by Kate Anders
I can feel my body just sink down along with my heart. I’ve been holding myself up so tall for days now, letting my mission be the thing that keeps me upright and moving forward. With every blow I can feel myself sinking, not holding myself quite as straight, the defeat invading my shoulders until I’m in a slumped-over hunch.
“I had to ask.” The words flowed out so quietly I was shocked that he actually heard them.
“This isn’t my case, but my unit works on missing persons so I will do what I can, okay?”
My head snaps up so fast I’m shocked I don’t get whiplash.
“Don’t get too excited, even if I find something about this uncle guy, it doesn’t mean it is going to change where we are now, with no proof anything happened.”
I found my head nodding along with every word. “Of course, I just can’t give up.”
“I know. It’s one of many things that I admire about you.” He holds my hand again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t reach out when things with you and Collin ended, but you need to know, just because you and Collin aren’t together, doesn’t mean that I can’t be there for you. If you need anything, anything at all, call me anytime, day or night.”
I couldn’t stop the tears welling up in my eyes. This was what I had missed so much about my broken relationship. Family. A parent figure who would always show up. The relief in my heart at knowing I hadn’t lost that was overwhelming.
“Thank you, thank you so much, Joe. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“I’ve got night shift tonight, so I’ll start digging in tonight and call you tomorrow with whatever information I find out.”
As we get up to leave the store, I can’t believe how much better I feel. Like I’m not alone in this. Sure, our friends all agree with me that something doesn’t seem right, but I have a partner now. At least temporarily. Someone who is going to help carry the burden and get the information that I need so much.
I need something to pass the time while I wait to hear back from Joe, and frankly, being in that apartment is starting to feel like my own personal haunted house. Too many memories, too quiet, not enough music or scents of food cooking in the kitchen or takeout on the counter. So I do the only thing I can think of. I go to class.
Normally I love my classes. I don’t always love every piece we read, but I love the conversations, the discourse, the comparing and contrasting from different time periods and geographics. But sitting here in class, none of it is holding my attention. I am like a zombie going through all the motions, giving clipped answers to thoughtful questions, sitting at a desk with my fingers hovering over my notes on my laptop but never making connection.
I can feel my professors’ eyes passing over me with concern the longer classes go on. Even some of the students I normally interact the most with during class are starting to look at me. I’ve been avoiding looking in the mirror, but I’m sure that the lack of sleep I’ve been getting is showing up on my face. Besides, it’s not like I am putting in any effort into my appearance. No makeup, day-old messy bun that has turned more rat’s nest, and clothes that probably should have been reserved for sleeping only.
I don’t care though. I just need to make it until my phone rings.
Just hold on until the phone rings.
It’s like a slap in the face when maintenance shows up and apologizes for being late to replace the filters. They were only in the apartment for a matter of minutes, but it left me unsettled for hours. The last plans Clara and I made was to be home for the filter change. The most mundane of tasks. Something not to even think twice about. And now it’s come and gone and she missed the whole thing.
The phone call comes long after my classes end and I am back on my couch, just waiting for answers to drop in my lap. The exhaustion has infiltrated my body so much that my head keeps slowly sinking backward before I jolt upright, right as I hit the edge of sleep. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.
The ringing of my phone is enough to not just jolt me awake, but also give me a much-needed second wind.
“Hello.” My excitement getting the better of me as the words almost come out at a shout volume.
“Hi, Kenzie. I got some information for you.” His voice is like magic to my ears, it might have a natural rough, husky tone, and his New York City accent is stronger than normal, but it is the most comforting sound I’ve heard all week.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“I did a deep dive into Clara and her family. Girl’s got a pretty slim family tree.” There is a pause while I hear him sip what is sure to be a cup of black coffee. “I couldn’t find anyone that was related to Clara or either of her parents that could possibly have fit what we have. If we opened things up a little further, I’m sure I could find second and third cousins, but based on what I found out about the family, it doesn’t seem like they would have any contact with relatives that far out.”
“So I was right then, no uncle?”
“Yep, no uncle.”
While it is satisfying to know I am right, that this guy is an impostor, I’m not actually sure if that changes anything at all.
“So what’s next?” I asked.
“Kenzie, I want to be very clear here; there isn’t that much left for me to do. I did ask for the surveillance footage from the registrar’s office, where we obviously know this guy was. He was literally the definition of unidentifiable. If I had to make a sketch of this guy, it would look like the Unabomber. He kept his head down and he was wearing a hat. I have nothing to go off of.” His voice becomes more animated the more he explains, I can tell he is frustrated by the situation. “I’m sure that someone already mentioned to you that it’s possible this guy is just a family friend, after all, Collin calls my best friend Uncle Jack. It’s something people do. And without a name to really look up…”
“There’s nothing you can do,” I whisper, defeated. “Do you really believe that he’s just a family friend?”
