by Philip Cox
‘Your wife, you mean?’
Matt nodded.
‘No more news, then?’
Matt shook his head.
‘What have the police said? I assume you’ve been to the police?’
‘Straight away. They were very sympathetic, took all the details. Then started to – to follow their processes, I guess.’
Larry’s cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out.
‘Sorry, Matt. My next client’s arrived.’
He stood up and ruffled Matt’s hair as he walked past.
‘Stay focussed, buddy. No news is good news.’
Left alone in the staff room, Matt sat back in his chair. Drained his cup. Checked his watch. It would soon be time to leave to pick Nathan up from the kindergarten. That was one concession he had managed to get out of Debra: her permission for him to leave early to meet Nathan. He had to make up the time of course: out of vacation time or working extra Saturdays. Always a price to pay.
Ten minutes before he had to leave. Just time to call Lieutenant Weber.
He speed dialled Weber’s number and waited for the Lieutenant to answer.
‘Weber,’ came the voice.
‘Hello, Lieutenant, it’s Matthew Gibbons.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Ah, Mr Gibbons. I thought I recognized the number.’
‘I was just wondering if there was any news.’
‘I’m not aware of any. Look, Mr Gibbons, do you remember when I called round to see you? I said I had to pass the information you gave me about your wife to my Captain. He then passes it to the Missing Persons Unit. They’ve been in touch with you, haven’t they?’
‘They have, yes. I just thought you might have heard something.’
‘Look, Mr Gibbons. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get hold of my counterpart in the MPU; get them to call you to give you an update. Okay?’
‘Okay. That would be much appreciated. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, Mr Gibbons. You take care now.’
Matt slowly disconnected the phone, put it into his pocket, and wandered back to his desk. He tidied up what paperwork he had left on the desk, and made his way to the parking lot. Larry, José, and the others were all seeing clients, so he avoided any awkward goodbyes. Everybody knew why he was leaving early.
*****
‘Was that him again?’ Detective Mancini asked, as she dragged her index finger down the patrol car window, wiping a clear line through the condensation.
‘U-huh,’ replied Weber, as he slipped the phone back into his shirt pocket.
‘What does the guy want?’
‘What the hell do you think he wants? His wife back, that’s what he wants.’
‘His wife back? Like that’s going to happen.’
Weber shrugged. ‘Let’s just say he wants to know where she is.’
‘And he keeps calling you?’
He shrugged again. ‘Desperate, I guess. I might’ve been the same. Anyhow, I’ve done all I can do. I can’t do no more. It’s up to the MPU guys now. They should keep in touch with him.’
‘And are they?’
‘Of course they are. Well, they were three days ago when I checked. That was the last time he called me.’
‘Jes-us.’
‘Give the guy a break, Mancini. He just wants to know, that’s all. Wouldn’t you be the same if Joe never came home from work?’
‘No.’
‘Mancini…’
‘Yeah. I know. I’d be the same.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Mancini spoke again.
‘There again, he could already know where she is.’
Weber looked over at his partner. ‘Haven’t we had this conversation before? You know he had nothing to do with it. He was eliminated from the investigation after the first day.’
‘Yeah. I remember.’
‘Oh, what the hell.’ Weber picked up his phone and dialled.
‘Who you calling now?’
‘Edwards from the MPU. Get him to call Gibbons one more time.’
*****
The parking lot Matt used was at the rear of the building. As he walked out of the branch doors he took a left, then another left down the side street which led to the lot. Checked his watch again. Yes, traffic permitting, he would get to Bambinos in time. Then a detour via the 711 store to pick up something for their dinner. Tell Nathan another bullshit story about where his mother was. Still away on that work course, probably. Then when Nathan was asleep, make another load of calls. Still thinking things through, he walked across the lot to the space where he had left the Toyota that morning.
As he got to the space, he stopped.
The car had gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Lieutenant Weber was just about to dial the MPU to check up on the Gibbons case when it rang. The caller number was not shown. He answered, listened for a moment, said, ‘We’ll be right over,’ and then hung up.
