“Were you interviewed at the time of my wife’s disappearance?”
“Yes, all the students were. I told the investigator what I told you. I’m really sorry, Sheriff Noble, I mean, she was your wife. You’ve got kids, right?”
“Right. Now, Mr. Caldicott, I understand you have a sister. She’s what, four years older than you?”
“Oh yeah, Char—” His voice dropped off a cliff. He swallowed and looked ready to bolt.
Ruth pinned him with her voice. “Of course you knew that Christie Noble and your sister, Charlotte, looked practically like twins.”
“No, well, maybe. They’re close in looks, but I never really paid all that much attention. You see, I really never saw that much of Charlotte while I was growing up. We weren’t together, hardly ever. I do remember she used to call me a geek when I saw her. Your wife was always very sweet to me, Sheriff Noble. Charlotte’s nice to me now.”
Neither Dix nor Ruth said anything.
“Yeah, okay, maybe they do look a lot alike, well, maybe a whole lot alike.”
“At the time of my wife’s disappearance, Mr. Caldicott, you never mentioned this to anyone. Why?”
“Why should I? She’s my sister. She wasn’t anywhere around at that time.” He paused and looked to be concentrating hard. “It’s really hard to remember now, Sheriff, how close in looks they were.”
Dix pulled a five-by-seven color photo out of his pocket. “Is this your sister, Mr. Caldicott?”
“Well, sure, that’s Charlotte.”
“Actually, it’s my wife, Christie Noble.”
David Caldicott began shaking his head back and forth. “Man, no, that’s not possible. I swear I never realized—” He gulped, stilled, and Dix could see that he was scared now, and for good reason. What was it?
“Mr. Caldicott, when exactly did your sister marry Mr. Thomas Pallack?”
David Caldicott’s head jerked up. “What? Mr. Pallack? You want to know about that old dude?”
“Yes,” Ruth said. “When did they marry?”
“About three years ago.”
“The date, Mr. Caldicott.”
“I don’t remember—well, let me see.” He jumped to his feet, nearly ran to the fireplace and pulled down a photo album from atop the mantel.
“Here, Charlotte sent this to me.” He flipped it open. “They were married on August third, yes, almost three years ago.”
Ruth held out her hand, took the photo album from David Caldicott. She thumbed through it. There were only six photos in it. She paused. So this was Charlotte Pallack, Christie’s twin, this vibrant beautiful woman standing next to a man twice her age. He was beautifully dressed, but even his Savile Row suit couldn’t hide the belly growing there. Still, he looked fit, his color good, his once-black hair receding, and laced with white. No jowls, no bags beneath his eyes—good cosmetic surgery. She thought he looked smart and ruthless, like he could snap his fingers and make a small nation crumble. She said, “Mr. Caldicott, how did your sister meet Mr. Pallack?”
“How should I know, Agent Warnecki? I mean—” Dix was looking at him as if he was ready to tear his heart out. He swallowed, retrenched. “My sister has this thing for older guys. Well, not specifically older, but they had to be rich, really rich so she could have anything she wanted. She hated poverty— we were raised in foster homes after our mom died. I was lucky, but Charlotte wasn’t, she couldn’t fit, I guess, always wanted to get out. Mr. Pallack is very rich, he’s powerful, and he adores her. So I guess it’s all good with her now.” He shrugged, tried a smile. “Old, young—hey, I like Whitney and she looks like jailbait. She still gets carded, and she’s over thirty. Now that makes me laugh.”
“You were telling us how your sister met Mr. Pallack.”
“I’m sorry. I really don’t know, just that they got married shortly after they met. That’s what Charlotte told me. Love at first sight, she said.”
“Did your sister ever visit you at Stanislaus, Mr. Caldicott?”
“No, Agent Warnecki, I don’t think she ever did.” He jumped to his feet, waved his hands around a bit. Ruth looked at those hands, the beautiful long thin fingers, the short buffed nails. She wanted to hear him play the violin.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Caldicott?” Dix said as he too rose. “Nothing, really. I have to go grovel, tell Whitney I’ll barbecue the steaks tonight.” He looked desperate. “She won’t let me touch her until she forgives me, that’s what she does when she’s really pissed at me.” He moaned.