He is Mine

by Mel Gough

  On his third day on the case they have a breakthrough. Eric and Brad are present for the raid on a drug den in Harlem that finally produces the murder suspect. It’s a long day, and there’s still enough paperwork to complete for a week, but since it’s Vice’s case Brad and Eric will only be marginally involved in the messy wrap-up.

  Brad arrives home at one a.m. to voices still audible upstairs. Quietly, so as not to wake Zoe, he climbs the stairs. He finds Rose and Damien in the living room.

  “You burning the midnight oil?” he asks as he goes over to the sofa to give Damien a kiss. “Something happened?”

  Rose and Damien exchange a look. Damien moves to make space on the sofa. “Sit down, and we’ll tell you.”

  Brad sits, bemused. Rose picks up her phone from the coffee table and taps it a few times. Then she holds it out to Brad. He takes it.

  On the screen is a photo of Vivienne. It’s a selfie on her Instagram account. Brad doesn’t use any of that stuff himself. PD regulations don’t forbid it, but there are many rules to follow, and he doesn’t see the point in trying to navigate a minefield just to put his private life out on display. The people he wants to talk to are all in his phone book.

  But he has a fair understanding of social media. Eric, among his many other talents, is a bit of a tech wizard, and goes on every course he can find that the Detective Bureau will pay for, about how criminals make use of new technologies.

  Brad studies the photo. Vivienne smiles a coy smile, her head tilted to one side. Why that is attractive Brad doesn’t understand, but a good forty thousand people have liked the picture so far. Her smile gives Brad the creeps.

  But he does know that the background of the picture looks familiar. “That’s downstairs,” he says, staring at Damien.

  Damien nods. “Yeah. And look here…” He points at a few words on the screen, right below Vivienne Aubert. It’s the name of Damien’s street. Brad stares at the phone, incredulous. “That’s called a geotag,” Damien says. “You can add it to your picture on IG. And this…” He taps the screen hard, right on Vivienne’s face. iamdamienthomas appears on the picture, above Vivienne and beneath the house number that’s visible above the entrance. “That’s my Instagram account. She tagged me in the photo.”

  Brad looks at the phone for another moment, until the screen switches to battery saving mode and goes dark. He hands it back to Rose. “Let me get this straight,” he says hoarsely. “She posted your address on her account and tagged you in it?”

  Damien nods, looking miserable. Brad shakes his head. “Why?” he demands. “And when did she take the photo? Was she here today?”

  Damien shrugs. “Not that I saw. But a whole bunch of fans sure as fuck were.”

  “What?!” Brad exclaims, and Damien flinches at his angry voice.

  “They were waiting when we came back from looking at Zoe’s preschool,” Rose says. “Damien distracted them while I took Zoe inside. But they weren’t satisfied with just a selfie and an autograph each. When I checked an hour after Damien finally got away they were still there. Or maybe another bunch, I don’t know.”

  “Did you call the police?” Brad asks. “There are no fans down there now.”

  “We did,” Rose says. “They said they’d have the patrols pass through every so often and ask people to move on. They didn’t seem very surprised. Maybe this happens in Manhattan sometimes.”

  “I guess it does,” Brad says. He’s thinking about what to do next. “I’ll text Eric before bed. He can get his little gray cells working on it overnight. Eric’s my partner,” he adds in explanation for Rose. “He’s kind of a genius.” Then he turns to Damien, who’s sunk in on himself on the sofa. “Your head hurting?” he asks and puts a hand on Damien’s neck.

  Damien nods. “Yeah.” Brad massages the base of his skull and Damien sighs, closing his eyes.

  “Why don’t you go to bed?” Brad suggests. “It’s really late. I’ll clear up.” There are a few mugs and glasses on the coffee table, and the usual clutter of living with a child.

  Damien nods, looking exhausted. “Thanks. Will do.” He gets up laboriously and gives Rose a wave. “Night.”

  “I’ll be there soon,” Brad says, patting Damien’s thigh as he passes him. “And take some Maxalt.”

