Blake Pierce - Kate Wise - 5 - If She Fled Page 6

  The apartment was modestly furnished but was limited in space. Hix led

  them directly to the kitchen, where he didn’t even bother trying to seem like a

  well-adjusted guy. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey that had been sitting on

  the counter and poured himself a tumbler. He shrugged to the agents and

  downed it in one gulp.

  “It doesn’t bring her back,” he said with a grimace, “but it makes it hurt a

  hell of a lot less.”

  “This is your brother’s place, right?” Kate asked.

  “Yeah. It’s a shithole, but Kyle…he’s all I got now.”

  “Mr. Hix, would you be willing to answer some questions for us?”

  “Yeah. But like I said, I can tell you who killed her. I told the cops, too…

  but you see how far that got me.”

  Kate didn’t want to take his bait, not wanting to let a grief-stricken and

  drunk man lead them down a rabbit hole that would likely go nowhere.

  Apparently, DeMarco felt the same because when she asked her next

  question, she did her best to veer the conversation elsewhere.

  “You work as a proposal specialist, right?” DeMarco asked. “Something

  with telecom?”

  “Yes. They’ve given me two months…like it’s a favor. I work sixty hours

  almost every week and stay in France for them at least two months total out

  of every year.”

  “Did it strain your marriage?” Kate asked.

  Hix nodded and pulled the bottle back to him. He looked at it longingly,

  desperate for another shot. She could see him considering it.

  “Of course it did. She was unhappy most of the time, I guess. She acted like she was happy when I was actually around and never got too

  confrontational when I was away so much. At the risk of sounding like a

  bastard, she enjoyed the money. She always joked about it, but there was a

  whole lot of truth to it, you know? And there seemed to be a lot more joking

  after our son was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yeah…as soon as he left for college, things seemed to get a little more

  tense.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Nine or ten years. Don’t get me wrong…we loved each other very much.

  I don’t know how that woman loved me as much as she did, but…”

  He decided to go ahead and take that other shot. He did it as if he were set

  on a mechanical spring, going through the actions like someone with far too

  much practice.

  “We always talked about taking trips after he was gone. Rome, Sydney,

  Madrid…those were the big ones. But I think she knew they’d never happen;

  it would take too much commitment on my part.”

  Listening to him talk, Kate was reminded of the call she had ignored from

  Melissa. It made her feel bad, as she wondered if the issues Melissa and

  Terry had been having were similar. Of course, neither of them made enough

  money to promise trips to one another, but an absentee spouse was an

  absentee spouse no matter how you cut it. Inexplicably, she felt the need to

  speak with Melissa quite badly in that moment.

  But DeMarco, getting very adept at questioning potential suspects, kept

  the ball rolling quickly and efficiently.

  “Were you at work when Marjorie was murdered?”

  “I was. I was actually on a flight back from Seattle. I’d been there on

  business for three days. I landed at O’Hare and got a barrage of missed calls

  and texts from the police before I even got off of the plane.”

  “You claim to know who did it,” DeMarco went on. “Did you think you

  knew even then?”

  “More or less, yes. But now, almost a week afterwards without a single

  suspect, I become more and more certain.”

  “And who might you have in mind as the suspect?”

  “A guy named Andrew Bauer.”

  “And why do you think he did it?”

  “Because he’s always had a thing for Marjorie…ever since they graduated

  college and found out they were living less than ten minutes away from one

  another. The guy is a sleazebag. I know it might sound pretentious and

  judgmental, but I don’t care—the guy is single and living in a neighborhood

  that is predominantly married couples with children. And he’s at home for

  days on end, sort of just stalking around the neighborhood and befriending all

  of the lonely women who have men that work long hours.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “It’s pretty common knowledge. Andrew is a pilot. He works a few days,

  he’s home a few days. I’m not the only man in the neighborhood that had to

  have a word with him.”

  “What sort of word?” Kate asked

  “About a year ago, I came home and found him standing in my yard while

  Marjorie was pulling weeds in her flowerbed. He had this evil grin on his

  face. I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just slimy.”

  “How does that equate to him potentially killing your wife?” DeMarco

  asked.

  “I suspected an affair. I had ever since that day. Marjorie denied it, of

  course, but there were small signs. She’d wash the sheets a lot more than

  usual. She’d start sort of trash talking Andrew a little too much—and it came

  out of nowhere, like she was trying to cover something up.”

  “Did you ever confront her on it?”

  “Almost. We had an argument about four months ago when she wasn’t…

  well, when she wasn’t active in the bedroom. We’d never had that problem

  but whenever I would try to start something spontaneous, she’d shoot me

  down. And that had never been like her.”

  “Did you ever confront him about it?”

  “No. But damn, I wish I had.”

