Bloodstains on the front seat of the pickup are type O, the same as the missing man’s. Divers search the lake near where the pickup is parked but find nothing.

"We don’t know for a fact that Dwight is in the lake," a detective says, "but we’ll assume he is." The detective casually suggests to the wife that her husband "simply took off - the smeared blood on the front seat could just be a smoke screen."

Detectives canvas friends and neighbors. They check at work. Everybody agrees, "they are a devoted couple. Two love birds."

Days pass. Nothing. Flyers are sent out. The missing husband is listed on the FBI’s computer. After three months detectives turn their attention to higher priority cases. Years go by. The case is "inactive."

It has been nearly three years when, out of the blue, a new lead comes in on the fax machine. Somebody using Dwight’s name is applying for a driver’s license. The applicant works at a hamburger joint near Gastonia, North Carolina.

Two detectives identify Dwight from an old photograph. They order coffee and ask "Dwight" to sit down with them.

"What did you call me?" the young man asks nervously.

"I called you ‘Dwight’ because that’s your name," a detective says. "Now be a man and tell us why you ran from your family."

There’s a tremor in the guy’s voice: "I didn’t do anything wrong. All I did was leave."

"What about your wife?" the detective asks. "She thinks you’re dead - your whole family thinks you’re dead." The trio talks some more but it’s a done deal. Dwight had no intention of going back. There are no children. No laws have been broken.

Detectives would notify Dwight’s wife that her husband was alive and well. But they would not tell her where they’d found him. Dwight insisted his right to privacy.

Heading home in their county car, the older detective turns to his partner: "Okay, I talked to the husband. When we get back, it’s your turn - you explain it to the wife."