“WHAT?” I ASKED HER. “What’s happened?”
Bob Janigan stepped forward, caught my eye, and said, “It’s nothing really. I told her not to-”
I held up a hand. I wasn’t interested in what Bob had to say, at least not yet. “What’s happened?” I asked Susanne again. “You’ve heard from Syd? Has she gotten in touch? Is she okay?”
Susanne pulled away from me and shook her head. This is it, I told myself. Susanne’s heard something. She’s heard something bad.
“No,” she said. “I haven’t heard anything.”
“What is it, then?”
“We’re being watched,” she said. I glanced at Bob, who shook his head back and forth in small increments.
“Who’s watching you? Where? When did this happen?”
“A few times,” she said. “They’re in a van. Watching the house.”
I looked at Bob again. “Your house or Susanne’s house?”
“Mine,” he said, clearing his throat. Susanne’s house was sitting empty, and I knew she was on the verge of putting it on the market, waiting to see how things worked out with Bob. The three of us checked the house regularly, on the chance Syd might be hiding out there, but there was no evidence she’d as much as popped in.
Bob said, “Suze thinks some guy’s been keeping an eye on the place.”
Even in the midst of all that we were dealing with, it rankled that Bob used the same diminutive for Susanne I always had. Would it kill him to call her Sue, or Susie? But I tried to stay focused.
“What guy?” I asked. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” Susanne said. “I couldn’t get a look at him. It was night, and the windows were tinted. Why would someone be watching us?”
“Have you seen him?” I asked Bob.
He let out a long sigh. He’s a tall guy, better-looking in person than in his commercials, where he goes for an “everyman” kind of look in khakis and short sleeves and slicked-back hair. But in person, he’s all designer. Little polo players stitched to his shirts, perfectly creased slacks, expensive loafers without socks. If it were a little cooler, he’d have a sweater tied around his neck, yuppie-style.
“I’ve seen a van,” he admitted. “But it was halfway down the block. It’s been there two, maybe three times over the last couple of weeks. I think there’s usually been someone in it, but it’s kind of hard to tell.”
“What kind of van?” I asked.
“Chrysler, probably,” he said. “An older one.”
I wondered if it could be cops. You normally expected to see them in a Crown Vic or an Impala, but cops working undercover could easily be in a van.
“You think it was watching the house?” I asked him. A van parked halfway down the block didn’t have to mean anything.
“You have to understand,” Bob said, “we’ve all been under a lot of stress lately. This thing with Sydney, it’s taking its toll.”
This thing with Sydney. He made it sound like we were having a stretch of bad weather. Hope this thing with Sydney passes soon so we can put the top down on the car.
“I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,” I said to him.
He gave me a look. “Don’t start, Tim. I’m trying to help here. And all I’m saying is, everybody’s radar’s on high alert. Every time a girl goes by, we’re looking to see if it’s Sydney. We hear a car pull into the driveway, we rush to see if it’s her being brought home by the police. So Suze-both of us-we’re looking at the world different, you know what I’m saying? So we see a car parked on the street, we just wonder what’s going on.”
“He was smoking,” Susanne said, her voice sounding very tired. “It was like a little orange dot behind the steering wheel every time he took a drag on the cigarette.”
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
“And say what?” said Bob, even though he wasn’t the one I was asking. “ ‘Officer, there’s a van parked perfectly legally down the street. Could you check it out?’”
“I wonder if it has to do with Sydney,” Susanne said, taking a tissue out of the sleeve of her pullover top and dabbing at her eyes.
“First of all,” I said, “you don’t know that it has anything to do with Sydney or you or anyone at all. Bob might actually be right about this. We’re all under a terrible strain. You look like you haven’t slept for weeks-”
“Thanks a lot,” she said.
I tried to backtrack. “Neither of us has been getting the sleep we need. You get so tired you lose perspective, you start misinterpreting things people say to you, misconstruing their meaning.”
“That’s right,” Bob said to Susanne.
“I just want you to take me seriously about this,” Susanne said to me.
“I am,” I said.
“I didn’t belittle your concerns, years ago,” she said.
“What?”
“You remember,” she said. “When you thought someone was going around asking questions about you?”
I hadn’t thought about that in a very long time. It had to have been ten, twelve years ago. The feeling that someone was looking into my background. A couple of people I knew said they’d had a call from someone, said I’d given them as a reference. What did they know about me? Was I reliable? As though I’d been applying for an apartment or a new job, except I wasn’t applying for either of those things.
And then it stopped, and I never heard another thing.
“I remember,” I said. “And I’m not belittling your concerns. If you think someone’s watching the house, I believe you.”
“That’s not all,” she said. “Things have been disappearing. Bob bought me a Longines watch, and I don’t know what happened to it. I’m sure-”
Bob said, “Honey, you just misplaced it, I’m sure.”
“And what about the money?” she asked him. “That cash? It was nearly a hundred dollars.” She looked at me. “In my purse.”
“Has there been a break-in?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But something’s going on.”
