by Jean Martino
She ran her fingers through her still wet hair; her eyes aching with tears of anger that she stubbornly refused to let flow. Her husband was gone from her life now; she had finally begun to let go a year ago when she had met Scott on the internet. It was Scott’s voice she heard now in her mind, deep and resonant, telling her she had to pull herself together, that it was up to her to find out what had happened to her daughter. Of course that’s what he would say. His work as a homicide detective with the Sacramento police department had required him to think things through logically. And even now that he was retired he still carried that same authority in his tone of voice and thinking.
Then a feeling of relief swept over her as she saw her short, red haired sister, Jessica, running toward the building, all bundled up in a black track suit covered by a bright red rain jacket, her umbrella almost turned inside out from the wind. Behind her the tall lanky Bill, in blue Levis and boots, a black jacket done up to his neck and the collar turned upwards, was carrying a sports bag as he loped across puddles. To see those two wonderful people rushing through the wind and rain to be with her swept all her misgivings aside. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her whole life as her sister and brother-in-law at that moment.
Her adrenalin started slowly pumping again, her feet moving her back towards the door where she stood waiting. Her eyes shed their tired look as Jessica burst through the doors, surrounded by the cloud of energy she always created, and rushed over to meet her, shaking her wet umbrella.
“Had to be a storm today of all days,” said Jessica, closing her umbrella then hurriedly hugging her. “My God,” she cried, moving back with alarm. “You weren’t joking when you said you were soaked to the skin.” Without waiting for a reply she rushed on, talking rapidly. “We got here as soon as we could. I know you told us not to come but when you told us Cindy hadn’t arrived and you got drenched running across to the international terminal, I told Bill we had to get some dry clothes to you at least.” She stopped talking as Bill loped into the building and stopped beside her, reaching to take the sports bag from him. “Let’s find the ladies room and get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a death of a cold.” She grabbed Linda’s arm pulling her forward, turning her head to Bill. “You go do what you have to, love,” she said. “We’ll meet you in the restaurant in a few minutes.”
Bill nodded at Linda, then walked off as Linda felt her sister pulling her forward. Inside the ladies room, Jessica shoved the sports bag at her. “Go ahead now; I’ll wait over here,” she pointed to a corner, “out of the way of everyone.” She stepped back into the corner away from the women rushing in and out as Linda shrugged off her rain jacket and went into the cubicle; emerging minutes later wearing a navy blue track suit; her wet clothes scrunched up and in the bag.
“I’m sorry I dragged you out in this weather,” said Linda apologetically. “But thanks, Jessica. You’ve no idea how much better I feel now with you and Bill here, and the dry clothes.”
“You didn’t drag us anywhere,” said Jessica sternly. “We’re family, remember? And that’s what family do, support each other. It’s a good thing I have that extra key to your house. Come on now, fix your face a bit and comb your hair. Bill wanted to try talking to the airline people himself and see if they‘d tell him anything they wouldn’t tell you.”
“I can’t,” said Linda agitatedly. “I don’t care what I look like right now. I need to call the police in California; find out if anything has happened to Cindy and Michael. They could be hurt, or... or---”
“Stop it right now!” ordered Jessica, ignoring the looks from other women in the room. “Take some deep breaths, Linda. Pull yourself together. Nothing has happened to them I promise you. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all this.” She opened Linda’s handbag and found her makeup purse, pushing it into Linda’s hands. “Now fix yourself up. Go on now, do it.”
Feeling embarrassed at her outburst and the looks they were getting, Linda grabbed the makeup purse and opened it, attempting unenthusiastically to repair her face under Jessica’s stern watchful eyes.
Worriedly, Jessica watched her in the mirror. They had the same oval faces and short noses, but there the similarities ended. At 51, she was two years older than Linda, and at only five feet, she was six inches shorter, and the weight hadn’t settled kindly on her, not like Linda with her tall, still slim figure. She envied Linda’s clear skin and eyes as blue as a sunny day’s sky; her own deep set eyes were green and her skin sprinkled with freckles, something that went with her red hair, which even though Bill told her was charming, she wished would hurry and fade. They even sounded different when they talked; Linda’s Australian accent now more American after living in California for twenty eight years. Even after two years back in Australia it hadn’t changed, perhaps it never would. She was thinking, as she continued to watch her sister, how sad it was that Linda’s husband wasn’t there to help her. But Vito wasn’t anywhere anymore. His death ten years ago from a heart attack in California had shocked them all in Australia. And then just a few years later their parents had died in that automobile accident. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now Linda’s only child seemed to have up and disappeared without leaving a trace of where she could be and what had happened to her. She didn’t want to think of what that would do to her if one of her own three children went missing, especially with them all traveling overseas so much now with their partners, and all the terrorism threats since the September eleven tragedy.
“That’s better,” Jessica said, patting her sister’s arm. “It’s amazing what a bit of makeup does for you. Your hair though.... Mmm… think that hairdresser went a bit mad last week cutting it like that. But I still think it makes you look ten years younger.”
