She's Not Coming Home

by Philip Cox

  ‘Room service,’ announced a voice behind Matt. He turned round and saw a little Italian-looking man wearing a white jacket and pushing a small metal trolley.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ said Matt holding the door open. He and Weber stepped out of the way as the waiter brought in a large tray holding two plates, one holding a thin slice of cheesecake, the other covered by a large aluminium cover, and an opened bottle of beer with an empty glass. He set the tray down on the dressing table and stood to go.

  Matt signed the bill and returned it to the waiter with the $5 tip. ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much.’

  The waiter nodded and, giving Weber a strange look, walked over to the door. ‘Have a good evening, sir,’ he said as he left.

  Weber lifted up the plate warmer and looked at the burger and fries. He sniffed. ‘You going to eat this shit?’ he asked.

  Matt looked down at the food. He had to agree with Weber: it could look more appetising. ‘I was going to. Why?’

  Weber shrugged. ‘Was going to take you out for coffee, that’s all. We could eat something as well, if you want. Unless you want to eat this.’

  ‘All right,’ said Matt. ‘Let’s go out. I need to talk with you, anyway.’

  ‘I know,’ said the Lieutenant enigmatically, as he led Matt out of the room.

  ‘There’s a place I know along here,’ said Weber as he took Matt along West 57th. Matt looked around as they walked: Saturday night in Manhattan was already in full swing. The streets and sidewalks were full of people: the traffic along 57th was moving slowly; Matt turned and looked back to the hotel and could see the long row of red tail lights leading as far as he could make out; as far as the Hudson for all he knew. Horns blared in their vicinity and in the distance.

  ‘It’s not far,’ Weber said, hooking his arm into Matt’s. He had to almost shout on account of the street noise. ‘Just past Carnegie Hall.’

  They threaded their way through the crowds filing into Carnegie Hall. Matt glanced over at the billboard to see what everybody was lining up for. It was the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

  Weber pointed to a doorway just past the hall. ‘In here,’ he said. ‘Up the stairs.’ Matt looked up at the name above the door: Noodle Town. He could tell from the menu card in the doorway that it was a Chinese restaurant.

  The narrowness of the stairway belied the size of the restaurant on the second floor. There must have been at least thirty tables on the premises, all occupied, with servers bustling to and fro. Weber was greeted by an Asian man in a dark suit. They spoke quietly and Weber led Matt to two stools at the bar. As they sat down, an Asian woman behind the bar passed over two cups of coffee. Matt took a sip, and then nodded at Weber. The coffee was surprisingly good.

  ‘See?’ Weber said, taking a large mouthful. ‘You wouldn’t think it from downstairs, but this is the best cup of coffee you can get Midtown. You want to eat here? My treat.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Matt. ‘How do you know about this place?’

  ‘Used to work the streets here,’ replied Weber through a second mouth of coffee. ‘Many years ago.’

  ‘And how did you know I’d be staying down the road?’

  Just as Weber opened his mouth to reply the dark suited man came over and asked Weber if he wanted to eat.

  ‘My usual,’ he said. ‘Twice.’

  The man bowed slightly and left.

  ‘I recommend it,’ Weber said. ‘They also do the best Szechuan Chicken this side of Houston.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Matt said. ‘Now, as I was asking...’

  ‘How I knew you were in that hotel. Yes?’

  ‘U-huh.’

  ‘What’s my job?’

  ‘A cop. Why?’

  ‘That’s how I knew.’

  ‘What – you’re in the Sixth Sense Unit?’

  Weber laughed. ‘Very good. No. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Following you, as much as I could, that is.’

  ‘Following me. But I – I hadn’t…’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? That’s what surveillance is all about.’

  ‘I see,’ said Matt, not quite seeing.

  ‘You’ve had a silver Audi on your tail for the last few days. Around Boston, that is. I spent the night outside that apartment block in West Medford last night.’

  ‘Right. I see.’

  ‘I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be stopping over.’

  ‘Well, neither was I. You see -’

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘Nathan? You know all about it? Do you know where he might be?’

