Chapter Thirty-Four

Rick Devlin

Rick Devlin walked into his house in Anthem, north of Phoenix, at 11:15 that evening. He'd lived here since his wife had walked out on them eight years ago. It was a safe community for a single dad to raise a young daughter.

He greeted his two German shepherds, Max and Lucy. They were brother and sister and he'd raised and trained them since they were pups.

He gave the shepherds dog biscuits and told them they were good dogs for watching the house, then he went to check on his daughter. He was home earlier than normal, and Sam—who should have been asleep—was still reading.

"It's after eleven," he said.

She put her book down. "You're early."

He kissed her forehead. "You have school tomorrow."

"Graduation rehearsal. Boring. And we don't have to be at school until ten."

"Then graduation on Friday—not boring."

One reason Rick continued to work the swing shift was because he had a coveted Monday through Thursday schedule—no weekends. Sam had played softball since she was ten. Her team had tournaments twice a month, and his schedule enabled him to go to all her games, even when they traveled to southern California or Colorado. He sometimes picked up overtime—he'd worked two straight weeks during the Super Bowl in Glendale last year—but he spent as much time with Sam as possible. All his overtime pay went into Sam's college fund.

She wrinkled her nose. "It feels dumb to graduate from eighth grade and then go back to the same school for ninth grade."

"It's a rite of passage."

Sam went to a charter school in Anthem that served kids from K–12. It was a program that focused on classical education with a lot of reading, writing, and discussion. Caroline had selected the school for Sam even though Rick was concerned they were pushing their young child to achieve too much too early. But Sam thrived there and he had never moved her. Consistency was important, especially after the divorce.

"Otto is coming by when he gets off shift." Clive Otter was a senior deputy with Maricopa County Sheriff's Department and lived in the gated Anthem neighborhood on the other side of the main road. Otto and his wife, Mickey, were the primary reason Rick finally relented and let Sam stay home alone. They were five minutes away in an emergency.

Company wasn't a common occurrence on a work night, and Sam knew it.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nope."

"Dad."

He'd made a promise to Sam never to lie to her. Good or bad, he told her the truth, even when it was uncomfortable. He might tell her too much sometimes, but he would rather she had information to make informed decisions than go into the world wearing rose-colored glasses.

"Nothing is wrong. I'm asking Otto to help with an investigation."

She lit up. "What kind of investigation?"

Sam had always been far too interested in his job. Rick hoped she didn't want to be a cop.

"There's a trooper I have some concerns about, and Otto knows most of them. I'm going to pick his brain."

"Oh. Okay. I won't bother you." She yawned. "But...ten more minutes? Please? I want to finish my chapter."

"Since you have a late start tomorrow, fine." He kissed her again. "By the way, Margo came by the precinct today. She says hi."

Sam's face lit up, then immediately clouded. "When are you going to let her come by?"

He didn't want this conversation now. "Sam—"

"Look, I get it, you and Margo aren't together anymore. But why do I have to cut her out of my life, too? I like Margo. I mean, you don't hate her, do you?"

"Of course not." Quite the opposite.

"Can I invite her to the graduation party?"

They were having a party Sunday afternoon here at the house.

"You can invite anyone you want. It's your party."

She gave him the look—her head tilted, her eyes slightly narrowed, her lips in a tight line.

"You want me to ask her."

"She's not going to come if she thinks you don't want her here."

It was a complicated situation and Rick didn't want to discuss it with his daughter. Margo had crossed a line and Rick was still angry about it. Yet... Sam didn't have a mom around. Mickey Otter was a good role model, but she had four boys under ten that kept her very busy, and a part-time job at the hospital. Margo had given Sam time—something no other woman had given his daughter since Caroline left when she was six.

"Alright. I'll invite her."

"Thanks, Dad." She smiled, revealing faint dimples.

He loved his kid more than anything in the world.

"Ten minutes."

She gave him a thumbs-up and turned back to her book.

Otto arrived just before midnight. He was a large black man who loved being a cop as much as he loved being a dad. Otto loved everything about life and Rick was grateful for his friendship.

"Have a beer for your best friend?" Otto grinned widely.

"Sure, and one for you, too." Rick pulled out a light beer and handed it to Otto, then grabbed one for himself, though he probably wouldn't finish it.