More settled now, Linda rubbed the hand towel Jessica had brought with her over her hair. “I don’t care about looking ten years younger,” she said, grimacing as she pulled a comb through her hair and tried to settle the wet bangs over her forehead. “Forty nine, well almost fifty,” she corrected herself, “isn’t old is it? Besides I don’t feel any older than I did twenty seven years ago when I gave birth to Cindy.”
Her mentioning Cindy’s name made her suddenly stiffen. The few moments of relief she had felt with Jessica fussing around her dissolved. She stared at Jessica in the mirror, her face stricken. “What could have happened to her, Jessica?”
“Did you try calling them again on their cell phones?”
“A dozen times at least,” sighed Linda. ”No one answers. Not Cindy, nor Michael. And their answering machine at their home isn’t taking messages either. I just knew something was wrong yesterday when I tried calling them and got no answer then either.” She grabbed Jessica’s arm. “Jessica, can people just disappear like this?”
“I don’t know,” said Jessica, pushing the wet clothes tighter down inside the bag and zipping it up. Her heart was breaking for Linda but she had no answers to give her. It was the most frustrating situation she had ever heard of. People disappeared every day but this time it was close to home. This time it was her niece, her sister’s only child who had, it seemed, just up and disappeared from their lives along with her husband and left them holding onto a hope that was diminishing with every hour that passed. Pray God nothing had happened to them, she thought saying a silent prayer. “Come on,” she said trying to stay cheerful, “let’s go find Bill now and see if he had any luck.”
* *
Bill was sitting in the restaurant his face more serious than usual. He was tall and slim, his hair now as white as snow, his shoulders slightly slumped from working as an accountant for thirty three years. He stood up as they entered and waved to them over the crowds. When they reached the table he held both their chairs as they sat down. Three thick white cups on saucers were placed around the table and three small metal hot water jugs were sitting in the middle.
“Did you find out anything?” asked Jessica, dropping the sports bag then taking off her jacket an
d hanging it over the back of her chair.
He shook his head. “They told me the same as they told Linda; that they couldn’t give me any information as to why Cindy hadn’t taken those flights.” He turned to Linda. “They suggested I check with Qantas at the international terminal.”
Linda sunk her teeth into her lower lip as she lifted one of the metal hot water jugs with a shaking hand then quickly placed it back on the table. “I don’t think Cindy even got on that flight from Los Angeles now,” she said, biting her lower lip.
Jessica picked up the jug and poured hot water over the teabag in Linda’s cup for her. “I never understood why Michael couldn’t take time off for a couple of weeks to accompany Cindy here for her visit,” she said. “And now that man at Michael’s office told you he took a two week leave of absence? It doesn’t make sense, in particular if his parents don’t know of any family emergency. Does he have any aunts or uncles or cousins that something might have happened to?”
Linda shook her head. “None that he ever spoke of. Besides, if he did, then wouldn’t his parents have known if anything had happened to them?”
Bill ran his hand over his chin. “Then I have to agree with you, from what that stock broker told you, that Cindy didn’t even get on that plane in Los Angeles yesterday. Whatever happened to make Michael take two weeks off has obviously altered Cindy’s plans too. Have you tried calling any of their friends in Newport Beach?”
“No, it’s too late there to call anyone now and I don’t know their friends’ phone numbers anyway.”
The noise in the restaurant was increasing with all the people arriving from flights or coming to meet passengers. They could barely hear themselves talking above the clatter of dishes and voices swirling around them and finally lapsed into silence, trying to think what else they could do.
“Perhaps Scott could find out what has happened to them.” said Jessica loudly, breaking the silence between them. “Perhaps he could go by their home in Newport Beach and check for you.”
“Sacramento is 400 miles north of Los Angeles,” said Linda. “And even if he called them he probably still wouldn’t get an answer. Besides, he’s off down the California coast on that deep sea fishing trip and won’t return till Saturday night their time.”
“Perhaps on Monday, if you haven’t heard from them by then, you should call Michael’s office and speak to his boss,” suggested Bill.
“That would be Monday night here,” cried Linda, her voice rising. “Almost three days away. I don’t think I could handle waiting that long.”
Bill glanced quickly at Jessica, who gave him a subtle shake of her head as if warning him to be careful what he said right now.
“When did you last hear from Cindy?” he asked Linda.
“She called me five days ago and said she was looking forward to seeing me again. Then she emailed me three days ago and said she’d been so busy on that freelance newspaper assignment she was working on for some newspaper there that she hadn’t had time to think.”
“What else did she say?” asked Jessica.
“She said she and Michael were fine and I was not to worry about them.” She looked at Jessica with worried eyes. “There was something strange about that email. She kept telling me not to worry about them and to take care of myself. She didn’t end it the way she always ended her other emails telling me to make sure I was at the airport to meet her. In fact she didn’t even mention her trip to here. That’s why I tried calling them yesterday. I couldn’t shake this feeling that there was something she wasn’t telling me and I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” She lowered her head to stare into the cup of tea which she hadn’t yet taken a sip of. Then her head flew up, her eyes widening as she stared from one to the other. ”Something is wrong. I know it. I can feel it.”
