“He used to get mail addressed to him as Eric with a ‘k’ instead of a ‘c’. When I asked him about it, he ranted about how people were stupid. It was odd. He said he cared, but did nothing about it. That seemed out of character.”
“That’s something,” said Ella as she wrote that down.
“What about phone calls for other names?”
I shook my head. “We didn’t have a house phone, and he didn’t like it when I answered his cell. He was very possessive about it.”
“We want to follow the money,” said Luke. “See if we can trace him that way. You know anything about his finances?”
“He received a lot of mail from businesses, statements or something. They had thin envelopes.” I listed some of the company names that I remembered. “Real Tech wasn’t one of them, but some others sounded like tech companies.”
Ella wrote the names I remembered.
“What about his job?” said Ella. “Andrew mentioned you learned Eric was the boss at Real Tech.”
“The whole time we were involved, he didn’t share what his job was. Ever. When I asked what he did, he said it was classified. I can’t believe I married someone who kept so many secrets. The first I heard he was the head of Real Tech was when he attacked me. He bragged about it.”
Christopher squeezed my hand.
“So, Eric targeted you from the beginning,” said Luke.
He’d figured that out faster than I had. I nodded.
“How did Eric dress when he went to work?” said Luke.
“Suits,” I said. “He mentioned once that the boss needed to set a professional tone in the office, so I always thought it was an office job. He criticized me for not dressing up more for the Museum and said I looked unprofessional.” My voice wavered on the last word. Eric had put me down in a hundred tiny ways, chipping away at my soul and self-esteem, eroding my confidence and personality.
“What about money?” Luke dished himself another scoop of dessert.
“He had money, but was tight fisted with it. I opened one of his bank statements by accident and saw hundreds of thousands of dollars. That’s when I realized it couldn’t be mine. He insisted we kept separate accounts. He paid a share of the mortgage payment and household expenses, not a dime more.”
“Which bank?” said Luke. “If you opened it by accident, was it your bank?”
I nodded. “Umpqua Securities. But he received statements from several big banks.”
“That gives us a start,” said Ella. “The spelling of his name and the name of a bank might help us get his real name.”
“We have electronic surveillance outside his home address. The night before last was the first time he’s been home in weeks. He spent seven minutes in his house but was gone before the police arrived. Can you think of anything that he wouldn’t want to leave behind if he went on the run?” said Ella.
“A steel lockbox,” I said. “It wasn’t heavy and was about this big.” I showed them with my hands. It was about a foot high, a foot wide, and slightly longer. My voice caught, but I continued. “He gave me a black eye when I asked what was inside.” I didn’t enjoy telling them that, but they took it in stride. Christopher squeezed my hand again.
“When he traveled for work, he’d get something from the box. Probably his passport. Or cash? I never saw his birth certificate or other personal documents. He kept them somewhere.”
“If the box is there, I’ll see if I can look inside,” said Luke. “He didn’t retrieve anything that size. Perhaps he needed something from inside the box.”
After their questions, Luke and Ella thanked us for dinner and promised to have us over when the case was finished. It wasn’t often I made new friends. I liked them both.
When they’d gone, they left me with the feeling that they’d break this case; it was only a matter of time.
Chapter 27
Saturday dawned cold and clear as we hit the road for Reno. Though I could talk, Christopher dominated the conversation. He was in the mood to talk about his brother and shared some of their silly boyhood stories and escapades. I enjoyed seeing him so relaxed and hearing about the pleasant part of his childhood.
It was after five when we arrived in Reno. The downtown was much quieter than in September. We found parking on the same block as Benny’s building. The air was chilly, but there was only a dusting of snow. Open areas had been scoured by the wind and were dotted with patches of ice.
Christopher texted Benny to let him know we’d arrived. Rather than wait outside with the brisk wind, we waited for his reply in the SUV with the heated seats. We’d returned the white SUV we’d leased and insured my red one from my garage at the townhouse. It had sat undriven since last May, when I’d arrived in 2017. There was no reason to ignore it, even though it was a relic from my old life. It was the vehicle I’d been driving when I crashed with Eric in a future that wouldn’t happen.
After fifteen minutes with no answer, Christopher said, “Fuck this. He said he’s here whenever and knows we’re coming. It’s cold. Let’s go.”