  Weber shook his head. ‘No, sorry. I heard about it. I guessed that was why you were headed back here. But why here? Why New York City?’

  Matt proceeded to tell Weber about Ruth and Gail’s use of the ATM on 53rd Street. Weber scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Can I ask why you thought fit not to share this theory of yours – which isn’t without merit – with us? With me?’

  Matt paused as the Szechuan Chicken arrived. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I had intended to. But I guess I got kind of caught up in this ATM transaction thing.’

  ‘And you thought you’d play detective?’

  Matt felt his face redden. He nodded.

  ‘What about your son?’ Weber asked. ‘Were you going to tell us about him?’

  ‘It had already been reported to the local police. The sheriff began a search, then escalated it to the State police.’

  ‘Which is how I came to hear about it.’

  ‘Can I ask you one thing?’ said Matt.

  ‘Go ahead,’ mumbled Weber through a mouthful of chicken.

  ‘You seem to be showing a lot of interest in me. You personally, I mean. I don’t get how a detective investigating a disappearance in Boston can be working here in New York City.’

  ‘That’s a long story.’

  ‘We’ve both come a long way.’

  ‘I guess I’m trying to prove a point,’ said Weber.

  ‘Prove a point? How so?’

  ‘Look, both my partner -’

  ‘Detective….Mancini?’

  ‘U-huh. Both she and my boss think you’re implicated somehow in your wife’s disappearance.’

  ‘What? But I’ve no idea -’

  ‘Neither have I. I’m ninety-nine percent certain you didn’t. There’s obviously no evidence, otherwise – well, you know…’

  ‘I’d have been arrested?’

  Weber nodded. ‘Mancini: she’s young, inexperienced, ambitious. O’Riordan, my Captain: he’s just full of shit. More interested in politicking and clear up statistics than real policing. He was my partner back in the day, and he was an asshole even then.’

  Matt took a mouthful of rice. ‘I see.’

  ‘I don’t think you do. They are saying you’re involved somehow; I say you’re not. So I need to prove a point.’

  ‘But how can you go to and from here and home? Don’t you have your own cases to work on?’

  ‘I’m not at work. I’m on leave.’

  ‘You’re doing this on your vacation time?’

  ‘No. Sick leave.’

  ‘Sick leave?’

  ‘That’s right. I had a queer turn the other day after chasing some guy through the mall at CambridgeSide. Caught the bastard, but collapsed afterward. They all thought I was having a heart attack and rushed me to hospital.’

  ‘Jesus. I guess it wasn’t a heart attack?’

  ‘No. The doctor told me it was a kind of warning. You know, cut down on fatty foods – like this – and cut out the red wine. And lose some of this.’ He patted his ample belly. ‘And told me to rest for two weeks.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So, here I am. Resting.’

  ‘With me?’

  ‘Correct. And hoping that in my absence O’Riordan doesn’t send someone out to arrest you. Assuming they find you.’

  Matt nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Now,’
said Weber. ‘Fill me in on everything. And I mean everything. Some bits I know anyway, but…’

  Matt took another mouthful of egg fried rice. ‘Okay. From the top, then.’

  Matt then proceeded to tell Weber the whole story, right from the night Ruth failed to come home. Weber continued eating, sometimes nodding, sometimes asking Matt to repeat himself. Now and then, he would ask Matt to clarify something. He stopped eating when Aki Watanabe came up.

  ‘You asked about her before,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the police view?’ Matt asked.

  ‘The ME said it was an accident. She was filling her bath with water and an attachment of the shower fell off the wall. Hit her on the back of the head, rendered her unconscious. Her head and shoulders fell into the bath water and she drowned. But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I noticed some bruising on the back of her neck. Here.’ He reached round and touched the back of his own neck. But the ME said they weren’t consistent with any force being exerted by a third party.’

  ‘But you think differently?’

  ‘I think there’s a possibility she’s wrong. A very small possibility. Not a probability.’

  ‘And her boyfriend?’

  ‘Danny Clark?’