  “So you think…what?” Kate asked.

  “I think he got pissed at her because she wouldn’t leave me for him.”

  “With all due respect,” DeMarco said, “that’s a very large stretch.”

  “I’m well aware of that. But at the same time, there is such a thing as a

  husband’s intuition—though women don’t like to hear it, no offense. I just

  had a feeling about him. And it’s stronger now.”

  DeMarco nodded and Kate watched as Hix took yet another shot of

  whiskey. “Well, Mr. Hix, we’ll look into him. We can’t accuse him of something like you are suggesting. But we can question him because, based

  on this moment you saw him in your yard, he seemed to have been at least

  friendly with your wife.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Hix said, and then took the shot. He came

  around the counter of the little kitchen counter, having to hold on to it to keep

  from wobbling. “And by the way, it wasn’t just Marjorie. He moved to our

  neighborhood several years ago because he had been caught having an affair

  with another man’s wife, somewhere here in town, in Chicago.”

  Kate and DeMarco started back for the front door. Hix stumbled slowly

  after them, doing his best to seem hospitable in an apartment that was not his

  own. Kate paused at the door as DeMarco opened it. She turned back to Hix,

  who was visibly swaying on his feet.

  “Mr. Hix…is there someone we can call for you?” she asked. “I’m sure

  you know there are all sorts of support groups to help you with this.”

  “And I intend to go to one, eventually
,” he said. “But I have to have

  closure first. Until that bastard is brought down, I can’t…it’ll just be me, my

  brother, and bottle after bottle.”

  “We’ll try to wrap this up as quickly as possible, then.”

  She tore her eyes away from him, the sight of his blurred eyes and

  hopeless expression far beyond haunting. She’d seen many men grieving

  before but she had always personally mourned for those who turned to

  substance abuse as a way to cope.

  He waved them away half-heartedly as they walked out onto the porch.

  Kate turned to get one more look at him, hoping maybe there might be some

  sense of hope on his face before they left, but Hix had already shut the door

  behind them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page before we go speak to

  this Andrew Bauer guy,” DeMarco said.

  “Okay,” Kate said. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I think Hix was just trying to pin the murder on someone so he’d have

  some hope of closure.”

  “We think the same thing, then. Although I won’t completely discount the

  speculation about the affair. And that’s really the only reason I think we need

  to speak with him.”

  They’d placed a call to Bannerman upon leaving Chicago on their way

  back to Frankfield. After he gave them the address for Andrew Bauer,

  DeMarco had called the airport, found out which airline Bauer flew for, then

  requested his schedule. It had all taken less than fifteen minutes; by the time

  they were entering Frankfield, they had confirmation that Bauer was not on

  duty for another two days.

  They found themselves heading back into the neighborhood where

  Marjorie Hix had been murdered. It almost felt like coming full circle as they

  passed the Hix home—the very same home they’d been in less than two

  hours ago.

  Andrew Bauer’s home was three blocks farther down and to the right. It

  was one of the smaller homes in the neighborhood but the yard looked

  immaculately cared for. In fact, as Kate pulled their car to the curb in front of

  the home, they saw a man standing in front of the house, hard at work. From

  what Kate could tell, he was laying down paver stones to separate the yard

  from the flowerbeds and other landscaping. He was tearing up what looked

  like old wooden planks and replacing them with the stones. The man was

  dressed in gym shorts and a tank top. He was perhaps fifty years old but had a

  toned body the tank top did little to hide. His shoulders were massive and the

  sweat from the tank top clung to his well-defined torso.

  “See?” DeMarco said. “Moments like this, I’m very glad I like women.

  Men like that…they can’t be anything but trouble, right?”

  Kate smirked as she opened the car door. Yes, this man—presumably

  Andrew Bauer—was incredibly good-looking. But such a facade had stopped

  having any effect on her years ago.

  They approached Bauer, striding up the sidewalk. Bauer was in the middle

  of laying down a paver stone, looking up at them as he set it in place.

  “Mr. Andrew Bauer?” Kate said.

  “Yeah,” he said with a grunt. “That’s me. Can I help you?”

  Kate showed her badge and ran through introductions. She noted that

  when she said “FBI,” he looked slightly alarmed.

  “Oh yeah?” he said. “Am I…in trouble or something? What’s up?”

  “We wanted to ask you a few questions about Marjorie Hix.”

  Bauer finished with the stone, wiped his hands on his shorts, and stood up.

  He looked relieved now, albeit a bit confused. “Marjorie?”

  “Yes. We’re told you knew her.”

  “Sure I did. She lives a few blocks that way,” he said, pointing behind

  them. “Or lived, I guess. Pretty terrible about what happened to her.”

  “You know anything about what happened to her?” DeMarco asked.

