T here was no immediate danger, the desk sergeant on the phone informed Morris, so it would be forty-five minutes to an hour before somebody from Seattle PD would be at the house to take his statement. Or he was welcome to come in and file a missing-person report. Neither choice sat well with Morris, but he opted to stay at Sheila’s house and wait for an officer to arrive.
He rifled through her desk drawers while he waited. Everything was meticulously organized, and he found nothing unusual amid the pens and Post-it pads.
A small stack of invoices lay beside the computer, waiting to be paid. Electricity bill, gas bill, mortgage statement; all were unpaid for the month. He noticed her gas bill payment was due five days ago. He wasn’t intimately familiar with Sheila’s bill-paying habits, but it seemed odd that she wouldn’t have taken care of these things before she left. In the stack he’d grabbed from her mailbox there were more bills-why hadn’t she forwarded these to the rehab facility? Or arranged to make the payments some other way?
He took one last look at the lifeless little goldfish, then headed down the hallway and up the long, straight staircase.
Two bedrooms and a bathroom were on the second level. One bedroom was done up as a guest room, and the other was bare except for a treadmill and an old TV. He checked both rooms and the bathroom, even looked inside the closets, but nothing of note was in any of them.
Turning down the hallway, he took the final set of stairs up to the third floor, which was entirely Sheila’s bedroom. By the time he reached the top, his knees were aching from carrying his big body up so many steps.
Her bedside reading lamp was still on. The bed, though made, was slightly rumpled, as if she’d just been lying on top of it. A novel was lying open and facedown next to the indent left by her body. Her reading glasses were beside the book.
It was all so peculiar-it didn’t even look as if Sheila had left in a hurry. It was as if she’d left knowing she’d be back right away. He was certain the police officers, if they ever arrived, would agree.
He felt every inch the intruder as he sat on the edge of her queen-size bed. He was invading the wall of privacy she’d so carefully constructed, and it made him uncomfortable. He had been in her bedroom only half a dozen times, if that. They weren’t having sex and she had no television here, so there’d never been much reason for him to come upstairs. Now he was alone in her room, trying desperately to get inside her head. He picked up the novel she was reading. The latest thriller from Jeffery Deaver. Morris had never heard of the guy.
He opened the top drawer of her nightstand and pawed through it. Hand lotion, another book by another author he’d never heard of, a few pens, receipts from various clothing stores. No recent purchases. He opened the second drawer.
And stared into it, his jaw dropping open.
It was a box of condoms. Jumbo pack. Trojans. And ribbed… for her pleasure.
The box was open. Morris looked inside, knowing damn well what he was going to find but needing to see it anyway.
A jumbo pack came with twenty-four condoms. In this box, only six remained.
The doorbell chimed three floors down and he jumped.
Morris gave his statement to the Seattle PD officers, trying hard to maintain a sense of professionalism. But in between every sentence was the nearly empty box of condoms, glowing like a fluorescent beacon in his head.
It didn’t help to know that she had at least practiced safe sex. No, sir, not one bit.
“So you don’t live here?” The younger detective was a petite woman named Kim Kellogg. Dressed smartly in a tailored pantsuit, she’d been making notes the entire time using a small black leather notepad she kept clipped to her belt. Her partner, Detective Mike Torrance, was wearing a shirt that needed ironing and a tie that looked outdated. He had been listening to most of the exchange without comment, his hawk eyes missing nothing.
“No,” Morris said. “But I am-was-her fiancé. I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left a message calling off our wedding.”
“When were you supposed to get married?”
“This Saturday.”
“And she called you from where?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“She called you on your cell phone?”
“No, the home phone.”
“Did you check the call display?”
“I can’t remember. I was upset when I got home.”
“Can you check it when you get home and give me the number she called from?”
“Certainly.”
Torrance cleared his throat, interrupting them. He had a jawline full of razor bumps, and his short black hair stuck straight up from his scalp like he’d been electrocuted. “So, Mr. Gardener, if you don’t live here, you must have a key to get in.”
