Silver Arrow Ch. 07-09

"Christie, we've talked about this a number of times," Diane said. "You can't go on letting him treat you this way. You know he's out seeing other women. Now you have the proof. You saw it with your own eyes. You don't need any more than that."

Christie nodded. "I know. This was the last straw. I'll call a lawyer in the morning and get the paperwork started. For the first time in my marriage, I'm glad we don't have children."

"If there's anything we can do," Diane offered, "please don't hesitate to come and see us. We'll do anything we can to help you."

"I know. I'm so envious of you and Doug. I wish ... I wish ... oh, never mind. I'll get over this ... somehow. I just hate that it's six years of my life down the drain for a guy who didn't respect me. What a waste," she moaned.

We drank our tea and talked about inconsequential things before Christie got up and decided to go home. She looked terribly tired and heartbroken, and Diane promised to look in on her later.

When we closed the door after our neighbor and friend had left, I looked at Diane and took her gently into my arms. I was heartsick for Christie and yet thankful that it wasn't us. I had the love of my life in my arms and anyone around us could see how we felt about each other.

Christie did file for divorce, but it wasn't that easy. Paul fought it, using his lawyer to bog down the process. In the end, the judge ordered counseling and while Christie knew it wasn't going to change anything, she had no choice. She was visiting us regularly while she was living alone. She had dinner at our house more often than she did in her own. That was all right. She needed the support. Paul was being a real asshole considering he'd brought this all on himself.

"How was the session today," Diane asked Christie one afternoon while we waited for supper.

"It was almost funny," she said with a wry smile. "You know that saying about what to do when you've dug yourself into a deep hole?"

"Yeah," I laughed. "Stop digging."

"Right on, Doug! Well it seems that Paul hasn't heard that one yet. The counselor got him talking about what he thought made a perfect marriage. He started talking about the perfect wife would be at his beck and call on a moment's notice, in or out of bed. That she'd be open to new ideas and new ways to keep the marriage fresh. When the counselor asked him about the new ideas and new ways, he knew he'd said too much.

"He tried to back-track his way out, but the counselor, whom I've come to really respect, didn't let him off the hook. Finally, Paul had to admit that he wanted an open marriage. Well, at least open for him. As far as the wife was concerned, she was to remain faithful. I started to laugh and I could see the counselor was on the verge of losing it too.

"So, I think the sessions are coming to an end, and so is our farce of a marriage. I'll be keeping the house and he'll be paying a hefty alimony to make sure I can keep it. In the meantime, I need to look for a job. I haven't worked in ten years, so I've got to see what's out there that I can cope with. I'll also be on the lookout for a better candidate for husband. You don't suppose you could share Doug, do you?" she laughed.

"No way, girl! He's all mine and I don't share my man."

"Just kidding, Di. You know how much I care for you guys. You've been there for me when it counted. I couldn't ask for better friends."

"She's going to be okay, Di," I said as we closed the door behind Christie. "She still has her sense of humor and she's tough enough to get over this in time. She's angry right now, but not so angry that it's eating at her. I'm pretty sure she'll come though this okay and some lucky guy will latch onto her and make her life a lot better."

"I hope you're right, Doug. She's such a great person and I hate to see her hurt like this. It's so unfair. Paul was a real bastard to cheat on her."

"I have to admit, I didn't like him from the get-go. The first time I met him he tried to crush my hand and then made a wisecrack about my height."

"You're exactly the right size for me," she smiled, folding herself into me. "The right size in every respect."

~*~

The trip to Disney World was great. The kids couldn't stop talking about it long after we were home. It was the best seven days we'd spent with them, and I knew they felt the same way. I was trying to think of a vacation for next year, but I hadn't come up with anything yet.

As spring arrived, the job changed again. Aside from a few baseball team charters, most of my driving was tours. I loved my job, and from all reports and reviews, Silver Arrow thought I was doing it very well. I had a lot of compliments from both our staff and the customers, and the tips I received said that they weren't just blowing smoke. I kept a separate account for the tips, partly to make sure I knew what I had to report and partly because I thought of it as my vacation fund.

