by C. W. Saari
“Yes, and you needed someone to tell you it was all right to laugh again,” Mary Claire said.
“You’ve always known what to say.”
“Well, I’m not going to come to DC to spend time with a blubbering idiot. But I want to see you again. There’s so much to catch up on.”
Lillian could sense the excitement in Mary Claire’s voice. “I really can’t wait to see you.”
“We’ll put our heads together and come up with a good game plan for you. Hey! Consider it a done deal. I don’t want to hear any arguments. I’ll book a flight for this Sunday and you can plan on my being around until Wednesday night. What do you think?”
“You’re the best friend anyone could have.”
“You’d do the same thing for me. I’ll make reservations tonight and e-mail them to you tomorrow. Let me know if there’s any problem. Do you mind picking me up at the airport?”
“Absolutely not. This is great. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Lillian and Mary Claire talked a while longer and both realized how much they missed seeing each other. Lillian drew a hot bath and added some luxury bath oil she’d brought back with her from Vienna. Her body slowly sank into the tub and the heat of the water, like gentle hands, drew out the tension that had been building all day. She thought of Andre and different ways to explain to him what happened. She knew he had to be told but couldn’t decide on the words to use.
Thirty minutes later, with a cup of hot tea on her nightstand and her body wrapped inside a nightgown and flannel robe, Lillian propped herself up in bed. She opened Lorna Landvik’s novel, Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons, and had read a few pages when her cell phone rang. She grabbed it automatically and glanced at the unfamiliar number on the screen.
“Hello, this is Lillian.”
“How good it is to hear your voice again. I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“Andre! Oh, thank you for calling. You must have gotten my e-mail.” Lillian didn’t care if her excitement sounded in her voice.
“I did. I’m here in Washington. How are things with you? Are you all right?”
“Things have turned upside down. It’s complicated, but I’m leaving my husband.”
“I guess the normal thing to say is, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ But I think I know you better,” Andre said. “You’ve been so unhappy. Maybe fate is telling you this problem will soon be over.”
“You’re so positive. I’ve missed you, and I need to talk to you. When can I see you?” Lillian asked, trying not to sound overly anxious.
“I thought about that before I called. I know this is short notice, but could you meet me for coffee tomorrow? I need to talk to you, too.”
“I’ll make time. When?”
“Do you know the Starbucks across from the Springfield Mall?” Andre asked.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear where. It sounded like a car squealing.”
“I’m calling from a pay phone. I said Starbucks across from the Springfield Mall. How about meeting me tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m.?”
“I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see you.” Lillian could feel her heart start to race.
“I know you’ve had a lot on your mind. I’m just curious, though, have you told anyone about us?”
“No, not yet,” she said.
“That’s good. I’ll explain tomorrow. So until then, as they say in America, sleep tight,” said Andre.
Lillian chose a pair of black slacks, black boots, and a cream-colored blouse topped with her new waist-length, chocolate-brown leather jacket. She twisted her hair up in a bun to draw attention to her dangling gold earrings and gold band necklace. She felt chic and polished.
At a few minutes before ten, Lillian was delighted to see Andre walking toward the Starbucks entrance.
“Good morning. You look fabulous,” he said as he embraced her for a second, giving her slight kisses on both cheeks in the European fashion.
“And you look wonderful, too.” Taking in his blue blazer with a white turtleneck, Lillian said, “You look like a movie star.”
“I guess I should take that as a compliment,” Andre said.
He held the door open for Lillian, and the two went into Starbucks where they ordered lattes. Andre told her he had completed his assignments in Zurich, including the editing of his friend’s cookbook, and then had gone to Moscow. He said he’d been busy on a story about the Moscow Circus, which he hoped would get picked up by one of the major travel magazines. Lillian told him about her last week in Vienna and a side trip to Florence and Milan she had taken before returning to the States, but she couldn’t conceal her distracted state.
“Did you want to talk about your husband?” Andre asked as he looked into her eyes.
“I kept putting off facing reality and what it meant,” she said. “Felix never wanted children and I did. Then he admitted he’d been cheating on me. When he didn’t show any emotion telling me about it, I knew our marriage wasn’t worth saving.”
“Right now you’re hurting, but it’s not the end of the world. You have so much going for you. You’re intelligent, unselfish, and beautiful.”
“Do you really think so?” Lillian asked.
“Yes, and I have firsthand experience that you’re in very good shape,” Andre said with a rakish smile.
“I know you’re trying to cheer me up, and I appreciate that,” Lillian smiled as she reached for Andre’s hand. “Last night you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about, right?”
“I did say that, but what I’d rather do is show you something that’s been in my family for many, many years. It’s extremely rare and valuable, but I know I can trust you. It was never supposed to leave my country, but I brought it here. It’s about ten minutes away. Come with me. I’ll drive and then bring you back to your car.”
On Friday morning, Homer Vinson called Felix Wells at the State Department.
