She's Not Coming Home (8 page)

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
and 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 Matt 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.’

Mancini said, ‘So you got this text, when?’

‘At five,’ said Matt, slightly impatiently.

‘Is it still on your cell?’ Weber asked. ‘Could I..?’

‘Surely.’ Matt retrieved the message on his phone and passed it to Weber. The Lieutenant checked it, nodded and showed it to Mancini. She looked and nodded to Weber.

‘You can check the day before,’ said Matt. ‘And the day before. Or Friday last week, rather.’

Weber silently tabbed down to the previous day’s messages, then passed the phone back to Matt.

‘But you agree,’ Weber said, ‘that this is just a text: you don’t know for sure where she was when she sent it.’

Matt took a deep breath. ‘No, that’s true, but -’

‘Or that it was your wife who sent it,’ added Mancini.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Matt.

‘I mean anybody could have sent it. Even you.’

‘Even me? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘What we’re trying to say,’ said Weber, ‘is that nobody can be one hundred percent sure that it
was
your wife who sent the text, or that she
was
at work when she sent it.’

‘Mm. I see.’ Matt was beginning to get the picture.

‘Which brings us to the next question,’ said Weber. ‘Where does your wife work?’

‘I told you the other day: Cambridge Pharmaceuticals on Washington,’ Matt replied. He paused a moment, then added, ‘But you’re gonna tell me they’ve never heard of her.’

Weber and Mancini glanced at each other, then Weber said, ‘No. I was going to tell you she hasn’t been to work since last Friday.’

‘What?’ Matt couldn’t believe this.

‘She hasn’t shown up all this week. Nobody has seen her since last Friday.’

‘But – but,’ Matt stammered, shaking his head, ‘that’s not what they told me.’

‘You called them to see where she was?’ Weber asked.

‘Well, eventually.’

‘Eventually?’ Mancini queried.

‘Could I just check on my son?’ Matt asked. ‘Make sure he’s asleep.’

Mancini opened her mouth as if to protest, but Weber cut in.

‘Sure. Be quick, though.’

‘One minute.’

As Matt crept up the stairs, he could hear whispering from the kitchen. He was unable to make out what was being said, but it sounded like
sotto voce
arguing. He peered in Nathan’s room: his son was still fast asleep, clutching a dinosaur Matt couldn’t identify.  He was lying on his front, his left leg hanging down the side of the bed. Matt leaned down and gently lifted the leg back onto the bed, covered it with the
Jurassic Park
quilt, which he smoothed down. Nathan stirred slightly as Matt tenderly ran his hands through his son’s hair.

He returned to the kitchen. Weber looked up at him and said, ‘You were going to tell us about calling your wife.’

Matt pulled out a chair from the opposite side of the table and sat down.

‘When Ruth was overdue by fifteen, twenty minutes, I started to call her cell phone. Did it several times. Got voicemail each time.  I figured maybe she’s in a meeting, maybe she put it on silent earlier, forgot to change it, so I rang her office landline.’

‘And?’

‘The number I had stored in here,’ - he held up his cell phone – ‘seemed to be wrong.’

‘Wrong? As in…’

‘As in this call cannot be completed as dialled. I was surprised; after all it was the number Ruth gave me herself. I figured I must have programmed the phone wrong.’

‘Had you not called her on that number before?’

‘Don’t recall doing it. Always used her cell.’

‘So you called Information?’ asked Weber.

‘That’s right. And the number they gave me was totally different from the one I had.’

‘It’s possible,’ Mancini said. ‘Sometimes phone companies change numbers. Upgrading an exchange. Converting to digital, maybe.’

Matt shrugged.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I called that number and  it was the right number, but I got a recording saying the offices were closed and to call back the next morning.’

‘Which you did, presumably,’ said Mancini.

‘I tried Ruth’s cell a couple more times. Then her friend Gail.’

‘Gail?’ Weber asked.

‘Gail Smith. She’s Ruth’s best friend. I wondered if Ruth had gone over to hers, or maybe she knew where Ruth had gone.’

‘Where does this Gail live?’ asked Weber.

‘Her precise address – that’s -’

‘In Boston?’ said Weber.

‘Yeah, it’s here.’ Matt reached over for the address book they kept by the house phone and looked up Gail’s address. Mancini made a note while Matt read it out.