Diane continued to wear me out with her loving. She had an innate sense of when we should be serious, when we should be having fun, and when it was "down and dirty" sex we needed. It was a nice balance of all three, and no man could have possibly been more satisfied with his sex life than I was.

As the months rolled by and the seasons changed, I still felt fresh behind the wheel of my big Silver Arrow. I was visiting a goodly segment of America and I was learning as well. Our tour guides described much of what we were seeing and I got to know quite a bit of it by heart. I couldn't always rubber-neck to see what was being described, but with pictures and knowing what was coming, I had a pretty good foundation of knowledge. On top of that, many of the tour stops gave me a chance to explore without having to worry about keeping the bus on the road.

And so it was, as I entered my fourth year of driving for Silver Arrow Tours. Diane's business was healthy and profitable. We had managed to save quite a bit of money and had finished the basement suite, bathroom and activity room as we originally planned. Diane called it my "Man Cave," but in truth, I didn't spend much time down there. It was more often the place you would find the children, watching TV or playing a game.

Christie still lived across the street. She had found a job in a downtown office building. It paid reasonably well, but she was still dependent on Paul's spousal support. There wasn't any man in her life yet, but she did date and I know from Diane that she "test drove" a few of them. I guess none of them passed the test.

Debbie was now fourteen and entering womanhood. She would be a lovely young woman, self-assured without being arrogant. Billy was almost thirteen and growing. He'd be taller and stronger than me. That's what you get when you eat your Wheaties. Little Sandy was now Miss Sandra, and had turned into an eight-year-old precocious charmer who knew exactly how to get what she wanted. I could see trouble ahead in a few years. She, like her sister, was going to be a beauty.

Diane was still the apple of my eye. She was lovely, trim, elegant, loving, and sexy as hell. I knew someday that one or the other of us would slow down, but so far there was no sign that it would be her. I was determined that it would not be me. I kept up my workouts at the community center and made sure my fitness was never in question.

In early April I was taking a tour to Virginia Beach and then on down to Kitty Hawk and Myrtle Beach before heading back to Louisville. It was a little early in the year for tourists, but that made it more comfortable for the older people who didn't really enjoy big crowds at some of the popular sites. As usual I had my cell phone with me and once in a while I would get a call from the office about a last minute change or something that needed to be checked out.

When the phone rang Wednesday morning, we were on Highway 17, almost in Wilmington, North Carolina. I pressed the button on the speaker phone and answered.

"Doug here, what's up?"

"Uhhm Doug, it's Warren calling. Can you pull over somewhere? We need to talk, but not on the open line."

"Yeah, I guess so. Looks like a place up ahead. Give me a minute, or I can call you back."

"No, I'll hang on," he said quickly.

I found a safe spot to pull the bus over and picked up the handset.

"Okay, Warren, what's going on?"

"When you get to Wilmington, I want you to take the bus to The Marsh Sands Hotel and park it in the lot. You will be met there by Whit Devane. He'll be taking over for you."

"Why? What's wrong, Warren? What's going on?"

"Doug, there's been an accident. I can't give you all the details, but it involves Diane. There will be a plane at the Wilmington airport to bring you back here. Whit will know where to take you to catch the plane. There will be someone to meet you when you land in Louisville."

"What kind of accident? Is she all right? Which hospital?"

"I don't know any more, Doug, and neither does Whit. I just want to make sure you get back here as quickly as possible."

"Yeah ... okay, but ... Warren ... what about the kids? They'll be home from school in four hours," I said, looking at my watch.

"Don't worry about them. I've got it all taken care of. You just get to Wilmington and meet with Whit."

"On my way," I said, hanging the handset up and getting ready to pull back out on the highway.

We were another twenty minutes getting to the hotel and I saw Whit standing in the parking lot waiting for me.

"I'll drive, Doug. I'm taking you to the airport and I'll show you where the plane is. They're all set to take you back to Louisville as soon as you arrive."

"Okay. Do you know anything, Whit? Is Diane hurt bad? Nobody will tell me anything."

"I'm sorry, Doug. I don't know any more than she's in the hospital and you'll be met at the airport and taken there."

