Hattiesburg, Mississippi; 3:50 p.m.
Charles Ronald Prescott was home with his children. His mother-in-law had sequestered her grandchildren in the family room and was reading to them so as not to expose them to any police talk regarding their mother. The husband had closed down his dental office the day after his wife disappeared. Four times per day, like clockwork, he checked in with the Hattiesburg police as well as with Wyatt.
Wyatt hoped like hell he wouldn’t have to end up delivering the news that his wife’s body had been found.
Addy had introduced herself and interviewed Ron. Thankfully with a good deal more finesse than she’d used with Huff and Elliott. Wyatt had kept his comments to a minimum as she requested. As if he hadn’t gone over these same details with her already, she first explored the master bedroom, closets, drawers, and then inventoried the home office, family computer, files—everything—along with the husband. She’d asked about the petty cash fund Huff mentioned. The money was in his wife’s lingerie chest, tucked into a sock.
Adeline would find exactly what Wyatt and his team had found.
Nothing.
But that knowledge hadn’t kept her from touching the things Cherry Prescott had touched. Her clothes. Jewelry ... the pillow where she’d laid her head at night.
Wyatt’s desire to watch every move she made warred with his frustration. He wanted to be annoyed that she thought she had to go over every step he’d already taken. But watching her do so was nearly worth the irritation it generated for him as a cop. Truth was, she had gotten more from the victim’s friends than he had. What she’d learned could change the scope of the investigation—except for those damned letters, the same letters that had been sent to Adeline.
And the nightmares.
“The folks from the state forensics lab took the home computer,” Ron explained, repeating what Wyatt had already told her. “They’ve checked her cell phone records. All electronic communication devices here and at her office. No calls to or from anyone she didn’t know. No emails. No internet searches of interest. Nothing.”
The husband had followed their every step from one room to the next. Not that Wyatt blamed him. The man’s wife was missing.
“Mr. Prescott.” Adeline picked up the framed family photo positioned on the corner of the desk in the couple’s home office. “Did your wife mention being afraid of anything at all during the final weeks before the disappearance?”
Ron shook his head. “Nothing.” He collapsed in a chair by the bay window. “I mean, I sensed that she was anxious about something but she insisted it was only next year’s elections. As the city attorney, she was subject to stress during any change in the administration.”
Adeline returned the photo to its original position. “Any trouble interacting with you or the children?”
Wyatt watched the husband’s reaction to the seemingly off-the-cuff question. Surprise. Confusion. Both cluttered his face before the veil of sheer grief he’d worn for four days now fell back into place.
“Absolutely not.”
“Mr. Prescott,” Adeline nudged, her tone gentled, “you need to be aware that we’ve gotten conflicting reports from some of your wife’s friends, which suggest there was, in fact, a problem of some sort.”
Uncertainty claimed the man’s expression. “Well, maybe a little. Nothing really.” He lifted his shoulders ever so slightly in a beaten-down shrug. “She seemed nervous about bath time with Chastity. She told me the last time she bathed her, the baby had slipped and fallen beneath the water and it scared her to death. But that’s completely understandable.” He shook his head, irritation needling its way into his expression. “I can’t imagine why anyone thought that was a big deal. Do you have children, Detective?”
Adeline shook her head. “No, sir. But I can see where that sort of incident would unnerve the best parent.”
“Exactly. You worry yourself sick that you’ll make a mistake and you try your best. Sometimes your child gets hurt anyway. Cherry is a wonderful mother.”
“I’m sure she is,” Adeline agreed. “Your home tells me a lot about both of you. Caring and loving. Don’t mistake my questions for doubt in that area.”
Ron looked around. “Right now it’s a pretty sad place to be. I don’t know how much longer I can keep the kids away from the news.” His voice quavered. “Or keep explaining away their mother’s absence. I’ve been afraid to send Chad to school since ... she disappeared.”
“Understandable,” Adeline sympathized. She walked over and sat down in the chair next to his. “Again, my questions are not a lead-in to any sort of accusation. You have to appreciate that we’re looking at even the most remote possibilities in an attempt to get a handle on why anyone would have taken your wife. Of course, her kidnapping could be a random act of violence, but we have to rule out all the possibilities to find the motive behind this crime. Finding your wife is dependent upon every step we take, no matter how painful or seemingly insignificant.”
“You have no idea how badly I wish there was something I could tell you,” Ron offered, surrendering to the defeat once more. “I wantmy wife found, alive and unharmed. But I just don’t know why this has happened. There were no warning signs ... no unusual events. Nothing. Just that weird letter.”
“How was the relationship between your wife and her parents?” Adeline asked, venturing into sensitive territory. “Did you sense any tension between them?”
“I can answer that question, Detective.”
Wyatt turned toward the voice. Patricia Bowden stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Adeline offered, pushing to her feet, “I didn’t want to disturb you and the children.”
Ms. Bowden walked into the office and closed the door. “My granddaughter is napping. Her brother is occupied with a computer game of some sort.” Mrs. Bowden went to her son-in-law and stood behind him. Her hands settled reassuringly on his shoulders. “My daughter and I are close, Detective Cooper. Very close. Her husband is correct, something was bothering Cherry but she didn’t want to talk about it. She chalked it up to work whenever I asked. I cannot believe that if something was going on with my daughter on a personal level, she wouldn’t have come to me about it. She always has.”
“Ms. Bowden,” Wyatt interjected. He hated to stir up emotions, but this had to be asked. “Why didn’t you mention this during your previous interviews?” He split his attention between the two. “There’s nothing in either of your statements to indicate you felt there was a problem.”