3 Buried Leads Read Free

and comfortable. I think you can tell a lot about someone from their shoes. I could tell that this woman spent a lot on suits and nothing on shoes. What a waste. Of course, she probably took one look at my shoes and thought I belonged in an asylum myself – preferably that creepy one Jessica Lange is presiding over on FX these days.
    Tony stepped to the center of everyone and started talking. He laid out the facts. Sarah Frank was, by all accounts, a reliable wife and mother. She worked for an insurance firm in Detroit, while her husband, Brian Frank, had a small business at home. Last Friday, after an argument with her husband, Sarah had left the house in a hired car that was supposed to take her to the airport for a flight to the Bahamas. No one had seen her since.
    “When was she reported missing?” I asked.
    “Yesterday,” Tony answered.
    “Why so long?”
    “The husband thought that she was still mad and that’s why she didn’t call from the Bahamas.”
    The husband totally did it. What? I’m not jumping to conclusions. That would be unprofessional, after all.
    “What did her boss say?”
    “He said that, when Sarah missed the flight, he just assumed she had something going on at home. She had told him that she might not be able to make the trip and he figured that something had come up at home that had prohibited her from making the trip this week.”
    “Didn’t he think it was weird that she didn’t call and tell him that herself?” If I’m fifteen minutes late, Fish blows a gasket. I can’t imagine just blowing off a week of work.
    “Apparently, she had a great deal of autonomy at work – so it wasn’t an unusual thing,” Tony answered simply.
    “Are there any signs of a struggle in the house?”
    Tony frowned as he regarded me. “This is just a missing persons case right now, Avery.”
    “I was just asking.” That was a pretty snippy answer for a standard question.
    “Brian Frank is going to be coming out in a minute to make a statement to all of you,” Tony said. “I would hope you would treat him as a man who is terrified about his missing wife and not a suspect.” Tony’s gaze was fixed on me.
    “Of course,” Ariel Cook said. “We don’t want to add on to the pain he is obviously feeling. This must be terrible for him.”
    I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. I noticed the two female weekly reporters were being unusually silent. They probably had no idea what was going on, I figured. They were just happy to be here – and getting a paycheck. Weeklies are generally the learning ground for dailies and dabblers. The lifers are true journalists at heart – but they’re rare.
    The front door of the house opened and I saw a small man – 5’8” at best – exit. He was small in stature and, as he grew closer, I was surprised at just how nondescript he really was. He had mousy brown hair, which was cropped close to his head, and curled in weird places. His green eyes were bright and red-rimmed. He’d obviously been crying.
    “Hi,” he greeted everyone in a low voice. He seemed timid. He didn’t look like a murderer. Of course, very few murderers actually looked like they were capable of the deed.
    “Brian wants to make a statement,” Tony stressed pointedly. “He’ll answer a few questions, but let’s try not to overload him, shall we?” Tony was looking directly at me again.
    “My wife is a wonderful person,” Brian Frank started. “She’s a great wife and a great mother. I just want her back. . . “ He broke off as he fought off tears, choking on his own wrenching sob. He was either a really good actor, or he was really struggling with this.
    “Was it unusual for her not to call for a week?”
    Tony shot me a glare, but Brian didn’t seem to notice. “Yes. I thought she was still mad at me, though. I just thought we would talk about things when she got back. She never came back, though.”
    “What did you fight about?”
    “Just normal stuff,” Brian