“And the note,” Mel said, “where did you find it?”
“Folded up in my nightgown, under my pillow. Donnie would have known I wouldn’t find it until I started getting ready for bed. I understand that now. It means he knew he wasn’t coming back before bedtime. But why? Why would he do that?” DeAnn wailed. She was crying in dead earnest now.
“You hadn’t quarreled?” Mel asked when DeAnn quieted down some.
“Well, maybe a little,” DeAnn admitted. “I was really mad at him for staying out so late last night. I’m here with the kids all day every day. I expect us to be together on weekends, and usually we are. But last night he said he needed to meet some guys from work. We had a fight about it before he even left.”
“What time did he come home then?” Mel asked.
“Late,” DeAnn answered. “And I mean real late. After the bars closed. He didn’t think I’d be awake, but I had been up with the baby. He parked on the street and then came sneaking in through the garage wearing nothing but his underwear. Said one of his buddies had gotten drunk and barfed all over him, so he put his clothing in the wash before he ever came into the house. That seemed really strange to me because, barf or not, doing laundry isn’t Donnie’s thing. And this morning, when I went out to the garage to do a load, I saw that he’d washed everything, even his sneakers-washed them and put them in the dryer. I don’t know what he was thinking. They came out of the dryer completely wrecked. I had to throw them away.”
“What happened then?” Mel inquired.
“He was really quiet all morning,” DeAnn answered. “I kept asking him what was wrong-if he was sick or hungover or what. I even went out and checked on his car. I was afraid he had wrecked it or something and was scared to tell me about it. Then, when Detective Lander was here, it was like Donnie was…” She paused, as if struggling to find the right word.
“What?” Mel asked.
“I don’t know,” DeAnn said. “Just weird. I mean, my mother was the one who was dead. I needed him to be here for me, but it was like he was out of it or something. And, of course, the kids picked right up on it. Since we were both upset, they were upset, too. It was all I could do to concentrate and answer Detective Lander’s questions. Then, as soon as the detective left to meet you, Donnie left, too. He told me that he had to go out, that he’d be back later.”
“And you haven’t heard anything from him since?” I asked.
DeAnn Cosgrove’s eyes filled with tears. “Not a word,” she said, shaking her head. “Except for the note. What does it all mean?”
“After your stepfather came by here the other day and after Donnie called me, did he go to Leavenworth?”
“He talked about it,” DeAnn allowed. “Donnie was livid Jack had come here to cause trouble. He said he was going to go to their house and do the same thing, but I told him not to. I told him two wrongs don’t make a right and that we’re supposed to be big enough to turn the other cheek.”
I had a feeling that Donnie had been focused on something far more Old Testamenty-an eye for an eye, for example.
“You said you’d done some calling around, looking for your husband,” Mel said. “Where all did you check?”
“He sometimes works weekends, so I thought he might have gone to his office,” DeAnn said. “But I called and checked with the guard shack where people have to sign in and out. Nobody there had seen him. When I found out his friends hadn’t seen him, either, that’s when I finally called you. I didn’t know who else to ask. Should I file a missing persons report now, or is it too soon?”
Under the circumstances, it seemed unlikely that a missing persons report would be needed to jump-start a search for Donnie Cosgrove.
“Does your husband have access to any weapons?” Mel asked.
DeAnn stared at her. “You mean, like a gun?”
Mel nodded.
“Donnie does have a gun,” DeAnn conceded. “It belonged to his father. He keeps it locked in his desk in the bedroom. But why…?”
“Is it there now?”
Without a word, DeAnn left the room. When she returned a few moments later, her face was pasty white. “It’s gone,” she whispered, sinking onto the couch. “You don’t think he’s the one who did it, do you? I’m mean, it’s not possible!”
But of course it was all too thinkable and all too possible, although I’m sure that was the very first moment it ever crossed DeAnn’s mind that her beloved Donnie, the father of her children, might have murdered her mother and stepfather.
“What kind of gun is it?” Mel asked.
“I have no idea,” DeAnn managed. “I don’t know anything about guns-anything at all. I just know I didn’t like him having one.”
“But it was a handgun of some kind?” Mel persisted. “Not a rifle or a shotgun.”
“Yes, I guess that’s what you’d call it-a handgun. I think Donnie said it was a.357, but I’m not sure.”
Had I been asking the questions right then, my face probably would have given away the game. Mel’s didn’t. “I’ll go ahead and take down that missing persons information, then,” she said smoothly. “What kind of vehicle did you say your husband drives?”
It was a deft pivot on Mel’s part, and DeAnn Cosgrove clung to that disarming piece of fiction as though her life depended on it. Maybe it did. Without being able to believe we really were taking a missing persons report, DeAnn might have fallen apart completely.
“A Chevrolet Tahoe,” she answered. Surprisingly enough, the woman was still able to reel off Donnie’s plate number from memory. For the next several minutes, she located and supplied all the necessary info about the clothing her husband had been wearing when he left the house. She gave us his contact information at work as well as the names, addresses, and phone numbers of friends and relations.
“Now what?” DeAnn asked when Mel finally put her notebook and pen away.
“We’re going to try to find him,” Mel said.
“But not hurt him, right?” DeAnn said. “I’m sure he hasn’t done anything wrong. He wouldn’t have.”
I think she was trying to convince herself even more than she was us.
“We’ll do everything in our power to see that no one gets hurt,” I told her.
“Thank you,” DeAnn said gratefully. “Thank you very much.”
She stood on the front porch as we made our way out the gate, down the driveway, and back to the sidewalk. At the end of the driveway a rolling garbage bin had already been hauled out to the street. Mel and I exchanged glances as we walked past it. She held out her hand. “I’ll drive,” she said.
Gentleman that I am, I handed over the keys and climbed into the passenger seat. DeAnn watched while we fastened our seat belts and Mel started the engine. Only when we actually pulled away from the curb did DeAnn disappear into the house, closing the door and turning off the porch light. At the end of the block Mel negotiated a quick U-turn and then brought us back to the garbage bin parked at the end of the Cosgroves’ driveway.
Garbage hauled out to the street no longer has the expectation of privacy. Since the Dumpster in question came from a house awash in toddlers and disposable diapers, opening the lid was not for the faint of heart. I can handle crime scenes. I can handle the stench of death. The odor of several dozen moldering dirty diapers, however, left me gagging.
The top layer consisted of two large white plastic bags, carefully tied shut. For a time it looked as though I’d have to untie the bags and go pawing through them-not a pleasant thought. I hauled them out and placed them on the curb beside me. Then, to my immense relief, visible in the pale glow of a rain-drenched street lamp was exactly what I was looking for-a pair of mangled man’s sneakers. They had clearly been run through both a washer and dryer and looked as though they were no longer wearable.
Triumphantly I grabbed them up, threw the trash bags back inside the container, and hurried back to the car with my booty.