to sell their house and needed to have it painted. That’s what Fred was doing over spring break-painting the house inside and out. Someone-this unnamed friend-called Fred that afternoon and told him what had happened. He drove over that night. After he did it, he walked into the ocean and rinsed off the blood. He left Phoenix after his mother went to bed and was back home before she woke up in the morning. As far as she was concerned, he never left. When he got back to his mother’s house, he burned all the clothing he was wearing that night-even his shoes.”
“Was he ever considered to be a suspect?” Brandon asked.
“Not as far as I know,” June answered. “There may have been a few questions asked about him in the beginning, but his mother’s word carried the day, especially since no one remembered seeing him in San Diego, no one who knew him, that is. He came and went without anyone being the wiser. Back in those days there were no credit cards. He paid cash for his gas and food.”
“If he got away with it for that long, why did he bother telling you?” Brandon asked.
June shrugged. “I guess his conscience was bothering him,” she said. “He thought he was dying. The doctors only gave him six months or so. That was before they let him into that first chemo protocol. He said he hoped that I could do the same thing for him that he had done for me.”
“As in hate the sin and love the sinner?”
“I tried,” June said. “But I couldn’t do it. I had been in touch with Sully’s parents from time to time. I went to both her father’s funeral and, much later, her mother’s. I knew how much it had hurt them to lose their precious daughter, and it hurt me to think it was my fault.”
“You weren’t the one wielding the knife,” Brandon said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But if Sully and I hadn’t had that encounter-if Fred hadn’t found out about it…” June’s voice dwindled to nothing.
“What happened after he told you?” Brandon asked.
“It was just a few months after Fred told me that I heard from Mr. Farrell again. I was surprised that he was still working on the case after all those years, but Sully’s mother had won a bunch of money in one of the big lotteries, and she was using it to start a cold-case organization of some kind.”
“Yes,” Brandon said. “It’s called TLC-The Last Chance.”
“Mr. Farrell said he was going back through the case and interviewing everyone who had been connected to Sully. He wanted to talk to me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face telling him the truth and have my children’s father go to prison. I was afraid they’d want me to testify against Fred, and I couldn’t do that. Besides, to be honest, I guess I didn’t want my children to know about what I had done, either. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to live down that one indiscretion, but it’s always there with me. It never goes away. I also didn’t want to lie to Mr. Farrell.”
“Did your husband offer you any proof of what he’d done?”
“He didn’t offer it to me, but I think I found it.” June reached into her purse and pulled out a Ziploc bag, which she handed over to him. Inside it was an old hunting knife. Through the clear plastic, Brandon could see that the blade was dull and rusty, as though it had been left untouched for a very long time.
“One of my sons found this hidden in the back of one of Fred’s toolboxes out in the garage. In all the years we were married, I never saw this one before. I know from watching TV that sometimes it’s possible for investigators to get usable DNA evidence from items like this.”
“You’re giving it to me?” Brandon asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I want you to take it and do whatever you need to do to find out for sure.”
“All right,” Brandon said, dropping the bag into his jacket pocket.
“So that’s it,” June said, using the arms of the chair to rise to her feet. “I’m ready to go whenever you are. I just have to drop the cat off on the way.”
“On the way where?” Brandon asked.
“To jail,” June answered. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Aren’t you here to arrest me? Doesn’t all this make me some kind of accessory after the fact?”
Suddenly the suitcase and the crated Miss Kitty made sense. June Holmes had invited Brandon into her home with the expectation that he was there to take her into custody.
“No,” Brandon said. “I came to find some answers, and you’ve provided those, but I’m not here to arrest you.”
June seemed astonished. “Are you sure? I thought that since I knew about it and didn’t tell…”
“No,” Brandon said. “Knowing about it isn’t the same as doing it.”
Momentary relief flashed across June Holmes’s face, then the doorbell rang.
“Now who can that be?” she asked. “I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m usually at church at this time of day.”
Tucson, Arizona
Sunday, June 7, 2009, 9:40 a.m.
84? Fahrenheit
Brian Fellows had gone back to his office, where he spent the better part of the early-morning hours on the telephone. Detective Mumford had gone to a hotel to interview Corrine Lapin, Jonathan Southard’s dead wife’s sister. Brian and Alex had agreed that he could participate in the interview by long distance. Brian knew that eventually some departmental bean counter would give him hell about racking up so many long-distance charges, but he would handle that when the time came. Right now, he and Alex Mumford were both on the trail of the same killer.
Corrine was able to provide a lot of information about what had been going on in Jonathan and Esther Southard’s family in the previous several years-or at least what her murdered sister had told her about what was going on. Jonathan Southard had been let go by his bank and had been unable to find another job. He had been depressed and angry.
Corrine said she suspected there had been some instances of physical abuse, but she didn’t know that for sure. She allowed as how she “thought” Esther might have been seeing someone, but she was coy about it. She either didn’t know who the boyfriend was or wouldn’t say. Brian was pretty sure the boyfriend’s identity would become obvious once they gained access to Esther’s telephone records.
“So Esther was planning on leaving Jonathan, but she was holding out for the arrival of Jonathan’s 401(k) payout?” Alex asked.
“That’s pretty much the size of it,” Corrine admitted. “But Esther is the victim here. The way you’re asking the questions, it sounds as though you’re going to drag her name through the mud right along with her husband’s.”
“We’re just trying to get the lay of the land,” Alex assured her.
“About that 401(k). Do you have any idea about when those monies were due to arrive?”
Brian was the one who asked that question, and that was the real advantage of participating in a real-time interview. He was able to ask his own questions.
“The last time I spoke to Esther, she told me she expected the check to arrive anytime. As in the next few days.”
And it probably did, Brian thought. Rather than share it with his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Southard converted it into cash. That’s what he’s using for running money.
“How much money was it?” Detective Mumford asked. The question let Brian know that she was following the same set of assumptions.
“Esther thought it was going to be close to half a million dollars. She expected them to split it fifty-fifty.”
“The prospect of a quarter-of-a-million-dollar payoff makes it worthwhile for her to wait around,” Alex Mumford said.
That comment had Brian Fellows’s full agreement. It’s also enough to kill for, he thought, but he didn’t say that aloud.
Brian’s cell phone rang. With the landline receiver still at his ear, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. He thought the caller might be Kath, letting him know that she and the girls were on their way to church. Not recognizing the caller ID number, Brian put the interview line on hold and answered.
“Detective Fellows? It’s Dan Pardee.”
“What can I do for you?”
