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He hesitated, then smiled. “Fair enough.” He glanced at Nunez. “Have you discussed this with Carillo?”
“Not yet. I have another question, though. Ms. Angelhart, do you personally know Peter Carillo? Or just his wife?”
“Just Annie.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Nearly three months.”
“How’d you meet?”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. It was a smart question, and Nunez clearly had a reason for asking.
I didn’t answer the question. “I have an appointment, so you’ll have to excuse me.”
“We might be talking again,” Sullivan said.
“I look forward to it.”
Fifty-One
Officer Archie Nunez
Nunez watched the PI walk down her driveway and let herself in through the side door without looking back at them.
“You think she was lying about knowing where Annie is?” Sullivan asked.
“I don’t know. She didn’t have any problem not answering questions she didn’t want to, so I don’t know why she would lie.”
“My gut? Annie was tired of marriage, wanted a break, and Angelhart drove her to the airport.”
“We checked the airlines. She didn’t fly anywhere.” It was difficult to get fake IDs—not impossible, but that seemed a step too far for someone who wanted to leave her husband. “She doesn’t have family, all her friends are here—what few she has. But she reached out to a private investigator months ago.”
“You think there’s something more here. Like what?”
Nunez wasn’t certain where he was going with this, but something didn’t feel right about this whole thing. “Carillo was drinking pretty heavily the other night.”
“Devil’s advocate? His wife had just left him, took the kids, and he doesn’t know where she is.”
“Yeah, but—I don’t know. He wouldn’t be the first cop to have a drinking problem.”
“And she left him because he was a drunk? Why not put that in the note?” Sullivan frowned.
“Yeah,” Nunez said, “the note bothered me. You hurt me one time too many. It can be taken in different ways, you know?”
“The first thing I did was check hospitals, shelters,” Sullivan said. “No emergency room or urgent care visits. No one mentioned broken bones, bruises, anything like that. I couldn’t get her doctor to talk to me, which isn’t surprising, but doctors are mandatory reporters. If he thought she was being abused, he would have been compelled to file a report.”
Nunez had been a cop for fifteen years, but he couldn’t quite shake that he was missing something here. It was an overall impression after talking to Annie’s friends and neighbors—especially Ms. Madera from the book club—that Annie was timid and scared. No one said she was scared, but it was a feeling he’d gotten based on what people had said.
“I’d like to talk to Annie Carillo,” Nunez said. “I think there is more to the story than she put in that brief note.”
“Someone knows where she is,” Sullivan said. “We just need to find the right person.”
Fifty-Two
Margo Angelhart
I put Peter Carillo out of my mind as I drove to Logan Monroe’s elite golf resort, Saguaro Springs, just west of Scottsdale and north of the 101, though the lack of a Scottsdale zip code didn’t mean it was any less fancy. The main hotel had three floors where every room was a suite. Multiple buildings on the edge of the green that blended into the surroundings each had four to eight condos or townhouses, which catered primarily to wealthy snowbirds.