Morris suddenly wondered if he was going to be arrested for trespassing. “I do,” he lied. “We were engaged, after all.”
Detective Torrance’s face was expressionless. “And why is it you think something’s happened to your fiancée?”
Morris hesitated. “Truth be told, I don’t know what to think.”
Torrance stared at him. “Then why are we here, Mr. Gardener? Either you’re reporting her missing or you’re not.”
Kellogg was jotting everything down furiously, her pencil making loud scratching noises against the paper. Torrance frowned at her as if he wanted her to stop.
Morris rubbed his head. “It feels like something’s not right. Her house is messy. She wouldn’t leave it like this if she knew she was going away for a while. It would have bothered her. And her fish is dead.”
“Fish?”
“Her pet goldfish. It’s dead.”
Torrance and Kellogg exchanged a look Morris couldn’t decipher. “Let’s go see,” Torrance said, and Morris led the way to Sheila’s study.
Detective Kellogg looked closely into the fishbowl, her blond ponytail bobbing. “It’s dead all right,” she confirmed, jotting it down in her notebook.
Torrance grimaced. “Thank you, Kim.” He looked around the office before directing his gaze back to Morris. “So you’re saying it’s out of character for her to leave so suddenly, but she did call you to say she was going away for a while.”
“Yes, she did.”
“Have you tried looking for her?”
“She asked me not to.”
Torrance frowned. “You still have that message on tape?”
“I didn’t erase it.”
“Can you drop it by the station tomorrow?”
Morris stifled a sigh. “I can do it tonight.”
“What were the problems between you and your fiancée?” Torrance asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The problems between you and Ms. Tao.” Torrance’s voice was patient, as if he were explaining something to a five-year-old child. “Obviously things weren’t going well between you if she decided to blow town a week before your wedding.”
Kellogg looked up, her pencil paused midair.
“It’s Doctor Tao.” Morris felt his jaw tighten, and he forced himself to relax. “We did have an argument, yes.”
“What about?”
“It’s personal. But we were still getting married.”
“Sir.” Torrance’s voice was flat. “Everything’s personal. We can’t help her if you don’t tell us everything you can.”
Morris stared at him. The detective stared back.
“Relationship stuff,” Morris said finally. “Nothing we wouldn’t have gotten past.” He didn’t want this man to know about Sheila’s sex addiction. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
Torrance sighed. Kellogg’s pencil scratched into the silence.
“And tell us again when the last time was you saw her?”
“A week ago. Wednesday.”
They were treating him like a goddamned suspect.
“But she was okay when you left her.” Torrance’s voice was breezy, but there was no denying the ice behind it.
“Are you kidding me? Why the hell wouldn’t she be?”
Torrance raised a hand. “Just doing my job, Mr. Gardener.”
Morris seethed in silence.
“So you said you got Ms. Tao’s message-sorry, Dr. Tao’s message-on Sunday while you were waiting for her at the hotel. What time did she leave the message?”
“I told you I don’t remember the exact time she called.” Morris was exasperated. “I can check my call display when I get home. And if you’re gonna ask me every question three different ways, Detective, we’re gonna be here awhile.” Morris glared at them.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Torrance was unfazed.
“Of course.”
“Why wouldn’t she call you on your cell? Didn’t you think it was strange that she called you on your home phone knowing you weren’t going to be there?”
“It was strange, yes. But she might have pressed the wrong button on her phone. Or she didn’t want to actually speak to me. Considering what she told me, I can’t blame her.”
“But when you got the message, you weren’t alarmed. You didn’t go looking for her?”
“Of course I did,” Morris said, the heat building in his neck. “I came here first thing, she wasn’t home. I called, she didn’t answer. What else could I have done?”
“Is it a normal pattern of behavior for her to just take off?”
“No. We’ve been dating for a year and nothing like this has ever happened.”
“You must have been pretty angry with her for dumping you over voice mail a week before your wedding day. Must’ve been pretty embarrassing for you to have to make all those phone calls to your guests.”