  ‘Yeah. I guess you’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘We have, but he denies they were together. And we went through her condo with a fine toothed comb. No trace at all of him.’

  ‘He could have killed her, and gone through the place.’

  ‘Could have, but there’s no evidence. And no motive.’

  ‘Hm.’ Matt finished his food and pushed the plate aside.

  ‘Pissing you off isn’t a cause for suspicion, I’m afraid. So carry on.’

  Matt continued, only to be stopped when he got to the car accident.

  ‘Hm,’ Weber said slowly, ‘I seem to remember reading about that. The DNA had been compromised.’

  ‘Destroyed, according to the reports.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It happens sometimes if the fire causes heat over a certain temperature. Makes identification problematic.’

  ‘Well, in this case they found part of her driver’s licence which hadn’t been burnt.’

  ‘Lucky licence,’ said Weber. ‘To survive when everything else gets vaporised. Anyway, carry on.’ He motioned over to a waiter for more coffee.

  Matt carried on, up to his arrival in the City that day. ‘But what is weird,’ he said, getting out his phone, ‘is this text I got this morning.’ He retrieved the message, and showed Weber the screen.

  Weber peered at the screen. Ruth’s name was right at the top of the screen. ‘Jesus!’ he gasped. ‘When did you get that?’ He tabbed the message down to get the date and time of receipt.

  ‘See for yourself,’ said Matt.

  ‘This makes quite a bit of difference,’ Weber said, passing the phone back. ‘One hell of a difference.’

  ‘Yeah, but who’s to say it was Ruth who sent it?’

  ‘True, but with this we can establish where it was sent.’

  ‘Where it was sent? To me.’

  Weber sighed. ‘This is why you should have come to the police in the first place, rather than playing Sherlock Holmes yourself.’

  ‘Matt frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s possible to establish the geographical location of where the message was sent.’

  Matt looked at him blankly; Weber spoke slowly.

  ‘Basically, the guys in the crime lab can tell us the address the message was sent from. Which could be the address where your wife and son are.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  At 8:50 the next morning, Lieutenant Weber’s silver Audi pulled up at one of the security booths guarding 1 Police Plaza. Matt was in the passenger seat. A uniformed officer stepped out of the booth and leaned over the car. Weber already had his badge and identification ready; he held it up to the officer who took it, studied it carefully, returned it, then stepped back into the booth to raise the barrier. Weber gave the officer a brief wave, then took the Audi over to a large parking lot adjacent to the main building.

  ‘You been here before?’ he asked Matt, as he looked around for a space.

  Matt looked around out of his window, at the imposing brutalist structure, at the grounds and parking lots, and the large numbers of uniformed officers milling around. ‘No. Seen it on TV, though.’

  ‘Haven’t we all,’ Weber muttered as he reversed into a space. He activated the parking brake, and switched off the engine. ‘Come on,’ he said as he climbed out of the car.

  They walked out of the parking lot and along a road way towards the Plaza building. As they neared it, Matt looked up at the building, squinting in the morning sunlight.

  ‘Thirteen,’ said Weber.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You were trying to count how many floors.’

  ‘I wasn’t, but thanks. Thirteen.’

  ‘Thirteen above ground.’

  ‘Right. How many below ground?’

  ‘If I told you I’d have to kill you.’

  Matt nodded. ‘Best not tell me then.’

  They walked in the main doors. Once they had passed through the metal detectors and X-Ray machines, Weber led Matt to a large reception area. Not dissimilar to Matt’s office, there was a long counter behind which five uniformed officers were standing. One was unoccupied and was checking a computer screen; the other four were all individually engaged in conversation with other officers.

  Weber stopped and turned to Matt. ‘Give me your cell phone,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  Matt obliged. ‘What now?’ he asked.

  ‘Up on the eighth,’ replied Weber, ‘is what the boys here call the Real Time Crime Center. It’s one huge mother of a computer network which the NYPD use to assist officers in the field. I can get them, hopefully to triangulate – I think that’s the word – where your wife’s text message came from. No civilians allowed up there, I’m afraid; why don’t you wait over there?’ He pointed over to a waiting area with low soft chairs, a coffee machine and a table. On the wall was a sign stating that the restrooms were around the corner.