“Mr. Wells, this is Homer Vinson. Your wife retained me as her lawyer. Do you happen to know where she is?”
“No, why?”
“She was supposed to be at my office yesterday morning, but she never came in. When I called her cell phone, I got her voicemail. I also left a message for her on the answering machine at your apartment.”
“I know. I listened to your call and saved the message for Lillian.”
“Well, this morning I tried to reach her again without success. I left another message on your apartment phone, then called your work number, which she had given me.”
“You’ve got to know we haven’t exactly been having lengthy conversations,” Felix said, irritated. “For your information, I haven’t seen Lillian since Wednesday night when she told me she wanted a divorce.”
“What about yesterday?” Vinson asked.
“I just said I haven’t seen her since Wednesday. Are you interrogating me?”
“No. Don’t get upset. Your wife hired me to represent her, and that’s what I intend to do. I would like to talk to her as soon as possible. So she never came home yesterday?”
“I don’t know. Her alarm usually goes off about five minutes before I leave for work. Yesterday morning I went to work at seven-thirty. I didn’t hear her alarm, so I figured she was sleeping in. Her door was closed.”
“What about last night when you got home?” Vinson asked.
“I got to the apartment about seven and yelled out I was home. I knocked on her bedroom door. When she didn’t answer, I looked in the room and saw she wasn’t there. I assumed she must have left to go out with a friend or something.”
“Did she come home?”
“I don’t know. I went to bed about eleven and she still wasn’t back.”
“So what did you do today?”
“I went to work as normal. As a matter of fact, I have an appointment with my lawyer this afternoon to discuss the divorce. Are you saying you think she’s disappeared?”
“Right now I have some concerns. When you hear from her, have her call me immediately. If I’m n
ot in the office, my answering service will call me. I’ve placed a priority on her call.”
ONE YEAR EARLIER—ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
The last time Felix Wells III had been to a police station was twelve years earlier when he needed two sets of fingerprints for his State Department application. This time it was to make a report. Felix had met with a lawyer to discuss his divorce and used that opportunity to mention Lillian’s apparent disappearance. His lawyer strongly urged him to file a missing person report with the Arlington Police Department and to cooperate with authorities. If the police attempted to question him formally, he would invoke his right to remain silent and call his attorney.
Detective Weber had been with the Arlington Police for eighteen years. Normally he was on call for any homicides, but since they only had six in the past two years, all of which he had closed, he was helping out this week with missing persons duty. The majority of complaints involved teenage runaways. Most returned home or surfaced somewhere within forty-eight hours. Some were found in jail where they’d been locked up for miscellaneous crimes. Other missing persons cases involved drug users who overdosed, hospital patients who wandered off, and elderly residents with Alzheimer’s who went on errands and simply forgot where they lived. Occasionally, the missing person turned up as a suicide or murder victim.
Detective Weber was buzzed by reception and met Felix Wells at the entrance to the detective bureau’s bullpen where four other officers were working at their desks. The open area looked like a newspaper office. Black binders and stacks of papers were on every desk. Screen savers on a dozen computer monitors silently changed scenes as the two men shook hands. The detective was wearing a light gray suit. His iridescent silver blue tie drew attention away from his gray, leathery face and a nose that looked like it’d been broken more than once. He had tired eyes with prominent crow’s feet.
As the detective bent down to pick up a Post-It note from the floor, Felix stepped over a wet spot on the dirty gray carpeting blemished by one too many coffee spills. The office was stuffy, and the air smelled stale because the police department had cut back on heating and air conditioning for the start of the weekend.
“You’re not going to smoke during the interview, are you?” Felix asked.
Detective Weber glared at him.
The interview room looked like a handball court. The detective flipped on the lights and pulled the chair out from behind a black, steel desk and sat down. He pointed to an empty chair.
“Have a seat, Mr. Wells. Do you mind if I call you Felix?” Weber knew the importance of establishing rapport with complainants.
“No, go right ahead.”
One of the fluorescent lights buzzed and blinked. After getting identifiers and background information from Felix, Detective Weber began the interview.
“What makes you think your wife is missing?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from her in over two days.”
“Is that unusual?” Weber flipped over a yellow page of his notebook.
“Normally, I would say it is. But this week’s been a little different.”
“In what way?” Weber asked.
“Well, Tuesday night when I came home from work the first words out of Lillian’s mouth were ‘I want a divorce.’”
“I see. Are there kids involved?”
“No. We don’t have any children.”
“Okay. What happened next?”
“Nothing. I told her I didn’t have a lawyer but would probably call one the next day. We talked about our situation, and both of us agreed we didn’t want a court fight.”
“Did she—it’s Lillian, right?—act mad or upset?”
“No, as a matter of fact she was kind of calm,” Felix added.
“So, you weren’t shocked by her asking for a divorce.”
“No, but I didn’t think she would spring it on me so soon.”
“What happened after that?” Weber asked.