Bill could detect the panic rising in her voice and stood up. “There’s no point in our staying here any longer. Obviously Cindy isn’t flying here now. I think we’d better head on home and try to think out what to do away from all this noise.”
Linda stared up at him despairingly.
“I’ll ride with Linda,” said Jessica.
“No, it’s okay,” said Linda. “You go along with Bill.”
“No way,” said Jessica, grabbing her coat and putting it on. “I’m coming with you.”
Linda felt suddenly drained; her confusion, anger and panic had been replaced by a hollow helpless feeling. “Alright,” she said, fighting back her emotions at leaving the airport without her daughter being with her. “We’d better get going then before the next storm hits.”
* *
California…June 14, 2003:
At fifty six years of age, Scott Walker believed that his life couldn’t get much better than at that moment. But it hadn’t been handed to him on any silver platter either. He had worked his guts out for thirty years in the Sacramento Police Force; put his life on the line so many times that he had literally lost count of how many criminals he had brought to justice; only knowing that he had to have done some good in a world that seemed determined to screw itself up one way or the other. Until one day he knew he had had enough, that it was time he walked away from all that adrenalin pumping action, the constantly staying alert for danger, the realization that one day there’d be a bullet with his name on it and nothing would stop it from bringing him down.
Blue jeans and a black sweatshirt kept him warm from the cool night air as he sat on the edge of the grassy embankment overlooking the now dark beach. His legs were stretched forward over the sand and he held a beer can in one hand as he recalled the arguments his buddy, Max, had used trying to change his mind about retiring.
“You’re the best sharpshooter on the force,” Max had argued. “Sure you’re too old now for the SWAT team but you still have that ability to aim right and bring down a target when it counts. And no matter how stuffed up a case got, you could always think things through logically when the rest of us got stymied. And no one could wish for a better partner, you never were one to cut and run when things heated up. Don’t do it, Scott. You’re only fifty five for God’s sake. And you’re one of the best goddamn homicide detectives on the force.”
“No, you are,” said Scott. “Look, Max, we’ve both put our lives on the line there for 30 years now and what have we gotten for it? That last case almost got us both killed. It made me stop and think that there had to be a better way to live my life. Let the younger ones come up the ranks and take the risks now. We’ve both earned our place in the sun.”
“Bullshit!” cried the frustrated Max, his blue eyes narrowing as they always did when he was angry. “What the hell are you gonna do, sit on the porch and rock yourself to sleep every night? Or are you gonna become one of those private dicks spying on unfaithful husbands and wives for divorce cases?”
Scott laughed. “Well, not quite. I’ve been offered freelance work with a law firm; investigative work on criminal cases. I don’t think it will be so much different from what I’ve been doing, except of course the risks will be less, and the money better. Not to mention it will give me more time to go fishing and enjoy life for a change.”
Eventually Max had stopped haggling him about it except the times they had gone fishing together. He knew Max would never retire until he was forced to or they took him out feet first. That was Max’s style. At fifty eight, he was still the best and he knew it and so did everyone else on the force and no one, not even the gung ho young cops there, messed with him. But he had been right, to a point, it had proved to be less challenging, much less.
His brown eyes followed the moonlight streaking across the Pacific Ocean waters to where the horizon would be, and he thought of how happy Linda would be at that moment on the other side of the world with her daughter once more with her. He hoped the sun was shining in Adelaide for her; he knew, from talking to her on the internet video screen three nights ago that she wanted everything to be perfect for Cindy’s visit.
A breeze ruffled his gra
y hair and fanned his tanned, square jawed face. He loved listening to the roar of the ocean and the crashing of it on the shore. He loved the smell of the beach, the salty taste of it on his lips, the warmth of it during the day and its coolness at night. Ahhhhh, life was good, he thought, taking a sip of his beer. Three days out on the boat with nothing but the ocean around him and the wind and the sun on his face had made him feel alive again. And the incredible exhilaration, reeling in those thirty odd pound sea bass today, which had fought like demons to get free again, had given him a huge high. He wished he could stay there longer but tomorrow morning he would have to head back to Sacramento.
He scrambled to his feet, stretching his six foot body, then bending to brush the sand off his jeans and yank his sweatshirt down over his slim hips. It was past ten o’clock and Dan would be calling soon to go over the changes he had made on that computer program for him. He stared at the moonlit ocean for a few more minutes. He could almost hear Linda’s happy laughter and it pleased him no end. He wanted her to be as happy as he was, and tonight he was feeling more relaxed than he had for years. The doubts he’d had a year ago when he had made his decision to retire from the Sacramento Police Force had all disappeared now. The only thing he missed was the camaraderie he and Max had shared as partners.