‘What is it?’ Mancini asked.
‘MGH,’ Weber answered, starting the car. ‘Celeste Washington came round ten minutes ago.’
Mancini fastened the blue light on the car roof as Weber accelerated out of South Shore Plaza where they had been investigating a case of suspected arson.
‘You taking the 93?’ she asked, as they swung round a bend and he took the ramp leading up to the Interstate. He was already doing seventy as they joined the highway and swiftly moved into the number 4 lane.
‘Quickest way I know,’ Weber muttered. ‘Should be there in half an hour,’ he added, giving a black sports car a blast on the horn to get the driver to move over.
‘What’s the hurry?’ Mancini asked, glancing down to the speedo dial, which was now showing ninety.
‘I want to get the sons of bitches that did what they did to her,’ Weber said. ‘And we need to talk to the lady herself. While she’s -’
‘Still alive?’
‘I was going to say while she’s conscious. She could slip into a coma again. But, yeah; while she’s still alive maybe. And don’t forget: the sooner we get to them, the less chance there is of them doing the same thing to another little old lady.’
‘Let’s just get there in one piece, Sam,’ Mancini said as she tightened her grip on the door handle. Weber was doing ninety-five.
‘Relax Mancini,’ Weber grinned. ‘I’ve done the advanced driving course, remember?’
‘Oh yeah. I’d forgotten,’ she said sardonically. She watched as they sped past the traffic in the other lanes.
Weber swung off the 93 just after they left the tunnel section and was soon pulling up outside the Massachusetts General Hospital. They both ran into the hospital and to the room where Ms Washington was being kept.
*****
Matt contemplated returning to his office to report his car stolen, but he would rather do it from home. In any case, he had to pick Nathan up. He hurried up to State, and along to the subway station; not to get a train, but one of the many taxi cabs that were always parked outside the station.
The cab dropped him off outside Nathan’s kindergarten. Matt had ten minutes or so to spare, so he walked around the block a couple of times, trying to get his head round what was going on. First Ruth, her disappearance, the mystery of where she worked; now his car being stolen.
He picked up Nathan and they walked home, calling in at the 711 two blocks from Matt’s house. Picked up two microwave lasagnes and set off home.
‘You wanna watch some TV?’ he asked Nathan as they got in. ‘Daddy needs to make a couple of phone calls.’
‘Sure thing, Daddy,’ the little boy replied, heading straight for his favourite seat opposite the television. ‘Can I see Jurassic Park? Please, please.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Matt said slowly as he looked through their collection of DVDs. ‘How about Ice Age 3?’
‘Cool. Yeah, yeah,’ Nathan replied excitedly.
‘Coming right up.’ Matt started playing the disc of Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs an
d left his son glued to the television while he went into the kitchen to call the police. Again. 911 not being appropriate he felt, he looked up what number to dial, and did so.
The call took about ten minutes. He felt slightly disappointed afterwards: never having had to report a stolen car before, he was not sure what to expect, but got the impression he was just going through the motions. The officer he spoke to gave Matt a crime reference number, which he would need for the insurance. He had read somewhere that the percentage of stolen vehicles recovered was in single figures: at least there was nothing valuable in the car, he reflected.
‘You looking forward to seeing Gail tomorrow?’ he asked Nathan, as they both attacked their lasagnes.
‘Mm,’ mumbled Nathan, nodding. ‘Will Mommy be coming home tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘Should be. Maybe after you get back from Gail’s.’
‘Cool.’ Nathan returned to his food.
