Читать книгу Silent Neighbor - Блейк Пирс - Страница 9

It was just after five when Chloe and Rhodes left Rosa’s apartment. It was only about a forty-minute drive from where they had parked back to DC. Chloe considered this a big plus, as it eliminated the need for checking into a motel. The can of worms it opened up, though, was that it was hard to tell when to call it a day.

“Should we head to the library to check out Rosa’s alibi?” Rhodes asked as Chloe pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot.

“I thought about that, but it’s Sunday afternoon. It’s doubtful the library would even be open. I was thinking I’d like to find out where that ring came from. See if we can maybe figure out who last wore it. If the husband doesn’t recall it even belonging to his wife…”

Rhodes opened her mouth to respond but the chirping of Chloe’s cell phone stopped her. Chloe answered right away, hoping for a lead on what was looking to be a slow and grinding Sunday afternoon.

“This is Agent Fine,” she answered.

“Agent Fine, this is Deputy Nolan. I thought you’d want to know that I was able to get in touch with Mark Fairchild, the husband. He’s due to come by the station around eight tonight. He and his brother are headed back home to take care of funeral arrangements, insurance paperwork, and things of that nature.”

“And he knows the FBI is looking into things now?”

“He does. He seemed pleased, and eager to speak with you.”

“I’ll see you at nine, then,” Chloe said, ending the call exactly as she had hoped: with another source of information lined up. When the information came to you rather than having to hunt it all down, it tended to make for a quick and easy case.

Chloe just hoped things continued at this pace.

***

It was clear from first glance that Mark Fairchild had not been sleeping well. From his appearance alone, Chloe was willing to bet he had not slept a wink since being told his wife had been killed. There were dark circles around his eyes—eyes that seemed to be staring at nothing at all while managing to look rapidly around the small conference room, as if trying to take everything in. His hair was disheveled and a growth of thin stubble covered the lower half of his face.

Still, he looked somewhat centered and determined. He sat partially slouched in a chair, holding a cup of coffee that Nolan had given him, but not sipping from it. His brother was standing in the corner, looking just as tired but carefully watching over his grief-stricken sibling.

Chloe knew that the coming conversation could be difficult. Grieving people who were clearly tired, still dealing with the idea of their recent loss, could be precarious. They could either talk endlessly, often in circles, or lose control of their emotion within just a handful of seconds. So she knew she’d have to choose the leading questions carefully, giving him the feeling that he was in control.

“Mr. Fairchild, I’d like you to walk me through Friday morning. Include every detail you can, no matter how small or trivial you feel it might be.”

He nodded, but looked clearly uncomfortable. “Everything,” he said with a sleepy grin that looked rather forced. “Well…my alarm went off for work. I hit snooze and when I did, Jessie came to me and snuggled up…sort of a tradition we’ve had since we were dating. It was Friday and had been a good week for both of us so snuggling led to sex. She enjoyed it in the morning; it was really nothing out of the ordinary.”

Chloe felt awkward as she watched his face go through several emotions as he recalled the start to the morning. She gave him a moment as he paused, clearly making sure that he was going to be able to get through it.

“So I hopped in the shower while she answered some work e-mails. I got out of the shower and she was brushing her teeth. There was some small talk. As I got dressed for work, Jessie put on her running clothes—the same ones she was wearing when…”

He trailed off here, taking in a deep breath. He looked to his brother, who gave Mark an encouraging nod. Mark returned the nod and then started again, his voice a bit shaky.

“We went downstairs. She had a smoothie and I had a cup of coffee. She never drank coffee before her run. She said it played hell on her stomach. She walked me to the door, I remember that. She usually does that, just to kiss me goodbye. She was fiddling with her airpods, cueing up whatever podcast she’d been listening to so she could listen to it on her run. We kissed, I got in the car, and that was it. That was the last time I saw her alive.”

“What time do you believe it was when you left the house?” Chloe asked.

“I don’t know an exact time, but it was somewhere between seven fifty-five and eight-oh-five, I’d guess. Certainly no later than that.”

“So we’re looking at a three-, three-and-a-half-hour window,” Rhodes said.

“Mr. Fairchild, had you and your wife made friends yet? Anyone who had come over a few times since you’d moved in?”

“No. Just acquaintances. There had been people in the house, sure. When a new family moves into the neighborhood, people come over with pies and cookies and things like that, you know? But I think the only person who had ever stepped foot in the house that was more than just a welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of thing was the housekeeper. Oh, and the plumber. We had an issue with the garbage disposal on the first week.”

“I want to also talk about the ring found on the bedside table,” Chloe said. “I understand that you can’t confirm whether or not it belonged to your wife?”

