harm, I would tell you. But I can’t think of a single person in all of Point Reina because there isn’t one.”
Quite the speech. But I’m not falling for it. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Am I a suspect now?” he asks bitterly.
“We haven’t ruled anyone out, Mr. Lewis.”
“July, I guess.”
“I don’t want you to guess,” I say flatly. “Take a minute to think about it.”
Anger flares in his eyes again, then recedes. “I can’t remember exactly, but with the exception of that period in May, when she was sick, we met every morning to go over their menu. I couldn’t say if that happened the day she was killed or not, but in all likelihood it did.”
So he would’ve seen Joanna on the morning of July sixteenth, before she went to Pilates. It’s not concrete, since he can’t note anything specific that happened that day, but at least he’s giving me something.
“Did you see Joanna outside of work?” I ask. “Did you go shopping together? Movies? Dinner?”
He levels his humorless stare at me. “All of the above. Anything else?”
Aha. “You must’ve been devastated when she left Mr. Harris in July.”
His jaw clenches. “I was.”
“Anything strike you as odd about the way she left?”
He blinks, then stares me down for so long, I fear I’ve pushed too far. “If you’re asking my opinion, Joanna wouldn’t have just vanished without at least saying goodbye. It wasn’t like her. She was always thoughtful and kind.”
“If you thought her disappearance was strange, why didn’t you ever go to the police?”
“Mr. Harris insisted she was fine.” He glances at the cabinets at the back wall of the garage, though I’m not sure if he’s mentally searching for something hidden there or just desperate to avoid eye contact. “He said she was with her sister. I left message after message on her cell, but there was never any reply. It was strange.”
“It was strange,” I agree. “And yet you never filed a missing person’s report.”
“I thought about that,” he says bitterly, bringing his gaze back to mine, “and I even mentioned it in passing to Mr. Harris one morning. He said it was absurd. He explained that Joanna wasn’t in danger, that she chose to leave, and any effort to bring her back would be useless.”
Interesting. Harris hadn’t mentioned any of this. “Would you consider Mr. Harris a decent boss?”
“I would say so, yes,” he says. “He’s reasonable when it comes to days off, allowing vacation time, and even offers me benefits. Some people pay more for silence on certain issues, and—”
“No, you’re not skipping over that,” I interrupt. “Did Michael Harris offer a bribe to keep you quiet?”
His lips press together tightly, giving away nothing.
“What kinds of issues might someone pay to keep quiet?” I prod.
“I told you. I won’t answer any questions about my boss’s marriage.”
Dean’s acting like he doesn’t want to play this game, but I’ll get the information I need one way or another. “Abuse?”
Again, he stares me down, then lowers and lifts his chin. It’s the smallest of affirmative movements. If I hadn’t been looking right at him, waiting for a sign, I would’ve missed it.
“Mr. Harris loved his wife, Detective. I don’t think that’s what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. In fact, he probably loved her too much, and held on too tightly when she wanted more freedom.”
Fascinating. “Did she ever mention having an affair?”
He laughs.
“More than one affair?”
“For a detective, you sure don’t seem to be digging too deep.” He shakes his head. “I told you. She was loved by everyone who knew her. Everyone, Detective.”
He loved her, too.
There’s no doubting the nature of their