*****
After Nathan had gone to bed, Matt poured himself a glass of red wine and sat down. The chair was still warm from when Nathan was watching television earlier. He had a thought. He drank the last of his wine, and went upstairs. He peeked into Nathan’s room to check on him, made a bathroom stop, then back downstairs. Booted up their computer, and logged on again to the Bank of New England site. He keyed in the necessary passwords, and got access again to their accounts. He scanned the transactions again, this time back to the twenty-fifth of the month before. The twenty-fifth was payday for them both. For the last month, and the twelve months before, every twenty-fifth, or twenty-fourth, or twenty-third, depending on the day of the week, there were two credits to their account, representing their respective pay. Sure enough, in the details column for Ruth’s pay, was the comment Cam Pharm. Matt made a clicking noise with his tongue, something he did sometimes while in thought: so she does work there. So that asshole – what was his name? Danny – was bullshitting him. But why? What was it all about?
He leaned back in his chair, slowly shaking his head.
‘What in the hell’s going on?’ he said aloud. ‘Danny whatever your name is, you’re full of shit,’ he added. ‘And you’re gonna be straight with me tomorrow.’
He logged off, determined to make another trip to Ruth’s office the next morning.
Until he realised it was Friday night. Ruth never worked weekends, so the offices were bound to be closed till Monday. Shit; would have to wait till then. But the police would need to know. Matt realised he had not told them about the question about where Ruth worked. Not Lieutenant Weber, nor the officer from the Missing Persons Unit.
He checked the time: it was getting late, and he had an early start the next morning. Gail and her partner Ryan were looking after Nathan while he was at work, and he had to leave early to drive Nathan to their house.
Drive.
No car.
Damn.
Groaning, Matt retrieved his phone from the kitchen and dialled Gail’s number, praying it would not go to voicemail. It didn’t.
‘Hello?’
Matt was at first surprised she failed to recognize the number, but realised it was Ruth who always called her.
‘Gail, it’s Matt. Sorry to call you so late.’
‘No problem. What’s up? Do you still need us to look after Nathan tomorrow?’
‘I do, yes; but there’s a problem. My car was stolen today. I’ve reported it already, but have no transportation right now. It’s not really practical to take him to yours using public transportation; any chance you and Ryan could come and get him?’
‘Oh, shit. Sorry, Matt. Ryan has to take the car in the morning, so I can’t. Maybe -’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get a cab. I’ll get it from here, drop Nathan off, then the driver can take me up to the office. When is Ryan due back?’
‘Around lunchtime.’
‘So you could bring Nathan home in the afternoon?’
‘Sure. Maybe the three of us can play some ball or something in the park, then get over to yours around four.’
‘Sounds good. Do you want to stay for dinner? My way of saying thank you for helping with Nathan.’
‘Gee, any other time, I’d say yes, but we already have plans for tomorrow night.’
‘Some other time then.’
‘Sure. Absolutely.’
‘Well, I’ll get Nathan over to yours for around eight thirty tomorrow.’
‘Sure Matt. See you then.’
‘See you.’
‘Oh Matt,’ Gail added. ‘Is there any news? About Ruth, I mean.’
‘No. Nothing yet.’
‘Well, call me if there is. Any time. Sorry about the car, too.’
‘Thanks. See you in the morning.’
Matt ended the call and tossed the phone down onto the table. ‘Don’t concern yourself too much,’ he muttered, as if continuing his conversation with Gail. ‘If it was my best friend listed as a missing person, I’d be more interested than you seem to be. Then you always were a narcissistic bitch.’
Matt looked over at the clock. It was now just gone ten. He stretched and rubbed his eyes. Time for bed: it was an early start tomorrow, and he had a lot to do – again. Maybe he would get some quiet times at work tomorrow so he can do something about the car. He was sure the insurance policy gave him so many days’ use of a courtesy car. There was that trip to the Cape on Sunday: postponing would not normally be a problem, but this time, he needed to go.
He switched off the television and the downstairs lights and started to climb the stairs. As he was half way up, the doorbell rang. He quickly listened out in case the sound had woken Nathan, and then went back down.
Through the spy hole he could make out two figures. One was slight – female he guessed – and the other taller and rounder. He recognized Lieutenant Weber. He started breathing quickly as he fumbled with the lock and swung the door open.
