“Some friends gave it to me.”
His words had seemed so final, that she didn’t press the point. Later she learned that Cary had made seven trips to a village in Mexico to help build homes for children who’d taken up residence in a city dump outside of Tijuana. The plate was a gift from Hands Across the Border, a nonprofit group recognizing Americans who do more to help others than merely writing a check. Cary’s brashness and bravado were counterpoints to the real man, the one she’d wanted to know.
Of course, she’d been wrong.
As another light dusting of snow fell on the streets of Cherrystone, Emily looked at the clock with the stuttering second hand that had been hung on the wall by Sheriff Kiplinger. The clock had been given to him by the Cherrystone Jaycees and Emily thought that it would stay put until the thing died. It was inscribed with: “There’s Always Time for Justice in Cherrystone.” It was so corny—and so true—that Emily had grown to love it as much as her beloved boss.
It was five minutes before the news. Emily turned on her old office TV and called over to Jason Howard, who had just come in from his routine run-through with the next shift of officers who’d be taking over the mundane traffic and minor theft cases until the graveyard shift. “Let’s see what Crawford’s lawyer has to say,” she said. “He’s on the news.” She purposely did not use Cary’s name.
“Should I bring some popcorn from the break room?” Jason said. His smile was a little sheepish. He already knew the answer.
Emily made a face. “Only if you want me to barf it up all over my desk.”
“No, thanks.” Jason parked himself on the corner of the desk. “We can definitely do without that.”
As the picture came on, Emily was glad it was only the Spokane affiliate. She knew Cary well enough to know that he’d gunned for the national media, or the Seattle TV stations at the very least, when he was looking to capture the attention of news producers. It must have been a blow to his oversized ego that all he could lure to his office for an interview was the lowest-rated affiliate from Spokane. When the news anchor led with a house fire in rural Spokane County, Emily caught herself smiling.
“Good, he didn’t even make the top story,” she said.
As the anchor breathlessly recounted the turn of events that involved a dog knocking over a candle to ignite a Spokane Valley mobile home, the crawl on the bottom of the screen teased the interview: NEXT, CHERRYSTONE LAWYER SAYS HIS CLIENT IS UNFAIR TARGET OF INVESTIGATION.
A commercial for an apartment complex offering a “move-in” bonus and a “holiday ham” was next. Another was from a florist.
Finally, the anchor, a sunny brunette who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, was back on the air announcing the story.
“And now, an exclusive interview by Anne Yakamoto with the lawyer representing the Cherrystone car dealer now under suspicion in his wife’s disappearance.”
An Asian woman with blond hair gripped the microphone like she was about to warble on a TV singing show, her fingertips doing all the work. She stood in front of Crawford’s dealership and did the news reporter bobblehead nod as she was introduced. Her hands must have been frozen, Emily thought, but apparently Anne Yakamoto wanted to show off her slender fingers and perfect nails—admittedly, her best feature.
“I’m standing here in front of the world-famous Crawford’s car dealership in downtown Cherrystone….”
Emily winced at the first sentence. World-famous? She wondered if Mitch Crawford had been the copywriter for the opener. It would be like him to insist upon that kind of a promo line to secure the interview. She rolled her eyes at Jason and he returned the gesture.
“…and as Christmas comes, this whole town is wondering where one of their own has vanished. Mandy Crawford has been missing since just after Thanksgiving. Police have investigated, but have come up empty-handed. No one wonders where Mandy has gone more than her husband, the owner of this hugely successful dealership. He’s been putting up posters and working the phone lines of the volunteers who are searching for his missing wife. I sat down with Mitch Crawford’s defense lawyer this afternoon.”
The video cut to a shot of Cary on the telephone. He looked serious as he made some notes on a legal pad.
Emily doubted Cary had made notes on anything or even that he talked to clients on the phone. He always said he had “associates” to do the jobs he didn’t like. The only thing he liked to do, apparently, was grandstand in the courtroom.
Or, apparently on subzero-rated TV.
Next, Anne Yakamoto faced the camera. “Mr. McConnell, you’re pretty upset about what’s been happening to your client.”
Cary, in a crisp white shirt, charcoal jacket, and a Tiffany blue silk tie, unfolded his arms. “You bet I am, Anne. Mitch Crawford has suffered an unbelievable tragedy here.”
“Unbelievable is right,” Jason said, his eyes fixed to the TV.
“…His wife, the mother of his child-to-be, just flat-out disappeared. Immediately the sheriff put the focus on Mitch, when she should have been looking for Mandy. We don’t even know what happened to her, but we do know that Mitch didn’t have a thing to do with her disappearance.”
The camera went back to the reporter. “Why do you think the sheriff focused on your client?”
“Lazy. Inexperience. I don’t know. It probably was convenience.”
Emily felt her blood boil, but she said nothing.
“…There isn’t one shred of evidence that ties my client to anything here. He was looking forward to the holidays with his wife and the birth of their first child. Turning him into a suspect is outrageously cruel. Leave him alone. Find Mandy. Do your job, for crying out loud.”
There was a quick cut-over to an image of Mitch Crawford, shoveling the snowy sidewalk in front of his fabulous house. Emily doubted he’d ever done that before. He struck her as the type who’d made sure that he kept plenty of “the little people” around to do that sort of thing. Bossing people around made him happy.
Anne Yakamoto turned her head slightly when the news anchor asked if she’d talked with Mitch Crawford. “Mitch talked to me briefly off-camera. He’s still wrapping Christmas presents for his wife and expected new baby. He says he just wants them to come home safely.”
Jason looked over at Emily. She sat stone-faced. Even the reporter had bought into his charm; she’d referred to him by his first name.
A photograph of Mandy went up on the screen. It was fairly recent. She smiled broadly, holding up a baby quilt. There was no mistaking the joy the young woman had for her impending motherhood. If the photo was meant to tug at the heart, it succeeded.
“If you see this woman, please contact Mr. McConnell at his law offices in Cherrystone.”
Another news story came on and Emily turned off the TV.
“That was probably the most insulting bit of news reporting, if you can call it that, I’ve ever witnessed—and, believe me, I’ve seen more than my share,” Emily said.
“Yeah, looks
