked, “Do you live near here? I was wondering if we might be able to visit your house, have a look around.”
    Geraty knitted his brow in thought.
    “Do I have to? Or do I have a choice about it?” he asked.
    His question took Riley slightly aback.
    “It’s just a request,” she said. “But it might be helpful.”
    Geraty shook his head firmly.
    “No,” he said. “I’ve got to draw a line. The cops practically moved into my place back in those days. Some of them were sure I’d killed her. Maybe some of you guys are thinking the same thing now. That I killed somebody.”
    “No,” Riley reassured him. “That’s not why we’re here.”
    She saw that Bill was watching the mechanic very closely.
    Geraty didn’t look up. He just went on. “And poor Evelyn—she’s home with Lucy, and she’s already a nervous wreck from all the phone calls. I won’t put her through any more of it. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be uncooperative. It’s just that enough is enough.”
    Riley could tell that Bill was about to insist. She spoke before he could.
    “I understand,” she said. “It’s all right.”
    Riley felt sure that she and Bill probably were not likely to learn anything important from a visit to the Geraty home anyhow. But maybe he would answer a question or two.
    “Did your wife—Margaret, your first wife—like dolls?” Riley asked cautiously. “Did she collect them, maybe?”
    Geraty turned toward her, looking away from the TV for the first time.
    “No,” he said, looking surprised at the question.
    Riley realized that no one would have asked that particular question before. Of all the theories the police might have had two years ago, dolls wouldn’t have been among them. And even in the harassment he was undergoing now, no one else would have made a connection with dolls.
    “She didn’t like them,” Geraty continued. “It wasn’t like she hated them. It’s just that they made her sad. She couldn’t— we couldn’t—have children, and dolls always made her think about that. They reminded her. Sometimes she’d even cry when she was around dolls.”
    With a deep sigh, he turned back toward the TV again.
    “She was unhappy about it during those last years,” he said in a low, faraway voice. “Not having kids, I mean. So many friends and relatives, having kids of their own. It seemed like everybody except us was having babies all the time, or had kids growing up. There were always baby showers to go to, mothers always asking her to help out with birthday parties. It really got her down.”
    Riley felt a lump of sympathy form in her throat. Her heart went out to this man who was still trying to put his life back together after an incomprehensible tragedy.
    “I think that will be all, Mr. Geraty,” she said. “Thanks so much for your time. And I know it’s awfully late to be saying so, but I’m sorry for your loss.”
    A few moments later, Riley and Bill were driving away.
    “A wasted trip,” Riley said to Bill.
    Riley looked in the rearview mirror and saw the little town of Belding vanishing behind them. The killer wasn’t there, she knew. But he was somewhere in the area that Flores had