‘Lieutenant,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Have you any news? Has Ruth turned up yet?’
Weber swung round to look at the female officer. She remained expressionless.
‘Mr Gibbons,’ the Lieutenant said. ‘This is my partner, Detective Mancini.’
Matt and Mancini gave each other a slight nod.
‘Well?’ Matt asked again.
‘No,’ Weber continued, ‘your wife has not turned up yet, but the investigation – the search – is still ongoing.’
‘You’ve come about my car, then?’ Matt asked.
Weber looked puzzled. ‘Your car?’
‘It was stolen today. I reported it earlier this evening. I thought -’
‘We haven’t come about your car, Mr Gibbons. We have come in regard to the investigation into your wife’s disappearance.’
Matt had a sudden uneasy feeling.
‘We need to ask you some more questions,’ Weber went on.
Then he paused. Matt wondered if it was for effect.
‘Downtown.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘What?’ asked Matt, uncertain if he heard the Lieutenant correctly. ‘You want me to answer more questions?’
Mancini answered. ‘Downtown.’
‘Look,’ Matt said, trying to speak louder but still keeping his voice down. He did not want to wake Nathan, nor did he want the woman who was walking by the opposite side of the street and watching them, to hear them. ‘I have a five year old boy upstairs asleep. It’s late. Why do you need me to come to the station with you? Now? What’s so important it can’t wait, or can’t be done here?’
Weber glanced over at Mancini, who remained expressionless. ‘All right,’ he said, looking back at Mancini. ‘Let us in now, and we’ll see how we get on.’
Matt’s eyes flickered over to Mancini, whose eyes had just opened wide. Saying nothing, he held the door fully open and let the two police officers in.
‘Go into the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Lieutenant, you know where that is.’
Weber nodded, and stepped in, followed by Mancini, who was not looking happy. As Ma
tt watched Weber lead his partner into the kitchen, he thought what an unlikely partnership this was. Weber, the middle-aged, overweight, African American cop, dressed in a scruffy suit and open raincoat and looking like something out of the fifties; Mancini, much younger, a slighter figure dressed in a black leather jacket, blue denims and black shoes. Her red hair was cut in a boyish style. Strange, Matt thought, she doesn’t look Italian.
‘May we?’ asked Weber, indicating to one of the chairs.
‘Be my guest,’ Matt said as he joined them. Weber pulled out a chair – the same one he used the last time. Mancini looked as if she was determined to stand until Weber flashed her a stare. Reluctantly, she pulled out the next chair and sat down. As she put her hands on the table, Matt noticed a wedding band. That explains the surname, thought Matt.
‘Coffee?’ Matt offered. He felt Weber was about to say yes, but after a quick look at Mancini, who declined, the Lieutenant waved his hand.
Matt leaned on the sink.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘You said you had more questions.’
‘Yes, we do,’ said Weber. ‘First of all, I want to clarify some points from our conversation the other day.’
‘Clarify?’ queried Matt.
‘Yeah. Mainly for Detective Mancini’s benefit. So she’s up to speed.’
Mancini looked over at Weber, then back at Matt.
‘It was Tuesday night when you reported your wife missing,’ she said. Matt was surprised: not so much at the question, but that out of the blue, she was asking the questions. Maybe this is what they meant by good cop bad cop, he reflected.
‘It was. Tuesday night.’
‘And when did she disappear?’
‘Tuesday night. And she didn’t disappear as you put it. She didn’t come home.’
The look on Mancini’s face said whatever.
‘Tell me again: what time was she due home?’ asked Weber.
‘Between five thirty and quarter of six. She finished work at five.’
‘Was that when she normally finished?’ asked Weber.
‘U-huh. Generally.’
‘But you don’t know that she did finish at five that night,’ said Mancini.
‘I do.’
‘How so?’
‘She sent me a text to say she was leaving work. She did every night when she left. I would do the same. It was just our way of letting the other know we were on our way, and what time we could be expected home.’