The back door on the Hummer’s driver’s side opened. I hadn’t realized anyone else was in the car. Evan-Bob had been married twice before, and if I’d ever known which wife he made this kid with I’d since forgotten-slithered out of the back seat like a piece of boneless chicken.
“Could you like turn on the car so I could put the AC on?” he asked. He had a handful of scratch-and-win lottery tickets-what Sydney and I call “scratch-and-lose” tickets-with panels already rubbed off. He had a penny pinched between the thumb and index finger of his other hand. “It’s roasting in there.”
“In a sec, Evan,” his father said. I’d only met Evan three or four times-just once since Syd had disappeared-and I don’t think he’d said more than ten words to me on all those occasions put together. Nineteen, out of high school-I didn’t know whether he’d left with a diploma or not-and not planning to go anywhere in the fall, so far as I knew. Since Bob had brought him into Susanne’s house, he’d been doing little more than hanging around there and a few odd jobs on one of Bob’s lots. He was tall like his father, with dark locks of hair hanging sheepdog-like over his eyes.
“Are we getting some food on the way back?” he asked. He hadn’t even looked at me.
“Hold on, for Christ’s sake,” Bob said, rolling his eyes, and for a moment there, you had to wonder whether he was thinking the wrong kid went missing.
“I need to go inside for a minute,” Susanne said. She started hobbling toward the front door, putting a lot of weight on the cane.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I just… I need to go in and sit down for a moment,” she said. “My hip’s really throbbing today.”
I tried to catch Bob’s eye, give him my “Nice boat driving” look, but he looked away.
“The house is locked,” I said, handing her my set of keys. She might still have had a key to the house on her key ring, but I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t had the locks changed since our split. It wasn’t as if I expected her to sneak back and make off with the furniture. Anything decent we still had after the divorce went to her place. It looked as though, ultimately, it would end up at Bob’s.
“You said we were going to stop and get something to eat,” Evan said, waving the scratched lottery tickets in the air to blow off the leftover debris.
“Just get in the car,” Bob said. “Open the doors if you need some air.”
Once Susanne was in the house, I said to Bob, “How is she?”
He looked down at the ground. “She’s fine, she’s good. Getting better every day.”
“What were you doing, anyway?” I asked. “Watching teenage girls sunbathing on the beach while Suze got dragged behind the boat?”
He glared.
“Any of them look like future models? I know how you’re always on the lookout for prospects.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, Tim, let it go. I told you, weeks ago, that was a totally innocent comment. Okay, maybe it was inappropriate, I get that now. But for Christ’s sake, can we move on?” He stopped the head shake, lowered his voice. “Don’t you think there are bigger things to worry about right now?”
“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice even.
“Susanne, she’s on the phone night and day. Calling shelters across the state. Police departments. Faxing pictures.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “She can’t do this all alone, Tim. She needs help.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have to pick up some of the slack. Syd’s your daughter, too, you know.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I know you’re not a detail guy, Tim, that you kind of let things slip a bit, that that’s how you lost the business and all, but you gotta pick up the ball and run with it this time, you know what I’m saying?”
I wanted to slam his head into the Hummer.
“Suze can’t do it all,” Bob said. “The other day, she wanted me to drop her off at the Stamford Town Center so she could wander around, look at all the kids who were there in case she spotted Syd. You know how huge that place is, and with that pitlike thing in the middle with the tiered seating? And her on a cane, likely to fall over half the time if she’s not careful.”
I turned away for a moment, forcing the anger down, like trying to swallow a brussels sprout as a kid. I took a few steps down the driveway, motioning Bob to follow me.
“This van on your street,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“You think it’s watching the house?”
“I don’t know. It seems pretty crazy to me.”
“Any reason why anyone would want to be watching you?”
“You mean us?”
“I mean you. If there really was someone watching your house, maybe they were watching you, maybe it’s got nothing to do with Suze, or Syd.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Did you sell somebody another Katrina?” I asked him. “They might be coming around looking for payback.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Tim, you really never let anything go. I sell one car, a car I bought in good faith three years ago from a wholesaler who swore it was clean, and okay, it turned out to have been underwater for a while in New Orleans, and it made the news. I’m not happy it happened, but sometimes in this business you get jerked around. Maybe, if you’d hung in running a business instead of just working at one, you’d have a better understanding of that.”
My neck felt like it was on fire.
“I run an honest business, Tim,” he added.
I didn’t bother to mention the Honda S2000 sports car he’d tried to wholesale to me once, arguing it would sell faster off an authorized Honda lot than any of his. Said he wanted to do me a favor, that the car was pristine, low miles, still loads of warranty left. Almost got me, too. I checked the car out, top to bottom, and it wasn’t until I looked at the washers under the bolts that held the fenders to the frame that I noticed they weren’t original Honda parts. So then I took down the VIN number, made some calls, traced the car back to a dealership in Oregon that had reported it stolen ten months before. The car was finally recovered, at least what was left of it. It had been stripped of wheels and seats and airbags and enough other parts to make half a car. The insurance company paid off on the vehicle, acquired its remains, and auctioned them off. The buyer replaced the missing parts, sold the Honda to Bob, who then tried to fob it off on me as an original.