  “Good idea.” Damien’s walk is a little unsteady as he makes for the staircase, and Brad has to fight the urge to get up and help.

  “He’s really shaken up,” Rose says, and Brad turns back to her. “He was charming and sweet with the fans, and he played with Zoe when he came upstairs. But I could tell it scared him.”

  “You should’ve called me,” Brad says. He stacks glasses and mugs to take them through to the kitchen. Rose starts to put away Zoe’s coloring books and pens. Then she follows Brad into the kitchen.

  “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it. And I guess he didn’t want to bother you.”

  “Well, he should have, and he knows it,” Brad says, trying not to let his irritation show. He puts the crockery into the dishwasher then turns to Rose. “Have you met Vivienne?”

  “Once, at that fundraiser. I saw you there, too. Damien was so upset.” She grimaces. “Did you know she just turned up for that? She came here to collect him, like he’d invited her. I guess, in her head, he had.” Her gaze is troubled now. “There’s something not right with her, Brad. I can’t put my finger on it, but what she did today, that’s not something you do accidentally. I think she’s got some kind of vendetta.”

  Brad nods. “I think you’re right. I’ll see what we can do about it, I promise.” He thinks about Nate’s typed-up report sitting at the bottom of his in-tray.

  “Good!” Rose says with emphasis, jolting Brad from his thoughts. “About time. And it’s also about time I got going.” She returns to the living room to collect her bag. Brad follows her as she climbs down the stairs. He turns off the lights as they go, then opens the door for her in the light from a small lamp that’s glowing on the wall. They’ve started leaving it on so Zoe can find her way if she wants to come to them at night.

  As Rose puts on her coat, Brad asks, “How was Zoe with all this?”

  Rose shrugs. “A little bemused. She’s so used to the celebrity hubbub it doesn’t faze her much. And we got her away from the fans before it got really weird. She’s a doll.” Rose smiles. “Damien has asked me to increase my hours and help look after her when she’s here.”

  “That’s great,” Brad says. “A bit of help will take a load off him. And thanks for taking care of them today.”

  “No problem. Goodnight!”

  When Brad closes the door behind her, he pulls out his cell. He’d better send that text to Eric now. It’s time they got to the bottom of this Vivienne business.

  44

  Damien wakes groggy from the rescue meds, but this time the worst has been averted by the Maxalt. He sits on a high kitchen stool, waking up properly over a cup of coffee and watching Brad make breakfast.

  “Why did she do it?” he muses. “Viv, I mean. Sure, she’s angry that we weren’t on the same page, but she must know that any chance she ever thought she had of changing my mind is gone after that?”

  “Was there ever a chance?” Brad asks without thinking. He regrets teasing Damien immediately when he sees his pained expression. “Sorry, too soon for bad jokes.” He flips over the pancakes. “Did you try calling her?”

  “Rose tried yesterday,” Damien says. “Went straight to voicemail every time.”

  Just then, Zoe comes clambering up the stairs. “I smell pancakes!” she exclaims.

  After Brad has settled Zoe with her pancakes he makes sure Damien eats some, too. Then he gets ready for work. He has an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “I don’t like leaving you alone today,” he says, cursing a Sunday shift for the first time ever. “Take extra care, all right?” he tells Damien as they say goodbye.

  “Will do,” Damien replies. “Rose is coming to take Zoe to an op
en day at the new school. I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll go with them.” He rubs his temple. “If my head behaves, I will.” While Zoe is busy examining her new school bag, he gives Brad an extra-long kiss. Brad leaves the house with the taste of coffee and maple syrup still on his lips.

  When he gets to the station he makes right for Eric’s desk. “What’ve you got?” he asks, without so much as a hello.

  Eric doesn’t need to ask what Brad means. He leans back in his chair, his face serious in concentration. “Well, there’s a whole discourse about online harassment at the moment. We touched on it in the last seminar I did. It’s difficult to get the platform providers to take stuff down. But I still think contacting Instagram should be our first step.”