The silence on the other end starts to eat up the space.
“No. I don’t.”
“But that doesn’t change anything, does it?” I ask, my voice taking on a begging tone.
“No, it doesn’t. I’ve added a still shot of the guy to Clara’s file. We have a flag on her. If anyone runs her name or stops her, we will be notified. I put a flag on her credit so as soon as she pops up anywhere, we will know.”
“Are you allowed to do that?”
“She has a missing person report, and I ran it up the chain, so it’s okay. I just don’t think there is anything else I can do from my end. Not until either she flags in the system or some new evidence comes up for us to investigate.”
“I can’t just let this go,” I implore him.
“I knew you were going to say that.” His hearty chuckle vibrates through the phone.
“So what do I do?”
“I’m going to give you a name, a guy I know of in town. He used to be a cop, he works as a private investigator now. He’s pretty well respected around here, and whenever he gets information that can help the cops, he always passes it along. He’s a little rough around the edges, but I think he’s the best shot you have.”
“A PI? Really?”
“It’s really your only option at this point. The police aren’t going to be able to do much more than we have already done, and as much as it pains me to admit it, until something changes, the investigation is going to remain pretty passive. At least with a PI, you will have someone in your corner looking out for your interests, and you decide when it’s time to stop. He can put in the manpower to really talk to people and run a real investigation.”
I think about it. He is right, of course, we both know the police aren’t going to do any more than they already have. And I think what Joe has been too kind to say out loud is that I have no experience on how to find someone and I’m probably not going to get anywhere besides just spinning my wheels on my search for Clara.
“Okay, can you text me his inform
ation?” I ask.
“Of course, I just texted it to you.” I feel the phone vibrate in my hand, signaling that the information is waiting for me. “If you need anything, anything at all, I’m here, okay?”
“Thanks so much, Joe. I can’t tell you how much this all means to me.”
“Anytime, don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“I won’t. Promise.”
I pull up the text message as soon as we get off the phone. William Anderson of Anderson and Associates. Talk about generic sounding. I call the number that Joe sent, but no one answers. I leave a brief message with just my name and phone number and sit back down on the couch to wait.
What are the chances that he is going to call me back tonight? I don’t have time to wait. I know right now, at this moment, that this is going to be my last chance, and if crime TV has taught me anything, time is the thing you have the least of when it comes to a missing person.
My legs eat up the space in my living room in mere seconds as I reach my computer and sit down to pull up Google. In just a few short seconds, I have his address pulled up. A quick photo snapped with my phone of the address, and I am out the door, determination flowing through my veins.
CHAPTER TEN
“AIN’T NO SUNSHINE” BY BILL WITHERS
The sun has already set, even though it’s still early evening by the time I make it to the address on my GPS. I love winter but I hate that it’s dark outside so early. The building stands on its own, not attached to anything else, and it seems like it’s the only business in the building. I look around what I generously refer to as a parking lot to see if there is some kind of sign marking it as a business. The short answer is no. It’s not until I take a closer look at the building itself that I see a small white sheet of paper with the words “Anderson and Associates” typed on it and taped onto the window of the entrance.
The building itself looks like it’s in pretty good shape, made of what looks like red brick, but it might be more orange in the daylight. It is literally the definition of nondescript. You could easily mistake this building for a small house if you weren’t paying close attention, and even then, it’s really only because of the four defined parking spaces that make it look like a business. Without any signage or really anything to grab attention, it would have been so easy for me to just drive by this place without a second thought. Thank God for my GPS.
Rain starts to hit the windshield as I’m grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. The cold bites at my skin as I exit my car, causing my entire body to do a quick shiver. The droplets of rain hitting the skin on my face and hands add a stinging sensation as it sporadically falls on me. At least the cold is good for one thing, keeping me alert. The last couple of days are starting to really wear on my body, the exhaustion filling, making my muscles feel like weights. The crunch of the gravel stops being noticeable when the sound coming from the office hits my ears. It takes me a second to place the slow rhythm, but once I figure it out, I know that any time I hear this song again, I am going to think of this moment.
I can see through the front office window as I listen to Bill Withers lament about the lack of sunshine. I can see a pair of feet propped up on a desk, clad in black leather motorcycle boots, kind of tapping to the beat of the music.
I don’t know what to make of this. This man is obviously still at work after hours, so at the very least I know he must care about his work enough to not run off as soon as quitting time comes about. Definitely not opposed to his choice in music, a nice solid, classic choice. As I move closer to the front door, I can see more of him. He’s got papers in hand so I can’t see his face, but I can clearly see his other hand. The other hand that is holding a very generous serving of brown liquid. Generous might be an understatement. So basically this guy is getting drunk at his office, great. Classic.
“He’s your only option,” I remind myself.
