“Well, I appreciate that, Dr. Wyman. Do you know who donated the sperm?”
“No, I do not. Sara provided it. I told the police that, too.”
“Then how do you know it wasn’t me?”
“About six weeks after she became pregnant through insemination, Sara told me that the sperm donor had died. You obviously are very much alive.”
“Was it Detectives Shoemaker and Ekman who talked to you?”
“Yes. And they seemed very disappointed to know that you were not the father.”
“I’m sure they were. Did Sara have anyone with her when she consulted you, or when she had the insemination done?”
“No. But I got the sense that she was not going through this alone. That there was someone who was partnering with her in this process.”
Devine thought of Jennifer Stamos, and then Brad Cowl. Cowl said he hadn’t had sex with Ewes. But with artificial insemination, he wouldn’t have had to. “She didn’t mention any names?”
“She didn’t, but from the little she volunteered, I had the impression that she was going to take time off to be with the child.” He paused. “Was there someone like that in her life that you knew of?”
“Possibly,” said Devine vaguely, and he meant to be very vague.
“Do you know how far along Sara was when she terminated her pregnancy?” asked Wyman.
“I was told about eight weeks. So, shortly after she told you the sperm donor had passed away.”
“She seemed so excited about being a mother. I wonder what changed her mind?”
So do I, thought Devine.
CHAPTER
60
DEVINE HEARD TAPSHAW’S CAR PULL into the one-car garage. Shortly thereafter he heard her come up the stairs. He listened to her open and close her bedroom door a few moments later. He sat on his bed and thought about things. The problem was there were too many things to think about.
Later, he heard the front door open and the sound of footsteps came up the stairs. He could tell by the footfalls that it was Speers. Her door closed as well. Then he heard her bedsprings squeak.
He looked at his watch. Six thirty. Speers would not expect him to be home. He walked over to the wall separating their bedrooms and put his ear to it. He heard clicking. She was on her laptop. He stood there, hoping that she might make a call and he could attempt to listen, but that didn’t happen. The clicking stopped. A minute or so passed and her door opened and she passed down the hall. He opened his door a crack to see her at the top of the stairs dressed in her yoga clothes. She went down the steps.
He slipped out and quietly moved over to her door. He tried the knob. It turned. She had forgotten to lock it or thought there was no need. He slowly opened it and glanced back at the stairs. Normally Speers would take a good forty-five minutes for her yoga routine.
He stood in the doorway, looking around. The clothes she had obviously been wearing were lying on the floor. He glanced at the bed and thought for a moment of that sex-charged night and then pushed that right out of his head. This woman he’d thought was a friend was a potential enemy. He eased into the room and closed the door softly behind him. He could also hear clicking coming from Tapshaw’s room; she was obviously humming away on her monster screens.
He did a quick search of the desk drawers and eyed the pile of law books that were stacked exactly as before. He opened the one on top and riffled through the pages: no marginalia, no highlighting; they were clearly for show. He went through the closet and bureau drawers and found nothing helpful. Her laptop and phone were time-locked and biometric protected, and thus inaccessible. Her purse was there and he took out her wallet. All the cards and driver’s license said “Helen Speers,” and the picture on the license was her. He put the wallet back and looked under the bed. A suitcase was there with no name tag. It was empty. He lifted the mattress and saw it underneath. A Glock 17 in black matte finish with pebbled grips and a Big Dot tritium night sight.
He put the mattress back in place and left.
As he was closing the door to leave, a voice said, “What are you doing, Travis?”
He turned to see Tapshaw in the doorway of her room holding a large coffee cup with Hummingbird’s logo.
He said, “I was looking for Helen. I thought she was in her room. I had given her a book to read that I needed back. But I couldn’t find it.”
“Oh. I think she’s downstairs doing her yoga.”
“Thanks, I didn’t hear her.”
“Why are you home so early? Did you get fired?” she added playfully.