Bob hadn’t gotten to where he was today without cutting the occasional corner.
“Find another sucker,” I’d told him at the time.
Today, he said, “I’m clean, Tim. I’ve got nothing to hide. You want to come in and see my books, check the history of the cars on my lot, be my guest.”
Neck still prickling, I said, “A jealous husband, then.”
Bob was briefly speechless. Then, “How dare you even suggest I’d be seeing another woman.”
The thing was, I had no reason to suspect Bob of stepping out. The words were out of my mouth before I’d given much thought to them.
“Sorry,” I said.
“I love Susanne,” he said, and after a couple seconds added, “And I love Syd, too. I’m sick to death about this. She’s a great kid. I want to do anything I can to help.”
I didn’t want to hear him say he loved my daughter, no matter how much he meant it. I said, “What’s all this about her missing watch, and stolen cash?”
Bob shook his head sadly. “Like I said, I think it’s the stress. Susanne gets distracted. She could have lost the watch anywhere. And the cash… I don’t know. She could have spent it on something and it slipped her mind.”
I supposed it was possible.
“About Syd,” Bob said.
“Go ahead.”
“There’s a guy I know.”
“A guy?”
“I mean, the police, what are they really doing, right? She’s just another runaway to them. They’re not going to do anything unless, like, a body turns up, right?”
The comment cut like a knife. My eyes narrowed. For a second, the houses on Hill seemed to blur.
“Okay,” he said. “Bad choice of words. But if the cops aren’t going to put any effort into this, then maybe we have to bring in someone who will.”
“I’m working on this every day,” I told him. “I’ve got the website, I’m making calls, I’m driving around, going to the hotel, I’m-”
“All right, I know, I know. But this guy, he’s a good guy. The thing is, he owes me a favor, so I thought I could let him pay me back by asking around, check this and that, beat around the bushes a bit.”
My first inclination was to tell Bob to forget it. That would have been pride talking. At some level, I wanted to be the one who found Syd. But more than anything, I just wanted her back. If someone else got to take the credit, I could sure live with that.
“So, this guy,” I said. “What is he? Private detective? Ex-cop?”
“He’s in security,” Bob said. “Name’s Arnold Chilton.”
I thought about it for a moment. I didn’t like Bob, and I didn’t like accepting help from him, but if he knew someone professional with the skills to find Sydney, I wasn’t going to say no.
It took all I had in me to do it, but I reached my hand out to him. He took it, but I could tell the gesture caught him off guard, like he was expecting me to be palming a joy buzzer. “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it.” I dug a little deeper. “And thank you for looking after Susanne through all of this. She really needs your support, on several fronts.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, still taken aback.
We walked back to our house. Evan was leaning up against the back of the Hummer, in a world of his own, singing a song quietly to himself, playing air guitar. He thought he was the next Kurt Cobain. Since Susanne wasn’t out front, I guessed she was still in the house.
“We going?” Evan asked Bob, taking a break from his music. “I need to get home. I got stuff to do on the computer.”
“I guess,” he said. To me, he said, “You want to tell Suze we’re ready to take off?”
I nodded and went into the house. I thought she might be resting in the living room, but she wasn’t there.
“Susanne?” I called.
I heard sniffing coming from Sydney’s bedroom. The door was partially closed, so I gently pushed it open and saw my ex-wife standing in front of our daughter’s dresser, the cane leaned up against the wall. She had her back to me. Her head was bowed, her shoulders trembling.
I closed the distance between us, put one arm around her and pulled her close to me. She was dabbing her eyes with one hand, touching various items on Syd’s dresser with the other. Syd didn’t have quite as much stuff here as I imagined she did in her room at Bob’s place in Stratford, but there was still plenty of clutter. Q-tips in a Happy Face coffee mug, various creams and moisturizers and cans of hairspray, bank statements with balances of less than a hundred dollars, various photos of herself with friends like Patty Swain and Jeff Bluestein, an iPod Shuffle music player, no bigger than a pack of matches, and the stringy earphone buds that went with it.
“She never went anywhere without this,” Susanne said, touching the player lightly with her index finger, as though it were a rare artifact.
“She didn’t usually take it to work,” I said. “But any other time, yeah.”
“So if she was going to go away somewhere, if she’d planned to go away, she would have taken it,” Susanne whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said quietly. But that made sense to me. Syd hadn’t packed anything. The bag she used to bring her things from Bob’s place was here. All of her clothes were either in her closet or, as was often the case with her, scattered across her bed and the floor.
The iPod was recharged by plugging it into Syd’s laptop, which sat a few feet away on her desk. We’d already been through it, with the police, checking out Syd’s emails, her Facebook page, the history of sites she’d visited in the days leading up to her disappearance. We hadn’t come up with anything useful.
Susanne turned to me. “Is she alive, Tim? Is our girl still alive?”
I took the player and placed it into the recharging unit that was already linked to the laptop. “I want it all ready to go for when she gets back,” I said.