I had to live with that. It was frustrating as hell, but as Whit drove toward the Wilmington airport I gathered up my travel bag and personal items. I would be hitting the ground running to get to that plane.

The aircraft was a twin turboprop that held about ten passengers at most. I climbed on board and the door was immediately shut behind me and the engines began to turn. I stashed my bag under the seat, fastened the seat belt and prepared for the flight.

I was told our flying time would be two hours and fifteen minutes. It would probably feel like two days. I couldn't count the number of times I looked at my watch on the trip. Finally we landed and despite the cockpit warning to remain seated with the seat belt fastened, I had my bag in my lap and the belt undone long before the plane came to a stop.

I hustled down the stairs and headed toward two men who were obviously waiting for me.

"I'm Doug Hansen. Are you here to take me to the hospital where my wife is?"

"Yes," was the hesitating answer from the older of the two. "I'm Detective Etchevarry and this is Detective Litchfield. We'll drive you to see your wife."

"What can you tell me about my wife? What's her condition?" I asked as I was led to an unmarked police car. I got in the back with one of the detectives while the other drove.

Etchevarry turned to me. "No one has told you, have they," he said.

"Told me what?" I was getting a cold sinking feeling as the man looked at me, unblinking.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, Mr. Hansen, but your wife is dead."

"No! No! That's not possible. Not Diane. Please, God, not Diane!" I called, tears now streaming down my face.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew," the detective said. "We'll take you to where she is. We will want you to make a positive identification. Then we need to talk."

Chapter 9 The Darkest Hours

It took me a few minutes to compose myself as we rode toward our destination.

"Was it a traffic accident?" I asked at length.

"No, sir," Litchfield answered, but said no more.

"What was it then? How did she die?"

I saw the two men glance at each other before answering.

"We believe your wife was murdered, Mr. Hansen," Etchevarry answered.

"Oh God, no! How could that be? Who would murder her? Did this happen in our home?"

"No, sir," Etchevarry responded. "She was discovered by the housekeeping staff this morning in a room at the Riverbend Inn. It's a motel in the Park Hill area.

"What?" I said, now completely confused. "Why would she be there? We live in Taylorsville."

"She rented the room just before nine last night," Etchevarry continued. "She was alone when she checked in according to the front desk clerk."

I had no way to process this information. I was beginning to lose my ability to concentrate. Diane was dead. That much I understood. But why? And why was she in a motel? None of this made any sense.

We arrived at a building with a sign indicating it was the county morgue. The detectives escorted me down to an office and introduced me to a gowned man. He took me into a cold room with a series of large lockers on one wall. I knew where I was and it finally hit me. Diane really was dead. She was gone. I didn't know if I could get past the next few minutes.

The man took me to one of the locker doors, unlatched and opened it, pulling out a stainless steel tray with a covered body on it. He looked at me and I nodded. He turned the sheet down, revealing the head. It took me some seconds to recognize that it was my wife, Diane. She had been beaten and her face was a mass of black and yellow puffiness. But it was her. As much as I prayed this was all some horrible mistake, it was my beloved wife. I nodded again as the tears poured down my face.

I didn't watch as he covered her head once more and slid the tray back into the locker. I was staggering toward the door and desperate for some place to empty my stomach. The attendant must have realized what was about to happen and guided me to a large steel sink and gave me some privacy while I attempted to cough up the remains of my breakfast. He ran some water to wash away both the bile and the smell. I borrowed some of the water and splashed it on my face.

I began to feel that I wouldn't faint or lose my balance as I made my way out of the morgue. The detectives were waiting for me.

"Can you confirm that the body you were shown is Diane Anita Hansen?" Etchevarry asked.

"Yes, that's her. She was beaten. Is that how she died?"

"That's our preliminary finding, but it's subject to the coroner's confirmation."

"Who would do that to her? Who?"

"That's what our job is, Mr. Hansen. That's exactly what we want to know. Why don't we move to a more comfortable room and we can talk. We're going to need some information from you to help us with our investigation. I know this is a big shock to you, but the sooner we get on the trail of the perpetrators, the more likely we will catch them."

