talked to him at about seven this morning, before he left for his morning run. He said not only did he plan on being home today, but probably pretty early—maybe around four or so.”
“I assume you started trying to call or text him at a certain point when you realized it was getting late?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, but not until seven or so. When those guys get deep into their jobs, time sort of goes out the window.”
“Mrs. Tucker, the FBI was called in on your husband’s murder because the situation reflects the details and circumstances of a case from eight years ago. The victim was another man who lived here in Ashton, also killed in New York,” Kate explained. “There is no hard evidence to support it, but it’s close enough to have alarmed the bureau. So it is very important that you try to think about any people that your husband might have made enemies with.”
Kate could tell that Missy was once again fighting with tears. She gulped down the need to let out the grief, trying to get through it.
“I can’t think of anyone. I’m not just saying it because I love the man, but he was extremely kind. Outside of a few little arguments at work, I don’t think he ever had a heated argument his entire life.”
“What about any close friends?” Kate asked. “Are there any friends, men in particular, that he hung around with who might have seen another side of him?”
“Well, he was a little silly with this group of friends out at the yacht club, but I don’t think they’d describe him as anything negative.”
“Do you have the names of some of these friends that we could talk to?” DeMarco asked.
“Yes. He had this core group…him and three other guys. They get together at the yacht club or hang out at the cigar bar and watch sports. Football, mostly.”
“Do you happen to know if any of them have people they might consider enemies?” DeMarco asked. “Even jealous ex-wives or estranged family members?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know them that well and—”
The sound of uncontrollable sobbing from downstairs interrupted her. Missy looked in the direction of the bedroom door with a frown that made Kate’s heart ache.
“That’s Dylan, our middle child. He and his father were…”
She stopped here, her lip quivering as she tried to keep herself together.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Tucker,” DeMarco said. “Go to your kids. We’ve got enough to get started.”
Missy got up quickly and sprinted for the door, already starting to cry. DeMarco followed behind her slowly, casting an angry look back at Kate. Kate stood in the bedroom a moment longer, getting a grip on her own emotions. No, this part of the job never got truly easier. And the fact that they had gotten very little information from the visit made it even worse.
She finally headed back out into the hallway, understanding why DeMarco was mad at her. Hell, she was a little angry with herself.
Kate walked back downstairs and head out the door. She saw that DeMarco was already getting into the car, wiping tears from her eyes. Kate closed the door softly behind her, the grief and weeping of the Tucker family pushing her along like an usher that led her deeper and deeper into a case that already seemed lost.
CHAPTER FOUR
By nine o’clock the following morning, news of Jack Tucker’s murder had started making the rounds around Ashton. It was the main reason why it was so easy for Kate and DeMarco to get in touch with Jack’s friends—the names and numbers of which Missy had given them last night. Not only had his friends already heard the news, they had started to come up with plans on how to help Missy and the kids as they dealt with their loss.
After a few quick phone calls, Kate and DeMarco had set up a meeting with three of Jack’s friends at the yacht club. It was a Saturday, so the lot was already starting to fill up, even at nine in the morning. The club was located right along the Long Island Sound and had what Kate thought was probably the best view of the sound without all of the pretentious boat traffic getting in the way.
The club itself was a two-story building that looked nearly Colonial in style, with a modern twist, particularly to the exterior and landscaping. Kate was greeted by a man who was already standing at the doors. He was dressed in a simple button-down shirt and a pair of khakis—probably what passed for weekend casual for someone who belonged to a yacht club like this one.
“You Agent Wise?” the man asked.
“I am. And this is my partner, Agent DeMarco.”
DeMarco only nodded, her anger and bitterness from the previous night still very much present. When they had parted ways at the hotel last night, DeMarco hadn’t said so much as a single word. She had managed a simple “good morning” over their quick breakfast but that had been it so far.
“I’m James Cortez,” the man said. “I spoke with you on the phone earlier this morning. The other guys are out on the veranda, ready and waiting with coffee.”
He led them through the club, its high ceilings and warm environment utterly charming. Kate wondered how much it cost to be a member here for a year. Out of her price range for sure. When they stepped out onto the veranda that overlooked the Long Island Sound, she became certain of this. It was beautiful, looking directly out onto the water with the tall shapes and haze of the city on the other side.
There were two other men sitting at a small wooden table that held a large plate of pastries and bagels as well as a carafe of coffee. Both men looked up at the agents and got to their feet to greet them. One of the men looked rather young, certainly no older than thirty, while James Cortez and the other man were easily in their mid-forties.
“Duncan Ertz,” the younger man said, extending his hand.
Kate and DeMarco both shook the men’s hands as they went through a quick round of introductions. The older man was Paul Wickers, freshly retired from his job as a stockbroker and more than willing to talk about it, as it was the second thing that came out of his mouth.
Kate and DeMarco took a seat at the table. Kate took one of the empty coffee cups and filled it, doctoring it up with the sugar and cream that sat by the plate of breakfast pastries.
“It hurts to think about poor Missy and those kids this morning,” Duncan said, biting into a Danish.
Kate recalled the trauma of last night and felt that she needed to check in on the poor woman. She looked across the table at DeMarco and wondered if she needed to check in on her, too. Removed from the situation, Kate was starting to understand that perhaps DeMarco had taken it so hard because of something in her past—something she had still not gotten over yet.
“Well,” Kate said, “Missy specifically mentioned you gentlemen as those closest to Jack outside of his family. I was hoping to get some insights into the sort of man he was outside of his home and work.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” James Cortez said. “From what I know, Jack was the same man no matter where he was. A straight shooter. A kind soul that always wanted to help others. If he had any flaws, I’d say it was that he was a little too involved with his work.”
“He was always good for a joke,” Duncan said. “They weren’t funny most of the time, but he loved to tell them.”
