Rating: ★★★★☆ Tags: Mystery Detective, General, Fiction

Ellen Abbott
, but 
Ellen Abbott
was probably
best left unmentioned.
‘Okay, well what about all these, these 
guys
who’ve
clogged up our tip line?’ I walked over and grabbed the
sheet of names and numbers that I’d carelessly tossed on
the dining room table. I began reading names. ‘Inserting
themselves into the investigation: David Samson, Murphy
Clark – those are old boyfriends – Tommy O’Hara, Tommy
O’Hara, Tommy O’Hara, that’s three calls, Tito Puente –
that’s just a dumb joke.’
‘Have you phoned any of them back?’ Boney asked.
‘No. Isn’t that your job? I don’t know which are
worthwhile and which are crazies. I don’t have time to call
some jackass pretending to be Tito Puente.’
‘I wouldn’t put too much emphasis on the tip line, Nick,’
Rhonda said. ‘It’s kind of a woodwork situation. I mean,

---

we’ve fielded a lot of phone calls from your old 
girlfriends
.
Just want to say hi. See how you are. People are strange.’
‘Maybe we should get started on our questions,’ Gilpin
nudged.
‘Right. Well, I guess we should begin with where you
were the morning your wife went missing,’ Boney said,
suddenly apologetic, deferential. She was playing good
cop, and we both knew she was playing good cop. Unless
she was actually on my side. It seemed possible that
sometimes a cop was just on your side. Right?
‘When I was 
at the beach
.’
‘And you still can’t recall anyone seeing you there?’
Boney asked. ‘It’d help us so much if we could just cross
this little thing off our list.’ She allowed a sympathetic
silence. Rhonda could not only keep quiet, she could infuse
the room with a mood of her choosing, like an octopus and
its ink.
‘Believe me, I’d like that as much as you. But no. I don’t
remember anyone.’
Boney smiled a worried smile. ‘It’s strange, we’ve
mentioned – just in passing – your being at the beach to a
few people, and they all said … They were all surprised,
let’s put it that way. Said that didn’t sound like you. You
aren’t a beach guy.’
I shrugged. ‘I mean, do I go to the beach and lay out all
day? No. But to sip my coffee in the morning? Sure.’
‘Hey, this might help,’ Boney said brightly. ‘Where’d
you buy your coffee that morning?’ She turned to Gilpin as if
to seek approval.
‘Could tighten the time frame at least, right?’
‘I made it here,’ I said.

---

‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘That’s weird, because you don’t
have any coffee here. Nowhere in the house. I remember
thinking it was odd. A caffeine addict notices these things.’
Right, just something you happened to notice
, I
thought. 
I knew a cop named Boney Moronie … Her traps
are so obvious, they’re clearly phony
…
‘I had a leftover cup in the fridge I heated up.’ I
shrugged again: 
No big deal
.
‘Huh. Must have been there a long time – I noticed
there’s no coffee container in the trash.’
‘Few days. Still tastes good.’
We both smiled at each other: 
I know and you know.
Game on
. I actually thought those idiotic words: 
Game on
.
Yet I was pleased in a way: The next part was starting.
Boney turned to Gilpin, hands on knees, and gave a
little nod. Gilpin chewed his lip some more, then finally
pointed: toward the ottoman, the end table, the living room
now righted. ‘See, here’s our problem, Nick,’ he started.
‘We’ve seen dozens of home invasions—’
‘Dozens 
upon 
dozens 
upon 
dozens,’ 
Boney
interrupted.
‘Many home invasions. This – all this area right there,
in the living room – remember it? The upturned ottoman,
the overturned table, the vase on the floor’ – he slapped
down a photo of the scene in front of me – ‘this whole area,
it was supposed to look like a struggle, right?’
My head expanded and snapped back into place.