Madeline recognized the dislike in Toby’s eyes. As if the town didn’t have enough against her stepmother, many Stillwater residents blamed Irene for the downfall of Chief McCormick. Madeline was guessing Toby was one of them. But there was nothing Madeline could do about what had happened nine months ago, nothing anyone could do. Unlike the mystery surrounding her father, the former police chief’s affair with Irene was more than mere accusation; it was common knowledge.
“The hairs were stuck between the headrest and the seat,” Pontiff clarified.
“So?” Irene challenged.
“On the driver’s side.”
Clay had never been allowed to drive the Cadillac. Madeline had verified that in her own statement to the police.
“Maybe he took it for a joy ride once,” Irene suggested.
Pontiff’s lips barely moved when he spoke. “To the quarry, perhaps?”
“What you found doesn’t prove that.” Irene’s voice had a desperate, panicky edge that made Madeline step closer and take her hand.
“Clay might’ve been behind the wheel for reasons completely unrelated to my father’s disappearance,” she said.
“For instance…” Pontiff prodded.
Madeline quickly came up with a plausible scenario. “To move it so he could get the tractor through.”
The hair meant nothing. Like the caller today. Like all the accusations that had come before. If her stepbrother was guilty, where was the proof?
“There’s something else,” Pontiff said.
Madeline’s stomach tensed with painful anticipation. “What?”
“A small suitcase.”
“You found a suitcase? Where was it when we were at the quarry?”
“It’s more like a small satchel. It was hidden beneath the spare tire in the trunk.”
“But my father didn’t take any of his clothes.”
“It wasn’t filled with clothes. It had some rope inside.”
The anxiety grew worse. “What kind of rope?”
“Unfortunately, it’s ordinary rope that you can buy at any hardware store.”
“Is there anything unique about it? Anything that might help us figure out where it came from?”
“Not that I can see.”
Disappointment weighed heavily. “So…do you think it was used to bind my father?” Madeline hated the vision her words evoked but refused to let fear of what her father might’ve experienced stop her from asking difficult questions. “That whatever happened to him was premeditated?”
Pontiff fidgeted uncomfortably. “I don’t think the rope was used on your father,” he said. “That wasn’t the only thing in the bag.”
Madeline exchanged a wary glance with Irene. “Tell us.”
He lowered his voice, until she could scarcely make out the words. “There was also a…dildo.”
Feeling as if he’d just tied thirty-pound weights to each of her limbs, Madeline released Irene’s hand. “A what?”
Chief Pontiff had turned bright red. “A—a sex toy, you know, a dildo.”
“What would a dildo be doing in my father’s trunk?” she nearly shouted.
His blush deepened. “I have no idea. But I’m hoping we can extract some DNA from it.”
Irene’s hand clutched her chest. “After all this time?”
Madeline could tell Pontiff didn’t like Irene enough to let her put him on the spot. But since she was present, he was trying to maintain a certain level of professionalism. “The dildo itself was inside a Ziploc bag that was sealed. If it—” he cleared his throat “—if it wasn’t washed before it went into that bag, we might have a chance.”
Irene turned a shade paler. “What will that tell us?”
“Maybe there’s a victim out there somewhere, connected with another case—a case that might have witnesses or information that could help us. Chances are slim that we’ll be able to get a sample from the…object, and even slimmer that we’ll be able to tie it to someone, but we need to gather whatever we can.”
Irene shook her head. “But the connection you’re looking for could be clear across the country. Lee must’ve picked up a hitchhiker on his way home, some guy who shoved that stuff in the trunk before sinking the car.”
She’d often postulated that a drifter or hitchhiker had been involved. But no one had reported seeing any strangers the day Madeline’s father went missing. And strangers definitely stood out in a town where everyone knew everyone else and viewed the unfamiliar with a measure of distrust.
Pontiff studied his shoes. “We found something else in the suitcase, too,” he said in a resigned manner.
It couldn’t get worse…Could it?
“What?” Madeline asked as Irene echoed the same question.
He lifted his gaze, and a muscle flexed in his cheek. “Three pairs of panties. They look like they came from a girl of eleven or twelve.”
Suddenly, Madeline felt dizzy. The thought of a rope, a dildo and girls’ panties hidden together—anywhere—made her ill. No doubt they affected Chief Pontiff the same way. He had three children—all of them daughters.
“So the man who killed my father was a pedophile?” she gasped.
“That’s the way it appears.”
But how did someone like that circulate among them, going so far as to murder the town’s spiritual leader—and get away with it? Stillwater typically had little or no crime. There were only fifteen hundred residents—and not one convicted sex offender.
Collecting her splintered thoughts, Madeline touched Pontiff’s arm. “Toby.” For a moment, he wasn’t the chief of police to her. He was her friend’s husband, a boy she’d known her whole life, a caring adult like herself. “What if my father was counseling a man with…with unacceptable sexual compulsions. You know how confessions are supposed to be private, but some things have to be reported? Maybe my father was going to turn in this…this pathetic individual and was killed because of it.”
“That’s crossed my mind,” he admitted.
“If it was someone he knew well, maybe even trusted and respected, think of the resulting embarrassment.”
“Someone like that might go to great lengths to avoid discovery.”
“Exactly. So are you planning to question all the men in my father’s congregation?” This had been done before, but now they had reason to look closer.