“We found your wife’s handbag,” she continued. “With her wallet and driver’s licence inside. We also found her shoes and a phone. They were all a short distance away from the car, burned and buried.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak.
Breath gone.
All of Evie’s personal things?
Burned? Buried?
Detective Devoe waited for a response, but when one didn’t come, she handed me a couple of large photographs. “These were taken at the site.”
I stared down at the pictures. One of disturbed ground, only a shoe heel showing. The next photo of a half-burned phone.
“What about Evie?” My voice broke hoarsely as I glanced up at the detective and sergeant.
“Are you worried we found Evie there, too?” said Devoe softly. Too softly.
“You didn’t, right? You didn’t find her?” I was begging. As though, if her body was lying there, they could rewind time and make it not true.
“Our unit is still searching the area,” Sergeant Moss told me. “If she’s there, we’ll find her. We’ve also hauled the car away for forensic testing.”
I stared from her to Devoe. They hadn’t found her. “Someone could have stolen her car, with her things in it. Sometimes she used to leave her handbag in the car by accident. Too busy running around after the girls.” I was telling the story I wanted to believe.
Devoe gave a nod. “Yes, that’s entirely possible. Although people don’t normally go about without their shoes.”
A slow panic stirred inside me. But I refused to believe Evie could be dead. Despite everything, I still loved her. I couldn’t just switch that off. Why did the police sound so damned negative, like Evie’s death—murder—was a forgone conclusion?
Devoe leaned forward in her chair, eyes intent on me. “We’re shifting this to a missing-person investigation, with a suspicion of foul play.” She paused. “Sergeant Moss and I went to see a neighbour of yours the day before yesterday. Marla.”
“Marla told me.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. Just this afternoon. At the daycare centre when I was picking up my daughter.”
“Okay. Well, she seemed very concerned about Evie. She said that you both discussed the possibility of Evie committing suicide. Is that right?”
I inhaled slowly, remembering having that terrible thought. “Yes.”
“And that was on Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t contact the police at that point?”
“No. I just . . . I ended up thinking she wouldn’t do that. I mean, her note said she was coming back in a week.”
“That’s an unusual note, Mr Harlow. We normally find that when spouses leave the family home, they don’t give a return date.”
“Well, she did.”
“Marla was also concerned that Evie had been upset of late. She said Evie told her that you’d both been arguing.”
“There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, what has any of that got to do with Evie’s car being stolen and Evie nowhere in sight?”
“We’re just trying to determine the circumstances under which she left, to help us better understand. It might be important. It might not.” She stood. “Well, we’ll be in contact when we find out more.”
Panic was a cold ball sitting low in my stomach. Evie could be in danger. I needed them to find her now. If they couldn’t, I needed to. Standing, I half turned to go then looked back. “Wait. There’s something else.”
Detective Devoe’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes?” She gestured me back to the chair.
I didn’t take the seat she offered. “The reason I didn’t contact the police is because I found out why Evie left me.”
“Please, go on,” she said quickly, dropping all pretence of that slow, measured tone she’d used earlier.
“The day that I figured out that Evie left the girls with Marla, I had the stupid thought that Evie might be cheating on me. And so I checked her computer. I found out that she’d been . . . working as an escort.” Those words were still hard to say out loud.
“An escort?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I’m guessing that shocked you?”
“It shocked me a lot. It’s not the only thing. She’d been gambling, too.”
“Does your wife normally—？”