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They climbed into the car and Josie headed back to the stationhouse. She caught him up on everything Margot had said.
“Do you think Margot is telling the truth about not having any kind of affair with Beau?” asked Noah.
“She’s lying about something,” Josie said. “But not that. Beau’s wife and his mistress were just murdered. If I were Margot and I’d been having some kind of affair with him—past or present—I would tell. It’s self-preservation.”
“Agree. What about the money Claudia supposedly donated? What do you make of that?”
“I’m not sure,” said Josie. “The point of that story was that Margot was afraid Beau had lied about the entire thing.”
“Still, it’s a helluva story. Claudia Collins takes tens of thousands of dollars out of their bank accounts without even discussing it with him? There’s got to be something there. Then you’ve got Kathy saying that Claudia thought she was being followed. We’re barely scratching the surface of whatever the hell was going on with these people.”
“I get the same feeling,” Josie agreed. “But what do we do with this information? We can’t prove Claudia was being followed—or who was doing it—and the money? Assuming she really didn’t donate it, can we connect it to the murders?”
Noah thought for a moment. “I’m not sure a judge would grant a warrant for the Collinses’ financial records at this point. It’s odd, but it doesn’t connect to either murder. Unless Beau was lying, and the money was for something else, but again, we’d have to be able to demonstrate a clear connection to the murders.”
“We can check with the women’s center and find out if they received a large, anonymous cash donation during the month of October. I’ll call first thing tomorrow,” Josie said. “We’ll also ask Beau about the money, but before we do, I want to do a little research into Ron Abbott.”
Back at the stationhouse, it took only minutes to connect the profiles that Raffy and Margot had shared with them to a Ron Abbott who lived in Lenore County, south of Denton. Josie discovered pretty quickly why he had abruptly stopped trolling the Collinses online. Staring at her screen, her stomach acids went into overdrive. “Noah,” she said. “Come look at this.”
He wheeled his chair around their collective desks until he was next to her. As he read the news article dated nine months earlier from theFairfield Review, a small local newspaper based in Lenore County, he muttered, “Holy shit.”
LENORE COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPUTIES RESPOND TO MURDER-SUICIDE
Fairfield, PA – The Lenore County Sheriff’s Department responded to 911 calls from neighbors along rural route 714 last night. Many residents reported hearing gunshots from the direction of a residence owned by Ron and Casey Abbott. One neighbor reportedly heard shouting coming from the residence prior to the gunshots. When Lenore County Sheriff’s deputies arrived on scene, they found the homeowners, Ronald Abbott, thirty-four, and his wife, Casey Abbott, thirty-three, deceased in an apparent murder-suicide.
“The investigation into this horrific tragedy is ongoing,” said a representative from the sheriff’s office.
Neighbors and friends of the couple report that the Abbotts had been having marital trouble for years.
“It wasn’t a good situation,” said one of Casey Abbott’s coworkers, who asked to remain anonymous. “They were always arguing. He was controlling and he only got worse as time went on. I think they might have tried counseling once but it didn’t do any good. I don’t know why she stayed, to be honest. I always worried he would do something like this but Casey wouldn’t hear of it.”
Ronald Abbott’s brother tells a very different tale of the couple’s marriage. “My brother was a good man and a devoted husband. I don’t know what went on behind closed doors. I haven’t talked with my brother in years—I’ve been away with the military—but I know he wasn’t a violent man. Whatever happened in that house, Casey drove him to it.”
Funeral arrangements for the couple will be private.
Josie printed the article and then clicked out of it. She pulled up the WYEP website and entered a number of search terms pertaining to Ron and Casey Abbott as well as murder-suicide and “Lenore County couple.” Nothing came up. “WYEP didn’t cover this.”
“But it’s in their backyard,” said Noah. “You think the Collinses killed it?”
“There’s one way to find out,” Josie said. “We’ve got a whole list of things to discuss with Beau Collins.”
“We should also probably ask Trudy Dawson about the Abbotts as well.”
“I don’t think she’ll tell us unless Beau gives her permission first. We should just prepare a warrant.”
“For the Abbotts’ records? No judge will grant it. The Abbotts are dead. They can’t possibly be connected to these murders.”
Josie swore. “You’re right.”
“Why don’t I call the unit we put on Beau and see where he is?”
“Okay,” Josie said, “but first I want to check out a few more of these internet trolls to make sure we’re not missing anything else.”
“I’ll split the packet with you. We’re going to need more coffee.”
THIRTY-ONE
Josie reached into one of her desk drawers and fished around until her hand closed on a bottle of ibuprofen. She twisted it open and shook out three pills, then swallowed them dry. Between the case, lack of sleep, and staring at the computer screen the last two hours, a headache had formed across her forehead. She picked up the Komorrah’s cup on her desk and drained what little was left of it. Across from her, at his own desk, Noah dozed in his chair. Josie didn’t have the heart to wake him. He’d already worked through his half of the list of internet haters. She didn't begrudge him a ten-minute catnap.