  ‘Okay,’ said Matt as he wandered off to wait.

  ‘I’ll meet you over there,’ said Weber. ‘Not sure how long I’ll be, though. Could be a long wait.’ He then walked over to the bank of six elevators.

  Matt watched him step into one of the elevators and disappear from view as the doors slid shut. He sighed and slumped onto one of the chairs. He looked around. It was a busy place: figures in and out of uniform milling around. Two men, both wearing check shirts and jeans were sitting across the other side studying a map. One of them met Matt’s gaze and stopped talking. Matt quickly looked away; maybe they were planning an operation.

  He checked his watch. It was now nine thirty. He stood up and walked over to the coffee machine. 75c for a cup. He fed in three quarters and got a plastic cup filled with a watery brown liquid. He tasted it and pulled a face. Should have pressed the button for extra sugar. He wandered back to his seat, picking up a copy of the New York Times which was lying on the table. He sat down and opened it: it was last Friday’s copy. He leaned back and tried to figure out what day it was. Yes, it was Sunday. He was surprised the Plaza was this busy this time on a Sunday.

  *****

  The night before, after they had finished their meal, Matt and Weber stepped out into the street. The air was bitterly cold. Matt shivered and pulled his coat collar up.

  ‘You be able to make your own way back to your hotel? Weber asked.

  ‘Surely. Where are you staying?’

  ‘My sister-in-law’s place up in Harlem. Off 112th. We’ll go down to Police Plaza in the morning. Should be quiet first thing. Especially on a Sunday.’

  ‘Shall I meet you there?’

  Weber shook his head. ‘No point. You’d never get past the checkpoints. I have to come down past anyway, so be at Fifth and 57th eight thirty, okay?’
/>
  ‘Where’s your car?’ Matt asked.

  ‘The same garage as yours,’ replied Weber. As they got to Matt’s hotel, Weber began to cross the street to the garage entrance. ‘Don’t be late,’ he called out, weaving his way through a cluster of yellow cabs. Matt waved and stepped into the lobby.

  Back in his room, he creased his nose up at the sight of the cold and now dried up burger and fries. He pushed it to one side and checked out the cheesecake. It still looked edible, though the beer was flat. He sat on the bed, ate the dessert, then made himself a cup of hot tea before leaving the tray outside his room and taking a bath.

  After his bath, he laid down on the bed. Lying on the bed dressed only in a bath towel, he felt nervous. After all this time, there was a pretty good chance that tomorrow he was going to find out where Ruth was. And maybe get some answers.

  *****

  After reading Friday’s New York Times for the second time, Matt bought himself another plastic cup of plastic coffee. He noticed this time, however, he had the option of pressing a button for Extra Strong as well as Sugar. He pressed both, and this time the coffee was more palatable. He sat down again, peering over to the coffee table to see if there was anything else to read. Just as he had picked up a copy of Time magazine, he heard Weber’s voice. He looked up.

  ‘Here, catch this.’ Weber tossed Matt’s phone back.

  Matt caught it and put it back in his pocket. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Weber, heading off to the doors. ‘We have our location.’

  ‘We have?’ Matt asked, as he scurried after the Lieutenant.

  ‘Midtown,’ Weber called back over his shoulder. ‘East 57th.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ‘How could you tell that?’ Matt asked as Weber took the Audi out of the parking lot and back out onto Pearl Street.

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know exactly,’ replied Weber. ‘I gave two of the guys up there your phone, told them which message it was, and left them to it. I think they link up with your service provider’s network. I saw hundreds of damned figures and letters on one of their screens, and then it showed a map of Midtown Manhattan.’

  ‘Right. I see. Impressive.’

  ‘Ain’t it just? I’ve no idea how it works; one of the guys working on it referred to it as GIS – or Geographical Information System – as he called it once. They use it to track down suspects; you know, the places where they are most likely to flee to.’