The rain starts coming down a little harder and the cold finally pushes me into making the decision. Going inside.
The smell is the first thing I notice. I remember it from when I was a little girl, my dad and his friends used to hang out in the backyard smoking cigars and drinking beers while cracking jokes. For just a split second in time, I am back in those memories. My eyes scan the room until I find the source of the smell. A cigar propped up in an ashtray, the trail of smoke wafting up toward the ceiling.
“You lost?” His husky voice startles me. My eyes rapidly find the source of the voice. He is still leaning back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, but the papers in his hand have been lowered down to the desk. They aren’t papers, they are photos. Who still prints photos?
“Not lost,” I tell him. “A friend of mine gave me your information and said maybe you could help me.”
“That right?” He reaches behind him to turn off the music, which I then realize is coming from a record player. He moves to put his feet on the floor and then gives me a slow once-over. I try my hardest not to shrink under the examination. Something about this guy makes me want to take a step back. He feels almost larger than life, even though he is still sitting down behind a desk. It’s not scary though, he doesn’t make me feel afraid, rather he makes me feel like I’m an open book. It’s a little unsettling.
While he takes his time sizing me up, I take my time to do the same thing. I can’t tell how tall he is since he is still sitting down, but based on his build, there is no way he is under six feet tall. He has wide shoulders, that I can tell are well-muscled because he’s wearing one of those compression shirts people work out in. He’s got at least a couple days of beard growth going on, but it’s not super well kept, making me think it’s more a lack of caring than an aesthetic choice. The lighting in the office isn’t exactly bright, but even with the lack of light, he has a kind of golden appearance. His hair is clearly a golden brown, which goes along with his light-brown complexion. I wonder briefly if it’s a tan or natural.
“You sure you’re not lost?” he asks one more time with his eyebrow raised up, reminding me slightly of the Rock.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Hard to get lost with GPS.” My voice was laced with sarcasm.
“She’s got teeth. Interesting,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. I was right about the well-muscled thing.
“You’re not a people person, are you?” I ask.
“What would make you say that? I was employee of the month last month,” he says with a smirk.
I do a quick survey of the office. “You’re the only employee, aren’t you?”
“And smart too.” He stands up and moves out from behind the desk before sitting on the edge of the desk. Definitely over six feet. “So who do I owe a thank you to for sending my way?”
“Detective Fitzpatrick.”
He loses the smirk on his face. The switch from low-grade amusement to serious takes place in milliseconds.
“Fitz works homicide, last I checked.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“He sent you to me?” There is definite doubt in his voice.
Not wanting to get bogged down on how I ended up here in the rain after business hours, I decide the best option is just to prove it to him. I pull my cell phone out of my back pocket and pull up the text message from Joe before handing over my phone.
He stares at it briefly before finally reaching out and taking the phone from me. It only takes a few moments before he is handing me back my phone.
“Alright, Fitz sent you,” he states.
“I’ve already been to the police and I’ve gotten as far as I am going to get, so he sent me to you, hoping you could help.”
“I’m not really taking on any cases right now.”
“You’re not taking on cases? Isn’t that like the whole point of the business?”
“Fine. What I should have said is I’m not interested.”
“Not interested?” I can feel my blood pressure rising with every one of his responses.
“Yep.” He popped the p at the
end for emphasis.
“You don’t even know anything about the case.”
“I know enough.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Getting angrier by the second, I’m not sure how I manage to keep myself together.
“Dead serious. I’m not interested. Thanks for stopping by.” He kind of motions half-heartedly toward the door and then starts back around his desk.
“I’m not leaving. I don’t know what your problem is, but I am not going anywhere. You are literally the last option I have right now, and there is no way that Joe would have given me your information if he didn’t truly think you were good at your job and a good guy. So, like it or not, you and I are going to have to work something out.” My breath is coming out faster and faster and I hope he can’t see through my bravado.
“Joe, huh? Not Detective Fitzpatrick, but Joe?” he asks.
I shift nervously back and forth on my feet.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“So you know Joe, this is a personal favor.” He states it matter-of-factly, not at all a question.
“That a problem for you?” I retort.
“How do you know Joe?”
“Could you stop saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Don’t fuck around, you know what I’m talking about,” I say, exasperated.
He laughs. He really laughs. Like a belly laugh from deep in his stomach.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to break.” The last bits of his laugh still present in his statement.
My heart pounds in my chest and I can feel myself getting warm, and without a doubt, my skin is starting to get flushed. This guy was really starting to piss me off.
“Are you kidding me, is this a joke to you?” The volume of my voice getting increasingly louder the longer this bullshit continues.
“Not a joke, just… amusing.” He pauses to take a sip of his liquor before plopping back down in his chair and putting his feet back up on his desk. “How do you know Fitz?”