Free Born at Dawn by Nigeria Lockley Page B

to the equation to help his partner or to help him. His American-pie smile, erect posture, and mouse brown eyes conveyed a sincere look of concern and worry.
    â€œListen, buddy,” he said, placing his hand on Marvin’s right shoulder. Marvin tilted his head and looked down at Detective Laurel’s hand. “I’m going to need you to take it down a notch. Why don’t you come with us to an interview room and tell us your story there?”
    Marvin followed the detectives to a dimly lit gray interview room.
    â€œYou want some coffee or something?” Detective Laurel asked Marvin.
    â€œYeah. Black. Three sugars.”
    â€œDetective Grayson, could you handle that for me while I chop it up with . . .”
    â€œMarvin Barclay, but Marvin is just fine.” Marvin simmered down and warmed up to Detective Laurel. He knew a man would understand the situation better than any woman.
    â€œHere’s the deal, Detective Laurel. My wife went missing sometime early Monday morning. She wasn’t home when I woke up, and she hasn’t returned since. She’s about five three, her hair is just off her shoulders and dyed a reddish burgundy color.” Noticing the detective wasn’t taking notes or anything he asked, “Uh, shouldn’t you be writing this down?”
    â€œMy fault.” Detective Laurel reached inside his black blazer and pulled out a little spiral notebook. “What’s her name?”
    â€œCynthia Ann Barclay.”
    â€œDoes it appear as though there was a struggle? Do you think this is a possible abduction?” Detective Laurel asked poised to take notes.
    â€œI don’t know how it happened or when it happened, but she’s gone.”
    Detective Grayson returned with Marvin’s coffee in a large white Styrofoam cup.
    â€œMaybe you can explain what your marriage was like to my partner and me.”
    â€œWe had our good days and our bad days, you know what I mean, man,” Marvin said, plucking Detective Laurel’s solid gold wedding band.
    Detective Laurel nodded and smiled in agreement with Marvin.
    Marvin slurped up some coffee and asked, “What happens next? Do I sit down with a sketch artist, or do we create a timeline of what she did on Sunday like they do on Without a Trace? ”
    â€œMr. Barclay, you’ve watched one too many episodes of Without a Trace. We don’t need a sketch artist; a photo of the missing person is usually sufficient,” Detective Grayson stated very matter-of-factly. “In this case our next step is not to take any steps, Mr. Barclay.”
    â€œWhat?” Marvin’s grip tightened around his cup.
    â€œMr. Barclay, this may be hard for you to grasp, but there is no hard and fast rule that says an adult must remain in their home.” Detective Grayson stuffed her hands into the pockets of her trousers and continued, “Just because your wife isn’t there doesn’t mean she’s missing.”
    â€œWhat is she saying, that y’all are not going to look for my wife?” Marvin asked, looking at Detective Laurel.
    â€œWith no evidence of foul play, we have no reason to believe your wife has been abducted but it is possible that she just left you, Mr. Barclay.”
    Marvin squeezed the coffee cup so tight the hot black liquid came spilling out of the cup. It ran down his hand over his arm and dripped off the table, forming a small puddle. Both detectives winced at the sight of the scalding hot coffee. The sting of it felt like a splash of water to Marvin in comparison to how his anger burned inside of him.
    â€œWe’ve been together for fifteen years. Cynthia has never gone anywhere without telling me. She has slept in the bed with me every night since we got married, and the only time she wasn’t there she was at her mother’s. I’ve already been to her mother’s house, and she ain’t there.” Marvin slid out of his seat. “One