“It was the worst day of my life, yes.” Morris hated how defiant he sounded.
“So you still have that message on your answering machine?”
“For God’s sake, Detectives. Yes. I will bring it by tonight.”
“It would be good if you could,” Kellogg piped in sweetly.
Morris felt like ripping her ponytail from her pretty little head.
“All right then, I think we have everything we need for now.” Torrance nodded to his partner, who was still writing in her notebook. “Thanks for calling us, Mr. Gardener. We’ll get her missing person’s report on file.”
“And then what?” Morris was relieved that the questioning was over, but he was still pissed off. “What’s your plan?”
“Our plan?” Torrance was barely able to keep the condescension out of his voice. “Well, we’ll pop around the university and see if her colleagues know anything. We’ll chat up her neighbors. Does she have close friends? Family?”
Morris thought of giving them Marianne Chang’s name, but then he shook his head. Sheila’s therapist obviously didn’t think anything was wrong, and he didn’t want the detectives contacting her and deciding they agreed before they conducted a thorough investigation. “Both parents are dead and she’s an only child. The only friends she ever talked about are from work.”
Torrance nodded, then glanced at Kellogg again. They seemed to have a wordless way of communicating with each other. It was irritating. “Listen, Mr. Gardener-”
“Call me Morris.”
“Morris. For what it’s worth, it doesn’t sound to me like anything bad’s happened to your fiancée. What she did may be unusual, maybe even out of character, but it’s not necessarily cause for concern. She’s an adult, and she left a very specific message telling you that she was leaving town. If we don’t find evidence of foul play, we won’t be able to pursue this. People have the right to up and walk out of their lives.” Torrance paused. “It’s shitty, but it happens every day.”
“She wouldn’t have let her fish die,” Morris said stubbornly. “How long can a goldfish go without being fed?”
“Five days,” Kellogg answered. She smiled, sheepish, when the men turned to stare at her. “I had one when I was a kid. Never remembered to feed it on time.”
Torrance gave her a look and her grin faded.
“Okay then.” Torrance stuck out his hand. Morris shook it halfheartedly. “We’ll be in touch. Don’t forget to bring that tape. And also the time of the call and the number she called from.”
“Got it,” Morris said, tired. He couldn’t have forgotten if he’d wanted to.
“You leaving with us?”
Morris shook his head. “I need to lock up.”
He saw them back to the door and watched them drive away, just as his BlackBerry rang. Private name, Seattle number. He answered the call.
“Morris?” a voice said.
His heart deflated. It wasn’t Sheila. “Yes?”
“This is Dr. Chang.” Her voice was more anxious than the last time they’d spoken. “I tried you at home first. I thought I would let you know that I called the treatment facility I thought Sheila might have checked into. They have no record of her. Neither do a dozen other places I’ve tried.” The therapist paused. “It was an in-patient program?”
“That’s what she said.”
“I thought so.” Dr. Chang was quiet for a moment. “Listen, I’m concerned.”
“I am, too. I’m at Sheila’s place now and the police were just here. I’ve filed a missing person’s report.”
“That’s good.” The therapist sounded relieved. “I think that’s best. Not that I think anything’s wrong,” she added quickly. “But it would be good to know she hasn’t been in an accident of some kind.”
“That’s pretty much what the police said. Should I give them your name?”
Dr. Chang was silent for a moment. “There’s really nothing I can tell them. If I knew something that could help, I would say so, but only if I thought she were a danger to herself or others. She’s not.”
“That’s what I figured.” Morris hesitated. “Listen, the detective on the case thinks Sheila probably flipped out. He said that people walk away from their lives all the time. Do you think that’s what she did?”
Dr. Chang answered carefully. “In my experience, I’ve seen people walk away for all kinds of reasons.”
His heart sank.
Finally, the therapist sighed. “I shouldn’t say this, but she loved you very much, Morris. You mean the world to her. Once she’s worked through everything she needs to, I really believe she’ll come back.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank you. You don’t know how badly I needed to hear that.”