  With a sigh Brad perches on Eric’s desk. “Not sure how much good that’ll do. The horse is already out of the barn with this one…”

  Eric gives Brad a searching look. “I haven’t quite worked it out yet, but…this is about Vivienne Aubert, isn’t it?”

  Brad raises an eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?” he asks. He had done nothing more than fire off a quick text last night, asking Eric to start digging up what he can around harassment on Instagram.

  “The captain had a call from Victor Cahn last night,” Eric says. “Vivienne’s husband,” he adds. “The captain and Cahn’s father were close friends, apparently, and Victor and his wife stayed in touch. That’s why she called the captain, the time we went to that actor’s penthouse. Seemed odd he called again, so my brain came up with a hypothesis.” Eric crosses his arms. “Are you going to tell me how all of this connects?”

  Brad says nothing, so Eric continues, “It’s the actor, right? Damien Thomas?”

  “Maybe,” Brad says, not meeting Eric’s eyes. He wonders if Eric has heard something over the grapevine already from the Brooklyn cops, or whether he’s just using his intellectual superpowers to figure this puzzle out. “Look, I’ll tell you everything over a beer sometime soon. I’ll introduce you, too.” He looks around to see if anyone is in earshot. “For now, can we try and untangle this? What did Victor say to the captain?”

  “His wife’s gone missing,” Eric says. Brad raises an eyebrow.

  “She wasn’t missing yesterday,” he says through clenched teeth. “She hung around Damien’s house, setting a trap for him and his daughter.”

  Now it’s Eric’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I don’t think he meant missing as in disappeared. In that case he wouldn’t have waited this long, and we’d have a case file about her already…and would be looking for a body, I suppose.” He gets up and beckons Brad to follow. “It seems he’s not heard from her in a while, so he’s come here to look for her.”

  Brad falls into step beside Eric. “Victor Cahn’s here?”

  “The captain told him to come straight here from the airport. Meeting room three,” Eric says.

  “Why are you only telling me now?” Brad asks, annoyed.

  “I wanted to hear what you had to say first,” Eric replies. Brad can’t fault him for that. It’s what he’d do himself. With a jolt, he realizes that he’s on the other side once again. He’s part of a case, not an investigation.

  When they get to the meeting rooms on the opposite end of the open-plan office space, Eric draws ahead and opens the third door. He lets Brad enter first, and then closes the door behind them. The clamor of the incidence floor is cut off at once.

  Cahn stands by the window and turns around as they enter. He isn’t what Brad expected. Tall and slim, Victor Cahn is going bald around the hairline and a little gray. He wears wire-rimmed glasses, and his white shirt and blue slacks make Brad think of an accountant rather than one of the most successful Hollywood directors of the last few years. A crumpled blue jacket, matching the slacks, hangs over the chair.

  Cahn catches Brad’s appraising eye and shrugs. “I haven’t had time to shower or change,” he says in a tired voice. He holds out a hand. Brad shakes it.

  “Detective Brad Moretti,” he says.

  Eric waves toward the chairs around the small round table. This is a meeting is the message of the arrangement, not an interrogation. “Our apologies for the wait, Mr. Cahn,” he says. “I wanted Detective Moretti here, too. We both met your wife when she first arrived in New York.”

  “Victor, please,” Cahn says.

  “Sure,” Eric says. “Would you like another drink, Victor?” An empty mug sits on the table in front of the chair with the jacket, right next to a cell phone.

  Victor shakes his head and sits. “I’m jetlagged and already wired enough to climb the walls,” he says with a humorless little laugh. He looks first at Brad, then at Eric. “Detectives, do you know where my wife is?”

  Brad feels sorry for the man. He seems genuinely distressed, and clueless as to what Vivienne has been up to.

  Eric takes the lead. “Not at present, no.” He sits down close to the director, and Brad takes the chair opposite. “Tell us what happened, Victor.”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure where to begin,” Victor says, rubbing his eyes. He looks drawn. “Viv left for New York, and I haven’t spoken to her since. She must’ve blocked my number. I got one text from her, about a week after she left. She said she needed some time to think. After that, every time I tried her number I only got the message that the number has been disconnected.”