‘Did she know where your wife was?’ asked Mancini, looking up from her notepad.

‘I got voicemail. Same as Ruth.’

‘Okay,’ said Weber. ‘You were saying you called the offices the next morning.’

‘That’s the whole point. I did – and they told me nobody with Ruth’s name worked there. I even tried her maiden name – Levene – and still they said the same thing. I even went down to the office in my lunch hour and they told me the same thing.’

‘Well,’ said Weber, leaning back in his seat, ‘they told us she does work there; only she hasn’t been in since Friday.  They’ve tried calling her, but keep getting voicemail.’

‘See? Same as me,’ said Matt, banging his hand on the table. Who did you speak to?’

‘Sorry.’ Weber shook his head. ‘Can’t say at this time.’

‘Was it that office manager? Danny – Danny something?’

Weber and Mancini said nothing.

After a few moments of silence Weber spoke up.

‘You said something earlier about a stolen car.’

‘Yes, I took it to work this morning. Parked it as I always do in the lot at the rear of the bank. When I left this afternoon to pick up Nathan, it was gone.’

‘Stolen?’ said Mancini.

‘Absolutely stolen. I wouldn’t have mislaid it.’

‘And you’ve reported it?’ Weber asked.

Matt nodded. ‘This afternoon. I did think at first that was why you called round.’

Weber shook his head. ‘No, Mr Gibbons. Not our department.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Matt. ‘So I got a cab back here, got Nathan, and called you guys about it.’

‘Mm,’ said Weber, slowly nodding his head. ‘What make and model is your car?’

‘A Toyota. A Camry. 2008. Why? Has it been found?’

‘No.’ Weber shook his head. ‘Just routine. Who normally drives it? You? Do you have a car each?’

‘No. Just one between us.’

‘And who normally drives it?

‘I do. I work in a bank on State Street. The journey by public transit would take two hours almost.’

Weber whistled softly. ‘So your wife – she would use the bus, the T?’

‘She’d normally walk.’

‘Walk?’ asked a surprised Mancini.

‘U-huh. She’s always walked. Unless the weather was really bad, then she’d go by bus. Says it saved her fifty bucks a week gym membership.’

‘Can she drive?’ asked Weber.

‘She can, but as she walks, I normally take the car in.’

‘I see,’ said Weber. ‘Where are the car keys now?’

‘Over here.’ Matt stood up and stepped over to a row of small hooks on the wall. There was an assortment of keys hanging: house keys, garage keys, and the Toyota keys. He held up the car keys for Weber to see. Weber held out his hand for the keys. Matt passed them over. Weber checked for the Toyota logo engraved on the key, and passed them back.

‘Are there any spare keys?’ Weber asked.

‘Sure. We keep them upstairs.’

‘Could you..?’

‘I checked them already. The other night I couldn’t sleep. I had all sorts of weird ideas about how and why Ruth had disappeared. So I checked where we keep the spare keys. Just to make sure they were there.’

‘And?’

‘They were there, of course. Why? Do you want me to check again?’

Weber nodded. ‘Yes please. If you don’t mind. The keys are there?’

‘I told you: I checked already. The other night.’

Matt stood up. ‘I’ll go get them,’ he said.

‘Mr Gibbons,’ asked Mancini as Matt left the kitchen, ‘why do you keep the spare keys upstairs. Why not over there?’  She indicated to the row of key hooks.

‘Force of habit. Before we moved here we had an apartment. One floor. One day we needed the spare keys, but couldn’t find them Turned out Nathan had put them in the toilet. So from then on we’ve kept them in a drawer upstairs.’

Mancini smiled slightly as Matt left her and Weber.

‘What?’ asked Weber.

‘Nothing,’ said Mancini. ‘My youngest did that once.’ She shook her head. ‘O’Riordan’s gonna be pissed you didn’t take him Downtown for questioning.’

‘Screw O’Riordan. If we did, what are we gonna do about the kid? Call Social Services? At this time of night?  Get real. Anyhow: let’s see what he has to say here, then take a view in the morning. He’s not going anywhere. And I can handle O’Riordan. If he thinks...’

Weber stopped when he saw Matt standing in the kitchen doorway.

‘The other night, like I told you, I checked the drawer where we keep all the spare keys. They were all there,’ Matt said.

‘And?’

‘The spare car keys have gone.’