They went outside. The evening was perfect, no wind, a comfortable seventy-five degrees. Rick enjoyed his yard. It was shaped like a slice of pie—no front yard to speak of since he was on the curve of the cul-de-sac—but the backyard was wide and relaxing. Open space behind them, a large outdoor kitchen which he used often, covered patio, small pool with hot tub, established trees—desert willows along the back interspersed with paloverde, and lemon trees along the side that produced some of the biggest lemons Rick had ever seen. And grass. Grass in the desert was a luxury, but he had an L-shaped patch, part of which went under the dog run.

Max and Lucy came out with them and sat at Rick's feet.

"What's wrong?" Otto asked as he leaned back in the cushioned Adirondack chair and looked out at the garden lights.

He told Otto what Margo had said about Peter Carillo. "Do you know him? He's thirty-one, been with DPS for eight years."

"Carillo—Yeah, I think I do. Margo helped his wife disappear?"

"He's abusive. He raped her."

"Allegedly."

"Don't."

"Just saying, anyone can make accusations about anyone."

"Margo investigated her allegations, she believes her. Margo isn't knee-jerk—she's not going to help someone who's making shit up."

"No, no she wouldn't." Otto sipped his beer, his long broad body stretched out, his face unreadable in the dim lighting.

A few years older than Rick, Otto was a thoughtful man, wise, disciplined. They'd met on the job more than a decade ago and had been friends ever since.

"Carillo patrols mostly the north end of the valley. I've worked a couple scenes with him. Meticulous. Not chatty, but friendly."

"I need more."

"Like?"

"Complaints. Over and above the typical bullshit complaints. Reprimands. The guy was abusing his wife. Margo said he raped her repeatedly. She wasn't allowed to say not tonight, honey. A man like that isn't going to be a saint on the street."

"Hmm."

Rick didn't know if Otto agreed with him. He waited, didn't push. Drained his beer. He didn't get another. His father was an alcoholic, and Rick didn't want to end up the same way, chasing beer with bourbon every night until his mood turned dark and violent.

"I'll talk to Jesse." Jesse Otter, Otto's brother, was a lieutenant with DPS. He would have access to personnel records of all troopers, and would know if there were quiet concerns about Carillo that didn't make it into his file. "I'll leave Margo out of it, because if she knows where the woman is, she can be compelled by the court to testify. I'm sure Carillo will be petitioning the court for custody or abandonment."

"Margo says she doesn't know where Annie is." Rick wasn't positive he believed her. He also wondered if she would lie under oath. She could lose her license, be prosecuted, or jailed for contempt. But Margo was a rock—she couldn't be swayed if she thought she was right. He admired her loyalty as much as he was frustrated with her stubbornness.

"Still, I don't want to put her in the spotlight," Otto said.

"I appreciate it."

"Might take me a day or two."

"Anything you can learn would be great. I don't want to go to his supervisor, since I don't have cause to ask about him. And I don't know Jesse well enough to go to him with this." The lieutenant wasn't as friendly as his brother.

"Is Margo in danger?"

Otto liked Margo. She had that way with people. She could be cynical and surly, but befriended people easier than anyone Rick knew.

He missed her. Seeing her today reminded him how much he missed her. But it was over.

"He ran her plates without cause. Hasn't confronted her yet, but it's only a matter of time. Detective Sullivan out of the 200 is assigned to his wife's missing persons case. I read the report. No sign of foul play, no air travel. She left her passport at home, as well as her phone, her credit cards, wedding ring. Took the kids, didn't take her car."

"Margo."

"Yes."

"I'll let you know what I find out." He rose, dropped his beer bottle in a plastic can on the back porch. Rick followed suit, walked Otto to the door.

"Thanks, buddy," Rick said. "Best to Mickey."

"Anytime."

Rick double checked all the doors, brought the dogs in, showered, and went to bed. He didn't sleep for a long time.

He couldn't stop thinking about Margo.

Thoughts about the case faded away to thoughts about the last time he'd seen her—the fight, his anger, her anger, the overwhelming sensation that he was losing something he desperately wanted.

But there was no going back.

Some things couldn't be forgiven, and Sam was the most important person on earth to Rick.