“That’s right. It didn’t look familiar, but that’s not unusual. Jessie never really wore jewelry…just her wedding ring. That may seem silly because the closet is full of jewelry. But Jessie sort of collected jewelry the way some women go crazy with shoes or purses. When her mother passed away six or seven years ago, Jessie got all of her mom’s jewelry. Necklaces, rings, these awful-looking earrings. But it put a fire under Jessie. She started to collect that sort of stuff.”

“Do you recall how many rings came to Jessie through her mother?”

“No. I remember it was mostly in a safety deposit box. Some of it was, anyway. I do know that she received a small box with some necklaces and rings. There had to be at least ten rings in that box.”

“So you’d say there’s a decent chance the ring found at the scene was one of the ones that came from her mother.”

“Probably. But that’s the thing…she kept them in the closet. Whoever did that…”

He stopped here, as if the mere mention of what had been done with the ring had frozen him. He sucked in a breath and shook his head, determined to go on.

“Whoever did it,” he continued, “must have known where to look for it.”

“That or they simply got lucky and figured out where expensive jewelry might be kept.”

“True,” Mark said.

“And the week leading up to Friday…was there anything particularly off about your wife?”

“No. I’ve been wondering that myself…wondering if I missed anything. But I swear…she seemed perfectly fine.”

“We understand that Jessie had started to try to get involved in local groups and organizations,” Rhodes said. “Do you happen to know which ones?”

“She talked a lot about Kid’s Cove, this non-profit that raises money for kids that have trouble paying for school lunches and things like that. There was another one…some garden club or something like that. I’m pretty sure I know where she kept names and numbers of all of those people, if you’d like to see it.”

“We have a copy of that already,” Nolan said.

Mark nodded, rolling his eyes. “That’s right. I swear…these last three days just sort of all blur together.”

“I’m sure,” Chloe said. “Mr. Fairchild, thank you for your time. Please…go home and get some sleep. And I ask that you stay in town for the foreseeable future just in case we have more questions.”

“Certainly.”

He got up and gave a halfhearted wave as he and his brother exited the room. Nolan followed them out, closing the door behind him.

“What do you think?” Rhodes asked Chloe when they were alone again.

“I think even if Mark Fairchild did have something worth telling us, he probably wouldn’t remember. I think he’s telling the truth about that morning, though. His cheeks flushed when he mentioned the sex. And those pauses he took…he was legitimately fighting back tears and a potential sobbing fit.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

“Still, it paints an interesting picture, doesn’t it? A new wealthy couple comes to town. The husband has a job that keeps them solidly in the upper class. And they seem to get targeted right away…less than five full weeks after they’ve moved in.”

“You think they were running from something?” Rhodes asked. “You think they maybe moved to Falls Church to get away from something in Boston?”

“Could be. I’d like to know as much as I can about his job. Maybe get a peek at the Fairchilds’ financial information and criminal records. Maye even talk to Mark’s employer if I have to.”

“And I think we need to also check the security company,” Rhodes said. “I find it odd that no alarm was tripped. It makes me think Jessie Fairchild willingly let in the person that killed her.”

As they mulled all of this over, the conference room door opened and Nolan came back in. He looked drained from having been in the presence of a man who had been so heartbroken and distressed.

“Nolan, what do we know about Mr. Fairchild’s job?” Chloe asked.

“He’s a standard broker. From what he tells me, he just got lucky with a few deals early in his career. It led him to some high-profile clients becoming very happy with him. He was quite humble about it, but he told us that he brought in a little over six million last year.”

“And it’s all on the up and up?”

“As far as we can tell. We haven’t done a deep, through check into their finances yet, or into his tax returns from last year. We told him it might come down to that before it was all said and done. He seemed a little offended, but gave us his blessing. Even gave us a few numbers to call where he works if we need help.”

“So in other words, he’s not hiding anything when it comes to money.”

“That’s right. Clean as a whistle from what we can tell. But I’ll probably still call some of the numbers he gave, just to say it’s been done.”

“I didn’t see any note of a criminal record in your files, either,” Rhodes added.

“Yeah. Both of the Fairchilds have clean records. Nothing. Not even a speeding ticket.”

Chloe looked to the file folder on the table in front of her, suppressing a frown. True, the case seemed to already be veering far away from the strangulation deaths the year before. But there was still a death that had gone unsolved.

She stared at the folder, as if willing it to give her the answers. She had basically memorized what was inside; it told the story of Jessie Fairchild’s murder in forms, reports, notes, and crime scene photos.

And for right now, the story seemed to be very open-ended.