They led me to a small room with little in the way of furnishings other than a desk, four chairs and a mirror on the wall. As I looked at the mirror, I realized it was probably a one-way window. Was I a suspect?

"Can you tell us your whereabouts from eight o'clock last evening until eight this morning?" Litchfield asked.

"Yeah. I was in my hotel in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina from about six PM through to six AM this morning. I only left the room to eat in the coffee shop at about ten PM."

"What were you doing in Kitty Hawk?" Etchevarry asked.

"I drive a tour bus for Silver Arrow. I was on a trip. We had started here, then worked our way over to Virginia Beach, down the coast to Kitty Hawk, and then toward Charleston. My company called me just before I got to Wilmington that I was to come home and they had a plane waiting for me there."

"So someone saw you at or about ten o'clock last night in Kitty Hawk then?" Litchfield asked.

"Yes, the waitress and a couple of the passengers saw me. Am I a suspect?"

"We have to check out all the possibilities, Mr. Hansen," Etchevarry replied. "We know that more often than not, victims know their killer. We go through this process in a stepwise fashion because we've learned over the years that it brings the best results."

"Well, you'll find that I was a long way away from the motel when she was killed. I think you had better start looking elsewhere," I said with some anger.

The two men ignored my outburst and continued.

"Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your wife?" Litchfield asked.

"No. Not a soul. She was a wonderful person with many good friends. I can't believe she had any enemies at all."

"Did she have a job?" Litchfield continued.

"She had her own home business. She did billing and accounting for small businesses. She had built it up over five years into a very successful operation. It allowed her to stay home and look after the children and still earn a good living."

"How would you describe you relationship with your wife?" Etchevarry asked, changing the subject.

"Outstanding. We were as close as two people could possibly be. I never had a moments doubt that she loved me and I felt the same about her."

"Can you think of any reason why she would be in that motel at night while you were on the road?" Litchfield asked.

Now they were circling in on the questions I was beginning to ask myself.

"No ... not a single one. I'm at a complete loss to understand why she would leave the house and our children and check into a motel several miles away. It makes no sense."

"It would make sense if she was meeting someone there," Litchfield said.

"I know what you are suggesting ... that she was having an affair. I can't bring myself to believe that. There was no evidence of it and no hint that she wasn't completely satisfied with our relationship."

"It wouldn't be the first time that a husband had no clue that his wife had a lover, Mr. Hansen," Litchfield continued.

I was shaking my head. "Look, why don't I give you some background on our relationship. Maybe that will clear up what our marital situation was."

They nodded their agreement and I began to relate how Diane and I had been married, divorced, reconciled and had built an ever stronger marriage than before. I watched as Litchfield made a few notes, but I was sure the entire interview was being recorded.

"Besides yourself and your children, who was your wife's closest friend?"

"Christie Wilson lives across the street from us. She and Diane were the best of friends even before we reconciled. They told each other everything, Diane claimed. I'm sure Christie would have picked up on something like Diane having a lover. Women are pretty good at that, unlike men," I said, ruefully.

"We will talk to her," Etchevarry said, "but please don't say anything to her in the meantime. I don't want her to try and shape her story to protect your wife or you. For now, this conversation is just between us."

"I understand. Listen, I'm worried about my children. I don't know where they are or who is looking after them."

"Children's Services has taken them out of school and is bringing them here. They may be here now. I'll check for you," Litchfield volunteered.

"Do they know?" I asked.

He nodded.

We talked a bit more and I agreed that the police could take Diane's computer with them to see if they could find anything on it that might lead them to her killer. I gave them permission to search her room and her car as well. I wondered aloud if I needed a lawyer and Etchevarry didn't respond. That told me he hoped I wouldn't ask for one but he didn't say anything.

The children were brought into the interview room and we were given some privacy. I had no idea if anyone was watching through the glass or recording anything that was said. It didn't matter. We had nothing to hide.

"Daddy," a tearful Debbie said and she rushed into my arms. "It's horrible. Mom's dead. I can't believe it. She's dead."