CHAPTER SIX
Rachel did her best to shrug off that overwhelming feeling of selfishness as they made the drive from the Webber house to Frank Ramirez’s workplace. They’d called ahead based on Deputy Stanhope’s description of the husband and were glad they did; instead of wasting about an hour heading to his home to find out he wasn’t there, they knew at once that he was at work, at a construction site in a neighborhood that was less than ten minutes away from the Webber Home.
Frank Ramirez worked for a window company, and the receptionist was able to give them the address of the house he was working on. When they arrived on site, it appeared that the window company and a small crew working on the back deck of the new home were the only people on site. The home was going up on a corner lot of a well-to-do neighborhood, all homes landing in the mid-six-figures. They parked behind a beaten-up old work truck and crossed the expanse of dirt that would be a grass-filled yard soon. Rachel could already see where someone had come through to trench out the lines for a sprinkler system.
There were two men currently inside the house, visible through the still-empty window frames. Both men saw the agents approaching and it was easy to figure out which one was Frank Ramirez. He looked surprises and then annoyed. And though it was clear he knew they were there to see him, he continued working. Rachel took the lead, walking directly up to the window frame and peering into the house.
“Mr. Frank Ramirez?”
Frank was peeling a protective cover off of a pane of glass, looking up as if he’d not seen them approaching. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Jack beat her to the punch on showing the badge this time. “Agents Rivers and Gift, FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The look of frustration on his face backed up the little bit Deputy Stanhope had told them. Apparently, this was a failed marriage that had no hope of being repaired. “I’m sort of working here,” he said.
“Yes, we are, too,” Rachel snapped back. “We’ll keep it short. I assume you know why we’re here?”
Frank sighed and stepped away from the window. He came walking out of the front door (which did currently have a door installed) and met them where the freshly leveled sidewalk ran up to the brick stoop. Frank looked a bit smaller when he was closer to them standing out in the light of day. He looked as if he hadn’t slept well in the last few days, looking to the agents as if he might zone out at any moment.
“This is about Maria, right?” Frank said.
“Yes.”
“You know who did it?” he asked as if he might actually care but that the news would not really affect his day all that much.
“No,” Rachel said, getting extremely irritated with his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. “That’s why we’d like to talk to you. I assume the police spoke with you?”
“They did. They told me what happened and asked lots of questions. But apparently, they did nothing with my answers if you’re here. I mean, how many times do I need to be questioned?”
“Mr. Ramirez, you have a son with Maria, correct?” Jack asked. Rachel could tell that he was also getting annoyed by Frank’s attitude.
“I do.”
“And where is he right now?”
Frank narrowed his eyes at them, as if trying to understand why they were asking these questions. “He’s with my mother.”
“Here in town?”
“Yes. But what does that have to do with anything? You planning on questioning him, too? Because honestly, I’d really rather he not have to go through that.”
“Just making sure we have our facts right,” Jack said. Rachel was started to grow a little worried. She didn’t know how much more Jack would be able to tolerate before he snapped. She’d only see it once before, and it was not pretty.
“Mr. Ramirez,” Rachel said, “do you happen to know why Maria had an appointment at the hospital?”
“No. Maria and I did not talk. The only time we ever spoke is when we needed to figure out who was keeping our son. We hadn’t shared anything about our personal lives together for a few years now.”
“I take it the marriage ended on bad terms?”
“Yes. We were married for seven years, and it never really gelled. We only married because she got pregnant. I don’t say that to be cruel. She would tell you the same thing if she were here. We were just trying to do the right thing, you know?”
“Can you think of any friends she had that might know why she went to the hospital two days ago?” Jack asked.
“No. Again, we never spoke. Any friends of hers either hate my guts or are new friends and I’ve never met them.” He looked at them sternly, as if to make sure they’d heard him clearly. He placed his hands on his hips and looked to the ground. “Look, I’m sorry. But I really can’t help you here. I hate that my son is going to have to grow up without a mother, but that’s about as deeply as this bothers me. You can think I’m a selfish asshole if you want, but that’s the plain and simple truth. We just didn’t like one another. I’m not the right place to try getting information about Maria.”
Rachel respected his blunt honesty but still wished she weren’t an FBI agent so she could slap him. “What about your mother? If she’s keeping your son, could she—”
“She met Maria twice and they haven’t spoken in over four years. So, no. She won’t be a good resource, either. You’re welcome to go speak to her, but she’ll be about as much help as I have been.” He finally looked back up to them and asked, “Is there anything else? Can I get back to work yet?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Jack said. “Thanks for your time.” The sarcasm in his tone of voice was thick.
Rachel watched as Frank Ramirez disappeared back inside the new house. Just based on the way he spoke about his ex-wife she didn’t doubt anything he said but she also could not help wondering if he may be hiding something. Or if he might even be a suspect.
“Thoughts?” Jack asked when they were back in the car.
“Other than how I think Frank Ramirez is a douchebag?”
“Yes, other than that.”
She cranked the car and thought about it for a moment. “We don’t know why Maria was visiting the doctor yet, but we do know she and Bruce Webber did both have appointments with some form of doctor, and that they were both killed by stabbing. It makes me wonder if the coroner might be able to point us toward some more similarities. At least until we have access to Maria’s medical records.”
“To the coroner’s office, then,” Jack said, already pulling up the directions on his phone.
Rachel pulled out of the construction site, feeling rather polarized about their run-in with Frank Ramirez. It felt too harsh, too real—and it made her wonder if, after she was gone, Peter would have that same sort of animosity towards her.
***
In Rachel’s experience, coroners seemed to come in one of two forms: the sort that was a little too into their jobs and approached it with an intense sort of morbidity or the kind that seemed bored and almost passive about the dead bodies they saw on a daily basis. The one they met half an hour after leaving the construction site was the latter. His name was Pritchard, and he had the look of a stereotypical, dry chemistry teacher. His expression was flat which, on his rather chubby face, made him look almost like a frog. It was an image Rachel could not knock out of her head as they spoke with him.