CHAPTER 67 - Rita

CHAPTER 67RitaJOE AND I ARE GATHERING OUR NOTES WHEN JOSH PEARSON IS ESCORTED into the room. His eyes are wild, and he’s biting his lips. “I wanted to tell you that I lied earlier,” he blurts out. “Don’t bother going to Walmart and Lowe’s. I wasn’t there.”Just as I suspected.“Okay. Have a seat.”He flops into a chair, runs his hand through his neat sandy hair. I pull my phone back out and hit record. “Say that again, Mr. Pearson.”He does.“You want to tell us where you were last night?” Joe asks, his hands clenched, his anger barely tamped below his words. Pearson has wasted our time, and that doesn’t sit well.He heaves a deep breath. “I was driving out to the Cape to meet somebody.”“Who?” Joe leans toward him.“Laken Ferris.”Interesting. “Why was that, Mr. Pearson?” I ask.He hangs his head. “I was having an affair with her.” He glances up, meets my eyes. “But I broke it off.”“Then why were you going to meet her?”“She called me. She was upset. We just met at a coffee shop to talk. That’s it. But I couldn’t say that in front of my wife.” His eyes dart between Joe and me, begging us to believe him.“What time was that?” I ask.He shakes his head. “I left right after I dropped off my in-laws. Five-thirty, six maybe.”Not long before Mrs. Bradley went missing. “What did she want to talk about?”“Her husband.” He blows out a breath and drops his head in his hands.“What about him?”“They were having problems. That’s why she took the kids and left.” His gaze rests on the floor. “Cal’s been a bit of a bastard lately.”“But you didn’t see or talk to Mrs. Bradley?”“No.” His eyes widen. “I have no idea where she is. I swear.”“Will Mrs. Ferris corroborate your story?” I ask.“Yes. Call her, please. I’m not guilty of anything except being a cheating asshole.”He’s more believable now than he’s been up to this point. “Okay. Cheating asshole it is. You mind waiting here with Agent Thorne while I give Mrs. Ferris a ring?”“No.” He hangs his head, his gaze on the table.* * *Mrs. Ferris tearfully details the meeting at the coffee shop. So Pearson was on the Cape, over an hour away, when Mrs. Bradley went missing. We cut him loose, and Joe and I sit in my office away from the noise and bustle of the rest of the station.“We can cross Mr. Pearson off our list,” I say.“Yeah. That leaves us Mr. Ferris, Mr. Branch, and Mr. Westmore.”I draw a deep breath, flip back through my notes. “Let’s put a tail on those guys. What do you think?”“Good idea,” Joe says. “I’ll take care of it.” He heads out the door.I make my way to the conference room and peruse the map on the wall where Lauren and Detective Schmitt are busy ex-ing off quadrants that have been cleared. Teams of officers have been searching in an ever-widening circle around the gas station, coordinating with FBI agents that Joe has called in to help.Everything in here is under control, and I’m just stepping on toes, so I wander out to the small station lobby. It’s dark out. News trucks huddle under the streetlights. The reporters will want an update, and I hope the chief holds them off until we have some concrete news. As it is, phones are ringing nonstop throughout the building adding to the chaos.I walk back through the squad room, looking for Joe, but I don’t see him. Everyone is hard at work, heads down, and I feel unnerved at my own uselessness, so I go back to my office to read through my notes for the thousandth time.I settle into my chair, drum the desk with my fingers as I shuffle through my notebook, adding random doodles, trying to think, trying to elicit some overlooked fact that might help. My phone rings on my blotter, startling me. Unknown caller. My heart starts to pound as I answer, “Detective Myers.”“I’ve got Melinda.” The voice is gravelly, distorted. “She’s back in the cellar where she belongs.” He ends the call, and I jump up from my desk and run down the hall.