Page 11 of The Vanishing Wife
“Mr. Portman, can you tell us more about the earlier attack on your wife?” Caroline—thin, stressed, and most likely used to leveraging her flawless appearance to get what she wanted—tried to maneuver around Detective Moore for an answer. “According to my source, the investigation is still open. Is her disappearance connected in any way?”
“What source?” The detective wasn’t having any of it. In a move Leigh had only read about in incident reports and witnessed in crime shows, Henrietta Moore unholstered her cuffs, angled the newscaster’s hands behind her, and bent the woman over the back end of the police cruiser. “Who the hell have you been talking to within the department, Caroline?”
The microphone hit the pavement and rolled toward the remaining news teams, most of whom had taken to putting as much distance between them and the incident as possible.
“Come on, Henrietta!” Caroline struggled in vain. Despite Detective Moore’s petite frame, there was a whole lot of punch beneath that uniform she wasn’t afraid to use. “Friends are supposed to help each other. I just need something for the producers.”
“We haven’t been friends since tenth grade when you ditched me to start sleeping with a group of losers.” The detective wrenched the patrol cruiser door open and angled Caroline the newscaster inside. Cracking the window, she slammed the door without so much as an out-of-control inhale. “Anyone else want to test me today? How about you, Manny?”
Caroline’s cameraman shook his head.
“Great. We ready?” Detective Moore set both hands on her utility belt.
“They think I had something to do with Elyse’s disappearance.” Wesley Portman seemed more defeated than defensive right then.
A ping registered in Leigh’s gut. Yeah. Guilt had a funny way of creeping in when you least expected it. At least in her experience. Despite knowing there wasn’t a single thing she could’ve done for her brother all those years ago, she’d taken his disappearance personally. She should’ve kept a better eye on him. That was what big sisters were supposed to do. She should’ve seen Chris Ellingson’s interest in her brother as more than a school counselor trying to provide accommodations to a student. Honestly, how many school counselors gave students gifts? How many made home visits? In the end, Leigh understood none of it would’ve made a difference. Chris Ellingson would’ve found a way to get to his prey one way or another. And telling this man that doing more wasn’t a guarantee Elyse wouldn’t have gone missing wouldn’t make a difference now either. He would insist on carrying the guilt. No matter who tried to ease the burden.
Leigh closed the distance between them. To give Wesley Portman something she’d craved from the investigators looking into her brother’s disappearance. To give him hope. “I’m going to find her, Wesley. I give you my word I will do everything in my power to find Elyse, but right now, you need to focus on Ava. You need to be there for her. Understand?”
Wesley Portman seemed to snap out of whatever panic he’d succumbed to, locking that dark gaze on her. It was easy to see why Elyse had fallen in love with him so quickly. A teenaged version of this man would’ve knocked any straight woman with a pulse off balance without even trying. But there was a charm beneath that grieving mask Leigh didn’t trust. The kind that convinced anyone in his sights that fairy tales were real, and happily ever afters were a given if you worked hard enough. That spun webs of fascination and dreams and gifts to keep anyone from looking too closely. Wesley nodded, broad shoulders sinking in defeat, and Leigh had the impression he didn’t allow many people to see him this way. Simply… broken. He retreated to his vehicle. Hesitation kept him from getting behind the wheel for a moment, but he wasn’t going to win this battle. He had to know there was no way he’d be allowed to set foot within a hundred feet of an active crime scene.
Detective Moore stared after Wesley Portman as he backed his SUV out of the parking lot and headed for the main road. “You make a habit of promising victims’ families you’ll find their loved ones?”
Leigh understood the implication. Investigators were discouraged from making promises they couldn’t keep. There was no telling where a case would lead. And there were no guarantees it would end in a happily ever after. But she hadn’t lied to placate a grieving husband. She would do whatever it took to find Elyse. Even if that meant identifying the body waiting for them on the beach. “He just needed something to believe in.”
“You say that as if you have personal experience,” Detective Moore said.
“The mere fact you’re asking me that means you haven’t googled my name.” They headed for the beach access posted with a white and blue sign asking visitors to leave only footprints. No glass, no animals, no metal shovels or tools, tents, or excessive digging. Considering she and Detective Moore were on their way to a body dump site, the city might want to revise their list. No human remains.
“Unfortunately, we get a few bodies on the beaches this time of year.” The detective’s voice dropped in reverence. “Swimmers tend to ignore red flags posted along the beach. They get caught in the rip currents then wash up a few days or weeks later. I sincerely hope Elyse Portman wasn’t one of them.”
“So do I,” Leigh said.
The wood platform dropping them onto the beach was under attack from encroaching weeds and beach grass. Sand worked into Leigh’s loafers as they trudged the bare landscape. Every step felt as though she was walking through peanut butter, leeching her energy in small increments. An L-shaped covered boardwalk stretching toward the shore shaded two Gulf Shores PD officers. Blue roof tarp rippled in response to the breeze, almost giving the impression of ocean waves. Any other day, she would’ve taken the sight of them as nothing more than two officers trying to stay out of the sun. If not for the yellow crime scene tape tied to the boardwalk’s underbelly.
“Something tells me this body didn’t wash up on the beach.” Leigh’s insides refused to release. She couldn’t get the visual of all that blood staining Elyse’s tile out of her mind. They didn’t have a typical friendship. Anyone looking to do a background check of her life wouldn’t have given Elyse a second consideration. They didn’t meet up for lunch. They didn’t go to the movies or go on runs together. All they had was the cancer. Each with a story of their own. Of loss. Of survival. Of grief. Elyse had been her first real friend in twenty years. Someone Leigh couldn’t scare away with the details of her past and the dangers of her current job. How many people actually wanted to know the truth about her knowledge of serial crimes and patterns? Not many, in her experience. And the possibility of finding her only friend beneath this pier hurt. More than Leigh wanted to admit.
“What do we got?” Detective Moore pulled up short of the tape.
“Whoever dumped her knew what they were doing.” One of the officers broke the line of shadow in the sand at their approach. Then stepped aside. “Tried to hide her far enough under the slats we never would’ve found her if it hadn’t been for a runner’s dog.”
Leigh buried her nose into the crook of her elbow to combat the odor of decomposition.
“Son of a bitch. It’s her.” Detective Moore crouched to get a better view. The reverence was gone from her voice. Something inside the detective broke as her knees hit the sand beside the body. “We were too late.”
EIGHT
Gulf Shores, Alabama
Tuesday, September 17
9:49 a.m.
She just needed a name.
Elyse slinked into the office chair and hefted her husband’s laptop lid open as quietly as possible. His passwords were all the same. Some variation of her name. Two attempts and she was in. It wasn’t like she was breaking any rules in their marriage using his device, but her phone had been destroyed and she’d made a conscious effort to leave her work laptop back in Clarksburg during this vacation. But Wesley wouldn’t understand, nor would he approve of knowing she’d been to the house where she’d been attacked. That she’d found her phone and buried it there in the sand to prove she hadn’t just tumbled on her run yesterday morning. He’d try to stop her from looking into what’d happened, let the police do their job.
She would. Just as soon as she figured out who she needed to point Detective Moore to.