Free Afraid to Die by Lisa Jackson Page B

divorce and wasn’t happy with the custody arrangement. If I were you, I’d be lookin’ at him hard. Real hard.” With that, she saw a table that needed to be cleared and took off, her quick steps wending her expertly through the tightly packed tables. Closing in on a lackadaisical busboy, she snapped her fingers to gain his attention. Obviously, the pudgy teenager wasn’t quick enough with his dishpan and towel to suit Sandi.
    Probably no one was.
    As far as Ray Sutherland went, they’d already talked to him, this morning, early enough that the trucker had obviously just rolled out of bed at the pounding on his apartment door. He lived on the second floor of an L-shaped stucco building. A surly sort with the beginning of a pot belly and in serious need of a razor, he’d seemed genuinely surprised when they’d told him about his ex-wife.
    Had he been nervous?
    Maybe.
    Alvarez had noted that he ran a hand through his dull brown hair, all of which was sticking up at odd bed-head angles.
    â€œOf course I have no idea where she is,” he’d said, perturbed. “Why?”
    â€œBecause she didn’t show up for work, she’s not at home and her car is abandoned at the side of the road.”
    That made him blink, some of his just-woken-up outrage fading. “Jesus. What happened?”
    â€œThat’s what we’re trying to find out,” Pescoli had said. “Mind if we come in?”
    Grumpily, he’d allowed them into a mess of an apartment, throwing some newspapers and jackets and a wadded blanket out of the way so that Alvarez could sit on the grimy cushions of a beat-up couch while Pescoli stood near the door. The shades were drawn and Sutherland, cinching the belt of his striped robe around his belly, settled into a fake leather recliner that had seen better days.
    He’d answered their questions while yelling at his boys to get ready for school. When he’d gotten no response when he’d craned his neck back to the bedroom wing of the small apartment and called to them, he’d gotten up for a few minutes, trod down a short hallway, opened a door and given some muffled orders before reappearing and taking up residence in his chair, positioned in front of a flat screen that seemed to be six feet if it were an inch.
    When asked, he’d offered up an alibi for the night his ex had disappeared. Though he didn’t seem sorry to hear Brenda was missing, he did appear shocked.
    â€œShe should be more careful,” he’d muttered, reaching into the top drawer of the small table positioned near his chair. He withdrew a pack of cigarettes, found it empty and, swearing under his breath, crumpled it. “I tell her all the time.”
    â€œWhy?” Alvarez asked.
    â€œBecause she’s the damned mother of my kids, that’s why!” At the mention of his offspring, he’d glanced down the hallway, scowled, then said to Alvarez, “Are we done here? I’ve got to get my boys off to school.”
    â€œWe may have more questions later.”
    â€œYeah, yeah. Fine.” He’d gotten to his feet and began lumbering toward the bedrooms again while Alvarez and Pescoli had taken their leave.
    But maybe Sandi was right, Alvarez thought now. Ray Sutherland, a trucker, might have given an Oscar-worthy performance this morning. But she doubted it.
    While Pescoli dug into her burger and fries, Alvarez picked at her salad of field greens and her cup of shrimp bisque, all the while tossing the case over in her mind.
    â€œDon’t see how you live on that crap,” Pescoli said, pointing a French fry at Alvarez’s meal before dredging the crispy potato strip through a puddle of ketchup on her platter.
    â€œDitto.”
    â€œI don’t think Ray Sutherland’s our guy.” She plopped the fry into her mouth.
    â€œIf there is a guy.”
    â€œRight. If there is a guy. Could be three women just took hikes,