especially—in an emergency. There were no signs of forced entry. So one of two things happened—she went out of the house and encountered someone there, or she invited someone in who then forced her to go out to the car.”
“The police said something like that. They had me give them a DNA sample, then took our trash. Said that if she had given him something to eat or drink, his DNA might be on something. But unless it’s someone she met at the dentist’s office, or one of the neighbors, I just don’t know why she would have let anyone in, or gone outside in the middle of the night.”
“From all you’ve told me, it sounds as if your wife was a helpful person. If a young man came to the door and said he’d been in a car accident, and had already called the police but he needed her to help him with his injured, pregnant wife until they got there, would she step outside to take a look? Or if he pretended to be crying and asked her if she could please tell him whose dog he had just hit?”
“I see what you’re saying. Only there’s no wife or dog or whatever.”
“Right. Or he’s wearing a uniform, or—whatever—does something to gain her trust. If she was taken between nine-thirty and midnight, then there’s a chance it really wasn’t all that late when he first arrived. None of your neighbors saw anyone come here that night?”
“No. But I’m not really surprised. No one around here pays much attention to anyone else. The police asked them all—over and over again. Someone said they heard a car, assumed it was mine. Frankly, I think that lady is lying and just wanted to be part of the drama—you know what I mean?”
“Yes. Maybe if we look at this from another angle—he arrived here somehow, on foot or was dropped off. Maybe he was given a ride by someone who had no idea what he was up to but dropped him off here.” I paused. “But anyone who was innocent and unaware would have spoken up by now if they’ve heard the news.”
He shook his head. “I think about that all the time now—all the news stories about missing people that I never paid much attention to. Stories about murders. I didn’t really care, so maybe no one really cares about Marilyn.”
“You can’t think like that, Dwayne. Tell me—have people around here offered to help you?”
He sighed. “Yes, you’re right. I’ve seen the good side of people, too. I’m in a mood, I guess. Kept hoping they’d catch the guy by now. But her family, people she knew, even total strangers have asked me what they could do to help me out. I never could figure out an answer.”
“Give yourself time. You’re probably still numb.”
“Yeah. I am.” He gave me a fleeting grin. “That is, when I’m not just pissed off. But I have to change my attitude. To be honest, I was totally surprised by how many people were at the funeral, how many told me that she’d touched their lives in some way. I’ve got a lot of thank-you notes to write.”
He looked over at a table laden with sympathy cards, but I doubted he was going to tackle that task anytime soon.
“To go back to what I was thinking about,” I said, “you didn’t see a car parked in front of the house that night?”
“No. I’m sure of that, because I parked on the street, and there wasn’t any other car near where I parked. My pickup is kind of wide, so I usually park on the street, so I don’t block her car in the garage. I mean, I did. I still do …” He looked lost.
“The police still have her car?”
“Yeah. They’re still hoping they can find some DNA somewhere on it.”
“A couple of things occur to me. One is that her killer planned everything out and had a way to get here that didn’t leave his own car parked on the street. Maybe he parked on a neighboring street, but it’s also possible he had an accomplice who brought him here.”
“What about a cab or a bus?”
“Possible, although he’d know that the driver might remember bringing him out