“Nothing. She went into her room, and I watched TV until I went to bed. I got up and went to work the next day.”
“So when exactly was the last time you saw or talked with your wife?”
“Tuesday night.”
“Today’s Friday. You didn’t see or talk to her Wednesday or Thursday?”
“No. I came home about 7:00 p.m. Wednesday and checked to see if she was there. She wasn’t. The same thing on Thursday. She didn’t leave me a note. I checked the messages on the answering machine and there were two for her. One was from her lawyer, asking her to call him. The second was from Lillian’s friend in Chicago, asking her to call or e-mail her about the plan.”
“What plan was that?” Weber asked.
“I don’t know. It could have been anything.”
“Does your wife have a cell phone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Have you tried to call her since you last spoke with her?”
“Yeah, I tried her number after her lawyer called me at work this morning and said he’d tried unsuccessfully to reach her. He left messages on both her cell phone and our apartment phone. She missed an appointment with him yesterday.”
“Let’s call her now,” Weber suggested.
“Here, use my cell phone.” Felix handed it to the detective. “Just hit speed-dial two.”
It didn’t ring but went directly to voicemail. “This is Detective Alvin Weber of the Arlington Police Department,” he said into the phone. “Please call me as soon as you get this message.” He left the police department’s main number and his extension, then handed the phone back to Felix.
“Maybe when she hears a police officer needs to speak with her she’ll call back. Does your wife work?”
“No.”
“How about you? What line of work are you in?
“I’m a foreign service officer with the State Department.”
“Do you or your wife have any enemies?”
“No. Everyone likes Lillian. As for me, I can’t think of anyone. Of course, we always receive briefings that any of us could be a target of terrorists.”
“I think things are a little bit different here in the States.” The detective wanted to get back on track.
“Does your wife have her own car?”
“Yes. It’s a leased Lexus. In my name,” Felix said.
“I’ll need a description of it, including the vehicle identification number and license plate. We’ll put that into the National Crime Information Center’s computer. Does your wife have any family or friends in the area where she might be staying?”
“I don’t think so. Her parents are gone, and she was an only child. Her best friend lives in Chicago. I don’t think Lillian is close enough to anyone around here to impose on them, even if it were only for a couple of days.”
“Does your wife have any kind of medical condition, or is she taking any medication?”
“Why’s that important?” Felix asked.
“There’s always the possibility she may have had some kind of reaction requiring hospitalization.”
“My wife’s a healthy woman and never . . . well, at least until recently . . .”
“What do you mean?” Weber said, picking up his pen. “Has your wife had a recent problem?”
“You may as well know. She was diagnosed last week as being HIV positive. And so was I.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Weber said. “How did Lillian handle the news?”
“How do you think she handled it? How do you think I handled it? It was a shock to both of us! I don’t think the reality of what it really means has hit yet.”
“Are either of you drug users?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Felix’s voice got louder and his face flushed red with anger. Weber noticed two of the other detectives glance toward the interview room. He gave them a thumbs up.
“I’m not trying to upset you, but that’s one of the most common ways people contract HIV—infected needles. And, of course, there’s the other common way,” Weber
rocked back in his chair. “Unprotected sex with another person.”
“I don’t think we need to get into that here,” Felix said.
“Look, I’m trying to work with you, Mr. Wells. Is Lillian currently involved with someone else?”
“No. At least I don’t see how she could be. We’ve only been back to the States for a couple of weeks. We’ve been living in Vienna, Austria, where I was assigned for the past two and a half years.”
Weber made a note on his pad. Husband infected wife? “Finding out you’ve contracted HIV is a life-changing event,” he said. “You’d agree with me on that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Well, do you think your wife is the kind of woman who might think about suicide?”
Felix was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Have you checked to see if any of her clothes or cosmetics are missing?”
“No.”
“You haven’t?”
“No. Look, I figured that’s what you guys would do. That’s why I’m here.” Felix got out of his chair and stared at the detective.
Detective Weber raised both his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Let’s not get all wrapped around the axle on this. Please, sit back down. Being missing isn’t a crime. Even if Lillian is voluntarily missing, the important thing is to concentrate on locating her as soon as possible. We also want to make sure nothing has happened to her. In whose name is the contract for her cell phone?”
“It’s in my name.”
“Good. Then we won’t have any delay in dumping all her incoming and outgoing calls. Do you have a home computer?”
“We do, but it’s in transit with our shipment of household goods. We each have our own laptops and e-mail accounts.”
“Would you happen to know Lillian’s password for her e-mail?”
“It’s ‘parrothead.’ She’s a Jimmy Buffet fan.”
Weber wrote in his notebook. “I’d like to go back to your apartment with you and check her computer for her address list. I’d like to review the computer history just to make sure she hasn’t purchased a recent airline ticket or made other travel arrangements.” He didn’t want to tell Felix he wanted to search her e-mail messages for other clues that might shed light on her disappearance. “I’ll also need the names of her doctors and dentist.”