Page 8 of The Vanishing Wife

“Mr. Portman, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your wife?” Detective Moore asked.

“No. Everyone loved Elyse. She’s always making sure everyone around her is taken care of. She volunteers with a group that helps refugees use their WIC benefits and offers to drive them to their OB/GYN appointments. She’s involved with the young women in our church and makes sure to send gifts and cards to her brothers for special occasions. All she wanted—all she wants—is to make a difference. Ever since we lost our baby four years ago. Who would want to hurt her?” Wesley asked.

A slip. Past tense instead of present. Wesley Portman had caught himself, but there was no taking it back. He didn’t believe his wife was coming home.

Detective Moore made a couple more notes in the flip pad of hers. Volunteer. Church. Baby. “With your permission, we’d like to look into the family’s bank records. Also any devices she owned. Laptop, phone, iPad. I can request a warrant if you prefer?—”

“Why? What do our financial records have to do with Elyse’s disappearance?” Wesley Portman turned his attention to Leigh. Divots creased between his eyebrows, messing up that pretty face that’d captured Elyse’s heart back in high school.

The change in atmosphere coiled through Leigh. There was a defensiveness that hadn’t been there before. Resistance to the police taking a deeper look. “We need to have a whole view of Elyse’s life. Personal matters, finances, who she was talking to, relationships with coworkers—it all gives us an idea of her state of mind.”

Wesley Portman ducked his head. In avoidance or guilt, Leigh wasn’t sure. “In that case, yes, Detective. Please request a warrant. Once you have that, I’ll give you anything you need.”

“It would be much faster to get your permission now,” Detective Moore said.

“Maybe so, but I’m not giving it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some calls. Elyse’s brothers will want to know what’s happened.” Wesley Portman narrowed his gaze on Leigh as he stood to see them out. “Elyse really never called you?”

“No.” Leigh couldn’t imagine why either. She would’ve helped any way she could. “Where’s your daughter, Mr. Portman? Ava.”

Leigh hadn’t seen the fourteen-year-old since arriving on the scene. Odd. Considering her mother was missing and her father was being interrogated by police.

“I sent Ava to stay with a friend in the area right after I called 9-1-1,” Wesley said. “I didn’t want her to have to see…” His face paled slightly. “No fourteen-year-old should have to see her mother’s blood on the floor.”

“We’ll want to talk with her as well. Soon, if possible.” Detective Moore stood, offering a business card. “We’ll be interviewing your neighbors to see if they might’ve noticed anything unusual this morning. Until then, you and your daughter will want to secure other accommodations while the forensic techs do their job. If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

Wesley Portman nodded as Leigh got to her feet.

A deep muscular pain seared across her midsection and crushed the air from her lungs. Leigh grabbed for her lower belly. She’d moved too fast and pissed off the sutures keeping her insides from spilling out without thinking twice. If Elyse were here, she’d get another lecture. And probably an offer of a bed with some coffee or tea.

“You good?” Detective Moore’s gaze dipped to her hand. The question wasn’t so much was she okay. Not really. There was an undertone. An assessment of whether or not she’d made a mistake in allowing Leigh to insert herself into the case.

“I’m good.” Leigh forced herself to release her hold on the back of the chair. Fingernail impressions smoothed away from the upholstery. The pain receded, slower than she wanted, but gave her a chance to breathe. “Mr. Portman, do you have any idea where your wife’s phone is? Detective Moore has tried calling it, but the device might be turned off.”

“Elyse lost it. On Monday.” He nodded at Detective Moore. “We assumed she’d dropped it during the attack. We haven’t seen it since.”

“And you haven’t tried to replace it? Move the number over to a new device?” Most people nowadays couldn’t go more than two minutes without their phones. Cell phones were perhaps one of law enforcement’s greatest gifts. It was how she and Elyse primarily communicated. Was that one of the reasons she hadn’t told Leigh about the attack?

“I offered to get her a new phone. Elyse insisted on finding hers.” Something resigned took hold in Wesley’s expression. “I think she wanted to know where she’d been attacked. I asked her not to go looking for it, but over the past few days, she’s been different. She wouldn’t listen.”

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t she have known where she was attacked?” Leigh gauged his response then turned to Detective Moore. “What happened?”

“According to the physician who saw her in the urgent care Monday morning, Elyse Portman suffered a concussion. Because of the nature of her injuries, she wasn’t able to remember the actual event. Only flashes. One of those flashes convinced her of an assault. A man had started yelling at her, coming toward her. She didn’t remember more than that,” Detective Moore said. “She was dressed in running clothing. Sand was found on her clothing, in her hair, and in her shoes. Every item was collected from her at the hospital, but forensics couldn’t recover any DNA apart from Elyse’s. I searched along her usual running route. Nothing stood out. No evidence of a struggle or her phone, and there were no witnesses who saw any kind of assault that early in the morning. We had no choice but to consider the matter closed.”

Now she understood Wesley Portman’s simmering frustration with police. Why he’d been belligerent from the beginning. They’d given up on his wife. A responding anger pulsed in Leigh’s gut. Why was it so hard to convince the very people meant to protect us that we weren’t as safe as they claimed? “Bet you wish you’d taken her seriously now.”

Pounding footsteps intensified up the stairs. A baby-faced officer worked to steady his breathing as he hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Detective, we’ve found a body.”

SIX

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Tuesday, September 17

6:38 a.m.

She couldn’t see his face.

The man from her memory.