“This morning,” he says, “Wes was arrested by the Fair Valley police.”
“Arrested? For what?” The question is automatic—it comes out before she can stop it. Because she already knows.
“Joey Fisher,” the lawyer says.
57
As soon as Wes was booked and in jail, Karen and two uniformed officers went straight to Siphon. The receptionist wasn’t happy to see them; Abigail was even less so. She was the first person Karen saw when the elevator doors opened on the third floor.
Next to Abigail: a wiry man from their legal department. He looked over the search warrant, taking so much time he must have read it twice.
“This way,” he said.
They were led straight back to the sales department, where Abigail unlocked Wes’s door. The warrant was limited to his office. Both Abigail and the wiry man stood in the corner while they searched. Every inch was inspected, from the family photo on his desk to the carpet under the furniture.
Karen didn’t search the desk herself, but she did watch an officer do it. And she told him exactly what to bag, log, and take.
His computer was fair game, though the wiry man spouted off a bunch of legalese about work product and confidentiality. He didn’t have to worry. The inner workings of Siphon, Inc., didn’t matter to Karen. Her only concern was building a case against Wes Harmon.
She will never forget the look on his face when he was arrested. Shock, confusion, hate.
And guilt.
The same look her husband gave her the first time she tried to leave him. Right before the threats came. At least Wes didn’t try that.
As soon as they finish at Siphon, Karen heads to Wes’s house. A much bigger place to search.
It’s also a mess. She already had a heads-up about it from Wes’s lawyer, who told her Ivy had been there looking for him. Karen just hopes Ivy didn’t do anything stupid, like remove evidence. She makes a mental note to see about getting a warrant for Ivy’s place, though that would be a long shot.
Karen begins with his most personal items. He has one photo album with pictures of his family but only a few of him and Ivy. By now, most of his pictures have to be in the cloud or on his personal laptop. It’s password-protected, but they take it anyway, along with his tablet.
Other than the album, there isn’t much in the way of items related to Ivy. A couple of birthday cards, one from Christmas, and some clothes that are probably hers. Ten years is a long time to be involved, yet most of their communication had to be electronic.
Soon enough, she’ll know if they can get into his phone, the one taken when he was arrested. Otherwise, the DA’s office will have to work with his provider to get copies of all his messages.
Karen didn’t know what she’d expected to find, but she thought there would be more. The house is a bit of a disappointment. Not the office, though. That search was a lot more productive.
Thanks to Bianca.
* * *
—
Wes sits in jail by himself, on top of the hard cot, with his back against the wall, feet up on the metal edge. The facility is modern—no bars or cages, just a small room with a steel-reinforced door. A thick-paned window allows guards to look inside, and the door has a narrow slot for passing food.
One good thing, if there is a good thing, is that they didn’t arrest him at work. He was stopped by a cop on his way to the office, and three more police cars showed up immediately. Karen had been in one of them.
She stepped forward and told him he was under arrest. She smiled when she said it, and reminded him of the Joker as she listed the charges against him.
Felony hit-and-run. Vehicular homicide.
Homicide.
Since being locked up, he has left the cell only once, and that was to talk with his lawyer. They sat in a room where the table and chairs were bolted to the floor and a guard stood outside. Wes had to keep his handcuffs on.
Bryce didn’t seem surprised. At least one of them wasn’t.
“Are you doing okay?” Bryce asked.
“Are you joking?”
“I mean, no one is mistreating you?”
Not in the way Bryce meant, no.
He was an older man with thick white hair and a beard. Santa Claus in a nice suit. Bryce had also been around this area a long time, which was one of the reasons Wes hired him. He knew everyone.
Bryce explained what would happen next: the arraignment, where the judge would set bail. Wes could enter a plea, and he would. Not guilty.
“I believe the judge will grant bail in this case. It doesn’t always happen for a charge like yours, but this time the chances are good,” Bryce said. “You don’t have a record, and this happened seven years ago. There is no reason to think you would flee.”
Wes had to explain that he did have a suitcase in his car when they pulled him over. “My girlfriend and I were going to Vegas.”
“You were leaving town?”
“Just for the weekend. We were going to get married.”
Bryce raised his fluffy white eyebrows. For the first time, Wes saw that his eyes were brown.
“You can check the tickets, the reservations,” Wes said. “We were coming back Sunday night. I was supposed to meet her at the airport today, but I got arrested.”
Bryce doesn’t say anything.
“That’s bad?” Wes said. “I guess that’s bad.”
“It might make your bail higher.”
Perfect.
Wes didn’t want his parents called, and they couldn’t help anyway—not with money. Same with his sister. He definitely didn’t want Bryce calling her.
Wes does have a retirement account, though there isn’t a lot of money in it. He also has his house. He could use it as collateral if necessary, and if Bryce could arrange it. Papers would have to be drawn up and signed, giving Bryce permission to secure the bond.
“Let’s wait and see what the amount is,” Bryce said.
Now Wes is alone again, waiting for his arraignment. He tries to think about that and only that, but his brain doesn’t cooperate. It keeps bringing him back to the same thought, the one he’s had since being arrested:
Karen got it all wrong.
58
That night could have gone so many other ways.
Wes had been at home, watching a baseball game. It was a normal Thursday evening right up until Ivy walked into the living room, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair had been curled, and she was wearing a lot of makeup. Too much.
“Where are you—”
“I start work tonight,” she said. “So I’ll be home late.”
“You’re taking the car?”
“I’ll take a cab, in case you need it. I’ll make more than enough to cover the fare.”
Wes laughed. She was carrying this whole strip-club thing way too far.
He figured she would give up this little act of hers and be home by eleven. When the baseball game ended, he opened another beer and took out his laptop to do a little work. Wes had just started at Siphon a few weeks earlier, and he had a lot of onboarding documents to fill out and research materials to learn.
Eleven o’clock came and went.
Close to midnight, he started to wonder if he was wrong.
Only one way to find out. Wes grabbed his keys and drove down to the Fine Line. He still didn’t believe she was working there or that she would ever work at a strip club. She was probably out with her friends. But he felt a need to check.