CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Matt Evans’s office didn’t look toward the mountains. Loren was surprised by that, because that seemed like the only thing people in this neck of the woods wanted: open concept homes, stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, and a view of the Rockies. Instead, Evans’s office looked toward downtown—he could see the ugly white façade of Republic Plaza from the windows, and the odd curving outline of the Wells Fargo Center. Not a great view, but interesting enough.

“That’s Writer Square,” Jill said. This woman worked as Evans’s assistant, and had been more than happy to show Loren around since Evans was still out of the office. She’d let Loren into the office but wouldn’t leave him alone, and now came up to the big window and gestured at the plaza seven stories below them. There was a lot of action going on down there—little boutiques with racks of clothes pushed into the sunshine to lure in customers, and a coffee shop with bistro tables set up on the cobblestones outside, shaded with big striped umbrellas. “It’s pretty this time of year with all the flowers blooming.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Loren said, turning away from the view and looking over Evans’s desk. It was the biggest one he’d ever seen—it had cost over thirty thousand dollars, Jill had told him in an awed half whisper. Handcrafted by an artisan in Santa Fe. Please don’t touch it. “This thing is big enough, you could have an orgy on top and still have room for chips and dip. Not exactly the most sanitary setup, but useful.”

“Pardon?” Jill said, frowning. He knew she’d heard him right but was just too polite to let on otherwise.

“Never mind,” he said. “Could I ask you a few questions about your boss?”

“Sure,” Jill said, smiling brightly. “Anything I can do to help. I know this is a tough time for him.”

“I’m sure it is,” Loren said, dropping down in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. If he’d sat behind the desk instead, he thought Jill here might throw a fit. “I know Mr.—ah, Mr. E would appreciate you helping me out.”

Jill nodded and sat down in the chair beside him, her back straight and her knees pressed primly together. Eager-beaver Jill: there was one like her in every office. Jill, who had huge tits but still wasn’t sexy, because you could tell by the way she moved that she treated them like a hassle because they were sure to catch spills and lint and everything else, like they had their own gravitational pull. It was impossible to tell her exact age—she was somewhere between twenty-five and forty, but where exactly did she fall on that scale? You couldn’t know. Jill, who’d be sure to bring her boss a slice of cake on a paper plate when someone in the office had a birthday; Jill, who’d start dating a man and then be left in tears when he ghosted her. Sure, Loren had known plenty of women like Jill, who were all smart and hardworking and great assistants, and they were always so damn eager, but they were also easy to overlook. They were background noise. Static. Always there, but you wouldn’t notice them until you needed them. Or needed to get rid of them. Loren had known Evans wasn’t here, that he was at home away from prying eyes, but Loren had come anyway, because there was always someone in the office who knew more than anyone thought, who brought coffee and carried away secrets. And that person, Loren thought, might just be the woman sitting beside him, chewing nervously on a hank of her hair.

“Okay,” Jill said, nodding so hard her hair bounced around her shoulders. She looked like a kid ready to start a test and hoping they had all the right answers. “Fire away.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Three years.”

“And you like it?”

“Definitely,” Jill said.

“Your boss is a good guy?”

“Yes. He’s the best.”

“And you know his wife?”

“Not very well,” Jill said, her tone turning stiff and awkward. Ah, Marie was a sensitive subject with this one. She stood up and went back to the window, looked down over the view again. “I was horrified when I heard what happened. I’m sure he’s devastated. I had a fruit basket couriered to him from the office with a card we all signed. We feel terrible about it.”

“Did Mrs. Evans stop by the office a lot?”

“Uh, sometimes. She was just here last week. Stopped in while Mr. E was out at lunch to pick up his golf clubs. She wanted to get them engraved for his birthday next month.” Jill pursed her lips. “She asked where he was, but Mr. E wasn’t picking up his cell phone and I didn’t know where he had gone or when he’d be back, and she wasn’t very happy about it.”

“What did she do?”

“She was upset. Came in here without me—Mr. E doesn’t like anyone in here alone because there’s sensitive paperwork and financial documents, but she insisted. Said she was going to make a few calls, and then she left. Didn’t even say good-bye.”

“Do you know where he was?”

Jill licked her lips.

“Like I said, I had no idea,” she said.

She tugged her collar again. Most people aren’t good liars; they give themselves away. Little things, usually. Gritting their teeth or looking away or touching their noses—signs of a liar.

Jill was lying.

“Your boss-man, is he porking anyone in the office?” Loren asked, a grin slowly blooming on his face.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, you heard me, Jilly. Is there some hot little piece of ass in the mailroom that might be riding his baloney pony during lunch hours?”

“Oh my,” Jill said, sitting back suddenly, practically wilting into the arms of the chair. The color had drained from her face.

“Don’t have a fainting spell, Jill!” Loren said. “I didn’t bring my smelling salts today. It’s a simple question. Is your boss having an affair with someone in the office?”

