“Yes, we can see that. Would you mind telling us where she is?”
“Would you mind telling me why you want to know?”
Len Gilman kept his gaze on Adam. The other men stood and shifted their feet. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Adam was about to protest that this was his house and that he’d tell everyone when or where to sit, but that seemed pointless and a waste of energy. Len collapsed with a sigh in the big chair usually reserved for Adam. Adam noted that it was probably a power move, but again no reason to fret over the irrelevant. The other three men sat on the couch like the speak-no-hear-no-see-no monkeys. Adam stayed standing.
“What the hell is going on?” Adam asked again.
Len Gilman stroked his handlebar mustache as though it were a small pet. “I just want to make something clear right off the bat. I’m here in my role as a friend and a neighbor. I’m not here as the chief of police.”
“Oh, that’s encouraging.”
Len ignored the sarcasm and continued. “So as a friend and neighbor, I’m telling you that we are looking for Corinne.”
“And as a friend and neighbor, not to mention a concerned husband, I’m asking you why.”
Len Gilman nodded, buying time, trying to figure how to play this. “I know Tripp stopped by here yesterday.”
“Right.”
“He mentioned that we had a lacrosse board meeting.”
Len Gilman then stopped talking, doing that cop thing where you wait and hope your subject says something. Adam knew the technique all too well from his days in the prosecutor’s office. He also knew that those who played it back, who tried to outwait the cop, were usually hiding something. Adam wasn’t. He also wanted to move this along, so he said, “Right,” again.
“Corinne didn’t come to the meeting. She didn’t show.”
“So what? Does she need an absence note from a parent?”
“Don’t be a wiseass, Adam.”
Len was right. He needed to clamp down on the sarcasm.
“Are you a member of the board, Len?” Adam asked.
“I’m a member at large.”
“What’s that mean?”
Len smiled and spread his hands. “Damned if I know. Tripp is the president. Bob here is the VP. And Cal is the secretary.”
“I know and, man, am I impressed.” Again he scolded himself for the tone. This wasn’t the time. “But I still don’t know why you’re all looking for Corinne.”
“And we don’t know why we can’t find her,” Len countered, spreading his meaty paws. “It’s a mystery, isn’t it? We’ve texted her. We’ve e-mailed her. We’ve called her mobile and your house. Heck, I even stopped by the school. Did you know that?”
Adam bit back his reply.
“Corinne wasn’t there. She was absent—and there was no absence note from a parent. So I talked to Tom.” Tom Gorman was the principal. He, too, lived in town and had three kids. Towns like this got ridiculously incestuous. “He says Corinne normally has the best attendance record of any teacher in the district, but suddenly she’s a no-show. He was concerned.”
“Len?”
“Yes?”
“Can you cut the crap and tell me why you’re all so anxious to find my wife?”
Len looked over at the three monkeys on the couch. Bob’s face was set in stone. Cal was busy cleaning his glasses. That left it up to Tripp Evans. Tripp cleared his throat and said, “There seems to be some discrepancies with the lacrosse financials.”
Boom.
Or maybe the opposite of boom. The house grew even quieter. Adam was sure that he could actually hear his own heart beating in his chest. He found the seat behind him and lowered himself onto it.
“What are you talking about?”
But of course, he already knew, didn’t he?
Bob now found his voice. “What do you think we’re talking about?” he half snapped. “There’s money missing from the account.”
Cal nodded, just to do something.
“And you think . . . ?” Adam didn’t finish the thought. First off, it was obvious what they thought. Two, it would not do to even voice such a ridiculous accusation.
But was it ridiculous?
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Len said, playing Mr. Reasonable. “Right now, we just want to talk to Corinne. As I told you before, I’m here as a friend and neighbor and maybe a board member. That’s why we are all here. We’re Corinne’s friends. And yours. We want to keep this between us.”
Lots of nods.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning,” Len said, leaning forward in a conspiratorial way, “that if the books get straightened out, that will be the end of it. It stays in this room. No questions will be asked. If the discrepancies go away, if the ledger is made whole again, well, we don’t really care about the hows or whys. We all move on.”
Adam stayed quiet. Organizations are all the same. Cover-ups and lies. The greater good and all that. Through his confusion and fear, part of Adam couldn’t help but feel disgust. But that was beside the point. He needed to be very careful here. Despite Len Gilman’s twice-repeated “friend/neighbor/board member” spiel, he was a cop. He wasn’t here as a nicety. He was here to gather information. Adam had to be careful how much he gave him.
“This discrepancy,” Adam said. “How large is it?”
“Very,” Len Gilman said.
“In terms of . . .”
“Sorry, that’s confidential.”
“You can’t seriously believe that Corinne would do anything—”
“Right now,” Len Gilman said, “we just need to talk to her.”
Adam stayed silent.
“Where is she, Adam?”
He couldn’t tell them, of course. He couldn’t even try to explain. The attorney in him took over. How many times had he warned his own client not to talk? How many convictions had he nailed because some idiot tried to talk his way out of it?
“Adam?”
“I think you guys better leave now.”
Chapter 28
Dan Molino tried not to cry as he watched his son Kenny line up for the forty-yard dash.
Kenny was a high school senior and one of the top football prospects in the state. He had a breakout senior year, gaining notice and respect among the big-time scouts, and now here he was, warming up for the final combine event. Dan stood in the bleachers, feeling that familiar rush, that parental high, as he watched his big son—Kenny was 285 pounds now—getting ready to put his feet in the starting blocks. Dan was a big guy too, six-two, two forty. He’d also played some ball back in the day, All-State linebacker, but he’d been a step too slow and a size too small to go Division I. He started up his own business in freelance furniture delivery twenty-five years ago, and now Dan owned two trucks and had nine guys working for him. The big stores, they often had their own delivery fleet. Dan specialized in taking care of the little mom-and-pop shops, though there seemed to be less and less of them every day. The big chains were squeezing them out, just like the big boys like UPS and FedEx were squeezing him.