  “Remind me, how long ago did she leave?” Eric asks.

  Victor thinks for a moment. “About a month ago.”

  “How do you know she’s in New York?”

  “Sam—I mean, Captain Terrell—called me, after Viv called him,” Victor says. “He and my dad were in the Army together. He was like an uncle to me when I was growing up.” He stops there, but Eric wants more.

  “Do you know where Vivienne was when we followed up that call she placed to Captain Terrell?” he asks, firmly but not unkindly.

  “I can make an educated guess,” Victor says, and for a moment it seems that that’ll be it. But then he looks at Brad and Eric in turn, and Brad is surprised to see real anguish in his eyes.

  “You think of Hollywood as this strange, promiscuous place,” he says, sounding resigned. “And you’re right. Some rules are different. But I don’t think it’s a worse place than elsewhere because of that. Am I happy that my wife is having an affair with another man? Of course not! Am I going to divorce her? Not if she doesn’t want me to.” His eyes grow hard. “If I play this right, it might even generate an extra level of buzz for our movie. And believe me, I won’t stop the gossip, not as long as it makes me money.”

  After that pronouncement, there’s an uneasy silence. Brad can appreciate why Victor is so successful. He throws Eric a glance, and his partner raises an eyebrow. Brad wonders if Victor is so good at his job because he’s always been ruthless, or whether the industry he works in has made him so.

  When he looks at Victor again, the cold expression has vanished from his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m very tired. I worry about Viv, I really do.” Brad is inclined to believe him.

  “Of course,” Eric says. “You must’ve been sure that she was still here, or you wouldn’t have come.”

  “Yes,” Victor replies. “When I hadn’t heard from her for three weeks I called her mother. She lives in Florida now, and she and Viv don’t see each other much. But I thought, even now, Viv wouldn’t ignore a call from her mom.”

  “And did Mrs. Aubert get hold of her?”

  “She did, yesterday.” Victor’s voice is flat now. “Viv told Annushka that she didn’t want to see me, and that she’d be in touch when she was ready to tell me what should happen next. She said that she was trying to get her life sorted out. According to Annushka, Viv sounded strange. She kept saying that all the pieces would come together soon, and that she was very close to making it happen. Ann called me as soon as they hung up. After that, I booked the first flight I could get.”

  “Did you go to your apartment first?” Eric asks. Brad looks at him sharply. Why hadn
’t he thought of that? Of course, if Vivienne had been at their home, Victor wouldn’t be here now. Brad’s gut clenches. He leans forward, eyes on Victor intent.

  “I did,” Victor says. Something in his face shifts; he looks genuinely troubled for the first time. “The place was a mess. Clothes and bits of food and…and wine bottles everywhere. Viv hasn’t ever been very tidy, but that was…unexpected. And…” He hesitates. Eric finally has to prompt him.

  “Did you find something else out of the ordinary?” he asks.

  Victor looks confused and uncomfortable. “There were baby clothes, and toys, all over the living room. And even a stroller.”

  “Were you two trying for a baby, before Vivienne left?” Eric asks. “And she hadn’t told you yet that it had worked?”

  Victor straightens up and looks directly into Eric’s eyes. Red blotches rise on his neck, starting around the collar. “I’m sterile,” he says, his voice not betraying any emotion. “Viv made me get a test when we got married.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eric says.

  Victor waves this away. “I don’t really care for children, so I wasn’t bothered. But Viv took it hard.”

  Brad stares at Victor, the meaning of his words sinking in. If Damien got Vivienne pregnant… Why did he never even mention the possibility? A sense of betrayal rises unbidden, and Brad forces it down. Damien can’t know, he’s sure of that. But did she trick him into it? Or is it someone else’s baby?

  Brad wants to ask more questions, but Victor seems uncomfortable with the direction the interview has taken. He continues before Brad can speak, “And I found this under the coffee table.” He puts his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket on the chair and pulls out a small notebook. Brad recognizes it immediately.