She stared, gap-mouthed. Loren barely noticed, it’d happened so frequently before. The shock of having a cop—a detective, no less—speak like that was always a kick in the teeth.

“Well, Jill? Was he getting himself some strange? Was Mr. E dipping his wick in some other inkpot?”

“I—I don’t think so,” Jill stammered.

“Then where was he when his wife came looking for him? I think you know, Jill. Did you book him some fleabag room down on Colfax so he could spend his lunch hour bending a lady over the side of the bed?”

There were tears standing in her eyes, and one blink sent them rolling down her cheeks.

“Why’re you crying?” Loren asked. “What’s making you so upset?”

“I don’t know,” she said, turning to look at the ceiling and gently patting the delicate skin under her eyes. “I’ve never had to talk to the police before, and I guess I didn’t expect you to be so—so crude.”

Loren laughed. He’d been called plenty of things before, but he didn’t think crude was ever one of them.

“Well, since this is your first time, let me give you some tips. When a cop asks you a question, you don’t just sit there and boo-hoo. The proper response is to answer the damn question.”

She was weeping now. Loren sighed. Time to change tactics. Sympathy came in handy during these times.

“Jill, I know you care about your boss. Maybe you even love him. No judgment, it happens. But I’m the police, and I’m asking you a question. Has your boss been having an affair?”

He let her cry for a moment, then grabbed the box of tissues off the desk and thrust it into her hands. She dabbed at her eyes, then noisily blew her nose.

“I don’t want to get Mr. E into any trouble,” she said.

“Oh, he doesn’t need your help with that. Between you and me, Jilly, Mr. E is doing well enough getting himself into a whole heap of trouble.”

“What did he do?”

“You’re forgetting how this works, aren’t you? You’re not supposed to be asking the questions here, I am. Now, I’m only going to ask one more time before I start to get pissed, and I promise I am not pleasant to be around when I’m pissed. Was Matt Evans romantically or physically involved with a woman who works in this office?”

“Okay,” she said, her lower lip trembling as she watched him warily. “I don’t know for sure, but I’ve heard a rumor that Mr. Evans has been friendly with a girl down in real estate.”

“A rumor? You see this man every damn day and that’s all you got? Can’t do any better than a rumor?”

“All right!” she cried. “He’s been meeting up with a woman during his lunch hour. Sometimes after work. And they’ve spent a lot of time alone in here with the door locked even though she doesn’t directly report to him.”

“What’s her name?”

She gave him a sour look.

“Riley Tipton.”

“See, was it really that hard to just open up and tell the police the truth?” Loren asked. “Do you know if this Riley Tipton is here today?”

“She’s on vacation,” Jill said. “She left last week for a trip to South America.”

“When will she be back?”

“Not for another week at least. September twelfth at the earliest.”

“How convenient,” Loren muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Did you book the trip?” Loren asked, winking. “That’s how you know all this? Mr. E is footing the bill for his lady love’s time abroad?”

Jill wouldn’t look up from the tissue crumpled in her hands.

“Yes. If Mr. E is traveling, I do all the legwork for him. Booking flights and hotels, renting cars. All of it.”

“All right,” he said easily. “Now, I just have one more question. If you’re the one booking all these trips for your boss, you probably planned this one out to Estes Park, too?”

“No,” Jill said. “All he asked me to do was request some literature about the area for him, but I didn’t actually plan any of it.”

“Do you happen to have any of those things lying around? I’d love to take a look if you do.”

“Give me a second, let me see.” She stood and leaned over the desk, grabbed a tissue, and noisily blew her nose, glaring at Loren as she did. Then she opened one of the drawers. Slid the first one shut and opened another. “Yes, it’s right here. It’s stuff about the town and things to do. Restaurants and shops, that kind of thing. And there’s a map of the national park.”

Loren smiled and took the thin sheaf of papers she held out, shuffled through them. Flipped open the map.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been a big—”

He paused. His heart had taken a small skip and was now thundering away in his chest, loud enough that he was sure this woman could clearly hear it.

“Detective?” Jill said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fucking dandy,” he said, pushing past Jill and out of the office, past the cubicles fluttering with activity and the front reception desk and into an elevator. The whole place smelled like fresh-baked bread—Jill had explained that the corporate kitchens were upstairs and they’d been testing a new recipe that morning, one that’d hopefully end up being rolled out to serve in the restaurants. When he was alone in the elevator, heading back down to the ground floor, he pushed a button and waited until the movement shuddered to a stop, then kneeled and opened up the map again. It was a map of Rocky Mountain National Park, just like Jill had said. All the landmarks and trails and lakes and restrooms and campgrounds had been drawn out so curious tourists could plan their days, but someone had put an extra mark on this map. It was an X, written in red, and the pen had pushed down so hard on the paper it’d nearly ripped through to the other side. And that X had been put right where Marie Evans had fallen to her death.

X marks the spot.