Page 20 of Go Alone

“Who discovered the body?” Marcus asked.

The body was of Deborah Holt, a woman in her mid-forties, not pretty but handsome in a severe way with sharp features, a pert mouth, and angular cheekbones that did her the favor of pulling her skin taut and making her look five years younger.

The potting soil leaking from her mouth and the mottled purple tone of her skin was a bit of a downer, though.

“Ex-husband.”

“He around?”

“He’s next door, in Deborah’s house. I have officers watching him. He’s claiming that Deborah called him for sex, but when he arrived, she was missing, and her back door was open. He followed a set of footprints here and found her.”

“He’s claiming that his ex-wife called him for sex,” Marcus repeated.

“He says they had an arrangement.”

Marcus sighed. “I’m going to talk to him. Do me a favor. If vultures show up, make sure they don’t land.” The detective’s brow furrowed, and Marcus explained, “Press.”

“Ah. Right.”

Marcus tapped Kate’s shoulder on his way out. “I’m going to talk to the ex-husband.”

Kate nodded without looking up from the cipher.

The night air bit into Marcus’s windbreaker as he crossed the yard to Deborah Holt’s house. He liked that kind of weather, just enough cold to nip but not enough to freeze. Sure was a shame he was here investigating the brutal murder of a middle-aged divorcee and not enjoying a calm evening stroll.

He stepped through the open back door through which their killer had carried Deborah Holt roughly two and a half hours ago on his way to the neighbor’s house. He walked in to hear a shaky male voice lament, “I had to be close. I had to be only a few minutes behind him. Hell, he could have been in there with her while I was doping around the bedroom.”

“We don’t think that’s likely, sir,” a uniformed officer said by way of comfort.

Marcus caught the officer’s eye and said, “Give me a minute, fellas?”

The officer and his partner nodded and stepped past Marcus, heading for the back door. Marcus waited until he heard it close behind him, then turned to the ex-husband. “I’m Special Agent Marcus Reid. Your name?”

The man sniffed. “Oliver. Oliver Holt.”

He was about Deborah’s age, soft everywhere she was hard, pudgy where she was rail-thin. Marcus was reminded of an old nursery rhyme about a guy who could eat no lean and a wife who could eat no fat. Or was it the other way around.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Marcus said.

Oliver nodded. “I just can’t believe it. She texted me that she wanted me to come over. We were still sexually active after the divorce.”

“I heard,” Marcus replied. “About how long after the text did you arrive?”

“About thirty minutes,” Oliver said. “I live in New Albany. It’s a twenty-minute drive. I freshened up a little and drove straight over.”

“Can anyone confirm you were there up until that time?”

Oliver shook his head. “Does that mean I’m in trouble?”

Probably not. The grief in this guy’s eyes looked pretty damned genuine. Also, Oliver was a bit on the petite side, weight notwithstanding. Not only did that not match the description of the delivery van driver seen at Greer’s home, but Marcus also doubted Oliver could carry even his slender ex-wife across a yard and into the neighbor’s home.

“I’d avoid leaving town for the time being,” Marcus said, “but you’re not a suspect at this time.”

Oliver nodded. He looked very close to shock if he wasn’t there already.

“I have to ask some tough questions, Mr. Holt. Can you answer them?”

Oliver nodded again.