  “No. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police when they came by

  asking. It’s terrible that someone killed Marjorie but I don’t like the fact that

  the delusional husband assumed it was me.”

  “Did you have a friendship with Joseph Hix?” Kate asked.

  “No. He’s basically hated me ever since I moved into town. And he’s not

  the only one, really. But Joseph’s thing against me was more of a jealousy

  thing. I knew her back in college, you see. And we sort of had this unofficial

  thing.”

  “These other men not liking you,” Kate said. “Does that have anything to

  do with the affair you left behind when you left Chicago?”

  “It might. I don’t really know—don’t really care. But someone in the

  neighborhood heard about it and just because I’m single, it makes me a

  threat. It’s a little pathetic. If these men wouldn’t spend half their lives in an office, maybe they wouldn’t worry about their wives straying.”

  “Did you have an affair with Marjorie Hix after college?” Kate asked

  bluntly.

  “No. And I’d hardly call it an affair in college. We never slept together.

  Just some flirting and a few nights where things almost happened.”

  “So would you explain the day Joseph Hix came home and found you

  standing in his yard, talking to his wife?”

  “Yeah. Again, like I told the cops, I was out for a run. I was passing by

  their house and Marjorie was out in the yard, doing something with the flowerbeds—weeding, I guess, because she was struggling to get this jug of

  weed killer open. I asked if she needed some help and she gratefully

  accepted. I opened it for her and we talked about the best way to weed

  flowerbeds. We did some reminiscing about college, too. That led to her

  asking why I had moved to town, and me telling her about this job I had

  landed in Chicago. It was friendly conversation and nothing more. I just

  happened to be there, in the yard, when her husband pulled up. And ever

  since that evening, he’s made a hobby out of dragging my name through the

  mud.”

  “And did you have any conversations with her after that?” DeMarco

  asked.

  “Yeah. And some of them made me uncomfortable. It got to the point

  where I felt like she had learned my schedule. She knew when I wasn’t

  working and figured out when I went on my runs—right around four in the

  afternoon.”

  “What made you uncomfortable about the conversations?”

  “She’d start griping about how her husband was a workaholic. It was

  weird, the way she just sort of opened up to me. She didn’t even get that deep

  when we were back in college. She seemed desperate to talk to someone. I

  don’t know. If I’m being honest…yeah, I liked the attention. There was no

  real flirting but…you know…just conversations a married woman should not

  be having with a single man.”

  “And it never got physical?”

  “No.”

  “Did it get intimate in any way at all?” DeMarco asked.

  “No. In fact, there was one day where she asked if I could take down her

  number, to maybe call when I had a free afternoon. I didn’t do it, though. By

  then, I knew people had started suspecting me of being this home-wrecking

  asshole—from what I did in Chicago and from Joseph Baue
r making things

  up.”

  “And how did you hear about her murder?” Kate asked.

  “We have a neighborhood Facebook page. One of their neighbors posted

  it, warning everyone to keep their doors locked.”

  “Did you reach out to Joseph?”

  “Honestly, I thought about it. But I decided in the end that it would

  probably be a very bad idea.”

  “Do you have an alibi for the day she was murdered?”

  “I do. I was piloting a flight between Dallas and Seattle. You’re fully

  welcome to check my flight schedule.”

  Kate nodded, this last bit making her feel as if they had wasted their time

  even coming out here. “By any chance, do you know a woman by the name

  of Karen Hopkins?”

  He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.

  Does she live around here, in the neighborhood?”

  “No,” DeMarco said. “Mr. Bauer, if necessary, would you willingly allow

  us to pull up your phone records over the past year or so?”

  “Why? To prove I wasn’t sleeping with Marjorie Hix? It would be a pain

  in my ass, but yes, I’d gladly do it if it would prove that I had nothing to do

  with her—much less her murder.”

  “We may reach out to you for that,” Kate said, though she was fairly

  certain it would not come to that. If Andrew Bauer had something as solid as

  a flight itinerary to prove his whereabouts on the day Marjorie Hix was

  killed, she was quite sure he had nothing to do with it.

  They thanked him for his time and headed back for the car. She noted that

  Bauer had not returned to his work, but instead, had sat down on the front

  porch steps to rest. He watched them go and gave a small perfunctory wave

  before looking back to his handiwork.

  ***

  It was nearing four o’clock, when Kate and DeMarco returned to the

  Frankfield PD. With no suspects or leads, Kate could not help but feel

  discouraged and maybe even a little defeated as they made their way back to

  Bannerman’s office. They had not been assigned any certain room yet so

  Kate assumed Bannerman’s office would serve as their base of operations.

  Bannerman was not in his office, but the door was open. A bit awkwardly,

  they made their way inside and sat in the two chairs on the opposite side of