CHAPTER TEN

Chase Fisher lowered his gaze and slumped in his chair. Riley remained quiet, and so did Bill and Jenn. She sensed her colleagues’ anticipation at whatever was about to be said.

Finally, Fisher said in a nearly inaudible voice …

“Reese was having an affair.”

Riley let his words hang in the air for a moment.

Then she said, “Did you mention this to the detectives who talked to you this morning?”

“No,” Fisher said.

Jenn broke her silence sharply. “Why the hell not? Didn’t it occur to you it might be important?”

Riley stifled a sigh. Jenn was regressing to her old bull-in-the-china-shop style. Riley darted her a look that told her to keep quiet.

Then Riley asked Fisher, “Who was she having an affair with?”

Fisher shook his head sadly.

“Somebody in Chicago,” he said.

“You don’t know who?” Riley said.

“No.”

“She wouldn’t tell you?”

Fisher heaved a long sigh.

“We never talked about it. I’m not sure she even knew that I knew. But I did know. First it was just a feeling. But then I did some … well, snooping. I’d call the hotel in Chicago where she was supposed to be staying, and she wasn’t registered there. I’d call her mother’s rest home too, and the staff would say she hadn’t been there—at least not when she’d said she’d been.”

As the room fell quiet again, Riley’s mind clicked away, trying to process what she was hearing.

Finally Fisher said, “I know—I should have told the detectives this morning. I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s just that …”

His words faded away. Riley sensed that he was grappling with a tangle of thoughts and feelings.

Then he said, “This sounds weird, but I feel like it was all my fault. Her affair, I mean. It wasn’t that I … well, I loved her, and I treated her well, and I don’t think I was a bad lover. We were married for twelve years, and I did everything … everything right, I thought. Everything a good husband is supposed to do. I built up a good practice, earned good money, tried to give her everything she wanted.”

“What about children?” Riley asked.

Fisher shook his head again.

“We just kept putting it off. It never seemed like the right time somehow. Neither of us could say exactly why. Maybe we had doubts about ourselves, whether we’d be good parents. And as the years passed by, it just seemed to get less likely that it ever would be the right time.”

Fisher let out a sad, bitter chuckle.

He said, “Did you know that that Barnwell, Illinois, has been ranked the third most boring town to live in, in the whole Unites States? Except for golf. It’s not a bad town for golf. Even the bowling is considered lousy. Reese and I both grew up here. I don’t guess it occurred to either of us to go anyplace else until we were way too settled—until it was too late.”

He shrugged slightly.

“Small wonder she was bored—not just with the town, but with me. She loved literature and the arts. I wish I did too, but I don’t, and I’ve never been able to fake it. And Barnwell is dead to the world as far as that kind of thing is concerned. She did everything she could to liven up this town, like start a choral group, put on plays, organize reading clubs. But nothing took hold. She tried not to act like it, but she was miserable.”

He squinted pensively.

“I guess I hoped that whoever she was seeing … could really help fill what was missing from her life. Sometimes I try to imagine what he must be like. Rich, maybe—or at least comfortably well off, with all the taste and culture that I just don’t have. Somebody who could take her to art galleries, plays, symphonies, the opera. I hoped he could do everything that I couldn’t do.”

Riley asked slowly, “Were you ever unfaithful?”

Fisher shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I don’t feel especially virtuous about it. I never took enough interest in anyone else, I guess. I’m just too …”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Riley knew what he was leaving unsaid.

“I’m just too boring to do something like that.”

Riley was feeling strangely uncomfortable now. She wasn’t sure just why. But for some reason, this man was reminding her of Ryan again.

Why? she wondered.

Aside from a certain physical resemblance, how were they in any way alike? Ryan was vain, self-centered, amoral, and impervious to self-criticism. This man seemed introspective and empathetic, perhaps to a fault—that is, if Riley could believe anything he was saying.

Be careful, she told herself. She knew that credulity could be dangerous at a moment like this.

She said, “Mr. Fisher, what you’re telling us could be very important. Do you have any idea how we might find out who your wife’s lover was?”

“No. I’ve snooped through her office and her computer, looking through letters and emails. I’ve never found anything suspicious.”

Riley was on the verge of asking …

“So are you really sure she was having an affair?”

It was quite possible that the man’s insecurity had made him paranoid.

She reminded herself that Reese Fisher’s cell phone was supposedly on its way to Quantico to be examined by technicians there. Maybe Sam Flores and his team could find significant text messages or calls.

Riley leaned toward Fisher slightly.

“Mr. Fisher, do you think your wife’s involvement with another man might have had anything to do with her murder?”

Fisher’s eyes widened, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him.

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I can’t imagine …”

He seemed to be searching for the right words.

He said, “Surely Reese would never have been involved with anybody who meant her any harm. I just can’t believe that.”

He sounded perfectly sincere.

But was he?

Why couldn’t she tell?

Riley turned toward Bill and gave him a nod, a familiar signal for him to ask his own questions. Bill complied, asking about routine details. Did Reese have any relationship with Fern Bruder, the earlier victim? Did Fisher personally know of anyone with grudges or grievances against Reese? Had she been acting strangely lately?

As Fisher kept saying no in answer to all of Bill’s questions, Riley studied him carefully, trying to be alert for any trace of dishonesty or evasion. She got no clear gut feelings about him at all.

That worried her—and worried her badly.

She knew that his alibi was almost worthless. He was certainly well off enough to hire out his wife’s murder if he wanted to.

And now it appeared that he had ample reason to want to.

His self-effacement and self-blame might be nothing more than an act.

I ought to be able to tell, Riley thought.

In fact, she prided herself on being able to see through facades, to detect evil when it was in the same room with her.

But for some reason, her instincts didn’t seem to be engaged right now.

Why? Was his resemblance to Ryan clouding her thinking? The possibility disturbed her deeply.

Finally, there seemed nothing more to ask.

Riley said, “Mr. Fisher, we’re terribly sorry for your loss, and we’re deeply grateful for your time. Do you have any plans to leave Barnwell in the next few days?”

“No,” Fisher said.

Riley handed him her card and said, “We’d rather you don’t. In fact, we want you to keep in close touch with us. We may need to talk to you again in the near future.”

Fisher took the card and nodded.

When Riley and her colleagues left the building, she was surprised at how dark it had gotten. She looked at her watch and saw that it was after nine o’clock.

As they walked toward the car that the local police chief had lent them, Jenn asked, “So what do we think? Is he our killer?”

Riley hesitated.

Then she said, “I don’t know. But somebody had better keep a close eye on him.”