Page 45 of The Vanishing Wife

“I forgive you.” The anger Leigh had lived off to drive her over the past two decades couldn’t have the wheel anymore. Not if she wanted her family back. Not if she wanted to create a new one of her own. Maybe not soon. But it was a day she’d looked forward to for years, and she was finally in a position to reach out and claim it. “And this isn’t over. You still have a chance to make it right. Saige Fuentes needs your help. You’re a good cop, Moore. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

“How did you do it?” Detective Moore asked. “How did you keep going when all you wanted to do was let the world crush the hope out of you?”

She thought of her brother, Chandler. “I had someone who still believed in me. Relying on me to follow through.”

“I could use some of that encouragement.” The detective shook her head, casting another look back to the scene. “I have a feeling Ruby was in that house, Agent Brody. Her and Poppy Slater and maybe even Saige Fuentes. Now that we have Samuel Thornton’s DNA, the Mobile medical examiner can compare it to fluids found on Ruby’s and Poppy’s bodies. I might finally have the answer I’ve been looking for these past three weeks. We’ll have to wait for forensics to get back with results, but that same feeling is telling me Samuel Thornton got what he deserved. And that maybe Elyse Portman had something to do with him ending up dead in that storage closet.”

But which had come first? The assault in Elyse’s home, or Samuel Thornton’s murder? “Does your coroner have an idea of time of death for Samuel Thornton?”

“No,” Detective Moore said. “Not yet.”

It was a dangerous thing for an investigator to determine the chain of events of a crime without evidence. Sooner or later, you started solely looking for evidence to support your theory and ignoring anything to contradict it. The prosecutor—if this investigation got to court—would spot bias from a mile away and maybe even refuse Detective Moore her time on the stand. But Leigh wouldn’t have found her brother without that spark of obsession. She took a step off the asphalted trail. “I can help you find proof your victims were in that house before they were killed.”

“Your director made it clear during our last conversation that you were to have no involvement in this or any other Gulf Shores PD case as a federal agent.” Her instincts said Detective Moore would’ve retracted her threat of arrest for the slightest possibility of nailing Samuel Thornton for his crimes.

“Out of curiosity, did she say anything about a civilian consultant?” Leigh asked. “I’ve consulted for departments all over the country. Serial crimes, murder-suicides, even staged scenes. I have a business card and everything.”

A knowing smile creased one corner of the detective’s mouth. She squinted one eye closed as she swept the beach for… Leigh wasn’t sure what. “I’ll never get clearance to pay you as a consultant. It takes an act of congress to get updated equipment for the conference room and replacement parts on the patrol cars.”

“Then today is your lucky day.” Leigh headed for the crime scene, nearly losing one shoe to the sand in the process. This wasn’t about the money. This was about Elyse. Just as it had been the moment she’d stepped into that vacation house two days ago. “I happen to be running a special.”

“The techs are already collecting samples from the storage closet, and I have two officers going through the house.” The detective followed on her heels. “I would’ve gotten word if there was anything to tell us how to find Saige.”

“Have you been inside?” Leigh stared up at the house as they closed in on the property.

“I walked through a few minutes after I arrived on the scene,” the detective said.

“Did you notice anything odd?” Hell, her muscles burned with every strained step through sand. How did people live like this? “How it looked?”

“Like it’d been cleaned.” They hit the bottom of the stairs as one and ascended to deck level.

“I think it was.” Leigh couldn’t fight the theory taking up space in her head. Not anymore. “I found a bottle of homemade cleaner underneath the sink in the kitchen. Vinegar and essential oils, but I’m not sure Samuel Thornton was the one who made it.”

“What gives you that idea?” Detective Moore scanned the deck. Looking for something—anything that might fill in the blanks of this case.

“There were other cleaners in the house. Upstairs in the bathrooms. Commercial, some half used. But Elyse had cancer four years ago. She lost a baby because of it.” Leigh’s own uterus seemed to contract at the breach of privacy. As though she was betraying everything her friend had ever admitted. “During chemo she got paranoid about using commercial cleaners, eating preservatives, and refused to use anything non-organic in her house. Even made all of her family’s meals from scratch. Just to make sure they weren’t eating anything that might bring the cancer back.”

Detective Moore set those clear eyes on her. “You think the cleaner came from Elyse? That she… what? Posed as a cleaner to gain access to the house? Samuel Thornton would’ve recognized her. She claimed he assaulted her a week ago, and I had to keep her from attacking him here the next day.”

“What I’m saying is, she murdered Samuel Thornton and cleaned up after herself.” Leigh pointed up at the broken safety wire on the balcony above her head. “And I think I know how to prove it.”

THIRTY-ONE

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Monday, September 23

9:26 a.m.

“How would Elyse have survived losing that much blood to then kill Samuel Thornton?” The detective had a point. The forensic results were conclusive. The pool of blood left behind Saturday morning in the vacation house belonged to Elyse. No question.

“I’m not sure the attack at the vacation house preceded Thornton’s murder. It’s possible she killed him, cleaned up after herself then was assaulted.” Leigh’s gut didn’t like that scenario. It didn’t quite seem to fit. “But, more likely, she was injured during a struggle and managed to make it home to bleed all over the floor.”

“Or Wesley Portman really did murder his wife.” There was that winning personality. One Detective Moore used to ensure she came out on top in the department. The most cases closed, the fastest results, the extra mile. For a woman like that, the simplest answer was the best answer.

But there were a lot of reasons to take your own life. Killing someone might be one of them. Unfortunately, they might never know why Wesley Portman decided death was preferable to staying alive for his daughter. For now, all Leigh could focus on was the problem at hand.

Fingerprints couldn’t be faked.