No Show (11 page)

“You can’t think without her,” Oscar continued. “You’re upset and overwhelmed. Everything has been turned upside-down since the moment you stepped off the plane.”

“You think you know the answers to my problems, don’t you? Sherlock-sodding-Holmes.”

“Now you’re just being an asshole.”

Terry cursed and wiped a hand chilled from holding the beer across his brow. Oscar was right. He was being an asshole. He kept stumbling from one self-invented nightmare to another. It was time to stop. He put the bottle on the coffee table.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Good. I’ve broken through at last.” Oscar smiled. “Now sit down and shut up.”

Terry did as he was told and relaxed into an easy chair. Oscar repositioned himself at the dining table, sitting back-to-front, straddling the seat and resting his arms on the chair back.

“Comfortable?” Oscar inquired.

“Yes. Terry Sheffield has resumed normality. Apologizes for any technical difficulties experienced. Okay, why is Sarah’s disappearance different from Alicia Hyams’s?”

“Because Sarah’s car is missing, along with her clothes and other belongings. If she’d been abducted, then her stuff would still be here.”

Terry couldn’t fault his friend’s logic.

“That means Sarah went somewhere.”

“But where?”

“That’s not the interesting point.”

“What is?”

“She chose not to tell you about it.”

That silenced Terry. His wife had chosen to disappear, not telling him in the bargain. It was embarrassing. He was such a fool. What kind of woman had he married?

“The question is, why?” Terry managed after a minute.

“She could be protecting you.”

“From what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s something to do with her work. It could be a story she’s been working on.”

“But she would have at least given me a clue.”

“Who says she hasn’t? You might not have seen it yet. She wasn’t at the airport, and you assumed foul play. She might have left you a note somewhere explaining everything, but you’ve been too busy trying to see abductors at every turn to find it.”

“You might have a point,” Terry conceded.

“Yeah, and I’m sorry to say it’s a point you’ll have to consider alone. I need to go home.”

Terry thanked Oscar and saw him out. He dumped the beer bottles in the sink, pouring the remaining contents down the drain. It wasn’t late, but the evening’s ordeal had eroded him, so he called it a night.

He woke up late for work, having turned the alarm clock off after the first ring. The clock announced that it was after nine. He groaned and wrestled himself out of bed. There was no way he was going into work today. He called Pamela to use one of his mental health days. She reacted as he expected.

“You’re taking a mental health day already?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

“I am entitled.”

“Yes, but you’ve been with Genavax less than a week.”

He cut Pamela’s lecture short. “The sheriff called me out to a crime scene last night. They thought they’d found my wife.”

“And had they?” Her tone softened.

“No. They found somebody else.”

Terry heard Pamela inhale to say something, but she didn’t. It was a few seconds before she spoke again. “When you say found, what do you mean?”

“They found a body,” Terry admitted with a sigh.

“And it wasn’t your wife?”

“No.” Images of Alicia Hyams’s mutilated corpse threw themselves at his mind’s eye, her face fish-belly white, except for the black gash across the throat. “It was somebody else.”

“Was it that woman they found in the lake?”

“Yes.”

“That’s terrible. I hope you’re okay.”

Pamela’s sudden show of concern confused Terry. She was so coldhearted before, but now she was the total opposite. He wondered if her hard exterior was all a front to prove her managerial toughness. But something in her manner didn’t ring true. She was trying too hard. He tried to make his excuses, but she was having none of it, continuing to ask question after question.

“Did she look like your wife?”

“A bit, I suppose. It was difficult to tell.”

“But there was a resemblance?”

“I don’t know.”

“There had to be or the sheriff wouldn’t have called you out.”

“You’re probably right.”

“She had to be a dead ringer for your wife.” Pamela’s statement seemed to be said more to herself than to Terry.

Terry didn’t know what the hell she was getting at, but he didn’t like it. Her morbid curiosity with Alicia Hyams looking like Sarah bordered on the distasteful. Kyle’s recollection of the fight in the lunchroom between Pamela and Sarah came to mind. His thoughts were leading him to places he didn’t want to visit, and he was thankful when the doorbell rang.

“I’ve got to go, Pamela. Someone’s at the door.”

“Okay. Take it easy and we’ll see you tomorrow. Take care, now.”

Pamela’s concern felt insincere, and he was more than happy to hang up on her.

He opened the door to stare face to face with Sarah’s likeness, but not Sarah herself. Pressed against the screen door was one of his flyers. It had been ripped off something. There were ragged edges where the corners should have been. Holman was the glue that held the poster in place.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“I keep finding these things everywhere I go. Anything to do with you?” Holman demanded.

“Come in.”

Terry stood back to let the sheriff in. Holman crumpled the flyer, shoved it in his jacket pocket, and came inside. Terry couldn’t understand how the sheriff could wear his county-issued windbreaker. It was far too hot. Maybe he was used to the California heat. He wasn’t breaking a sweat. To him, it probably felt chilly. Holman closed the front door, letting the screen door slam.

“Coffee, Sheriff?”

“No, thanks,” he growled.

“Suit yourself.” Terry ignored the sheriff’s hostility and measured out fresh grounds into the coffeemaker. “What can I do for you?”

“You can stop getting in the way of my job.”

Terry poured a pot of water into the coffeemaker and switched on the machine to brew. “I didn’t know I was.”

Holman grunted like an angry bull. He retrieved the crumpled flyer and flattened it out on the breakfast bar. He rapped a finger on Sarah’s reproduced face. “You don’t see anything wrong with this?”

Terry crossed his arms. “No, not really.”

“Well, let me set you straight. This is wrong. It gets in the way. It’s a distraction. It doesn’t help me find your wife, Mr. Sheffield.”

“Well, it helps me. It makes me feel like I’m doing something useful to help find Sarah.”

“You did something useful. You contacted me. You don’t have to do anything more. That’s what I’m employed to do. All you’ve got to do is sit around and wait for me to bring her home.”

“Sit around?” Terry said. “You’ve got to be joking. Last night you showed me a murdered woman you thought was Sarah. Is that the kind of door-to-door service you’re offering?” Terry didn’t give Holman a chance to defend himself and plowed on. “If it is, there’s no way I’m going to sit around waiting for you or anyone else to do their job.”

“I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I understand how distressing it must have been.”

“You have no idea,” Terry said sharply.

Terry and Holman locked stares, each trying to make the other understand the gravity of their position. Terry waited for someone to shout, “End of round one. Fighters back to their corners.”

Holman was granite. Terry found it difficult to tell if the sheriff was seething and keeping it bottled up or if he’d simply gone offline. The coffeemaker gurgled.

“Truce,” Holman said after a long moment.

Terry nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get out of my pram.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t mean to lose my temper,” Terry said, correcting his obscure English euphemism.

“I’m sorry too.” Holman started to say something else but changed his mind and smiled.

“Can I get you that cup of coffee?”

“Sure.”

Holman drew back a chair and sat at the dining table. Terry pulled out two mugs and poured the coffee.

“Milk? Sugar?” Terry asked.

The sheriff shook his head. “No on both counts.”

Terry added creamer to his coffee and brought the steaming mugs over to where Holman was sitting.

“There you go,” Terry said, setting down the mug in front of Holman.

“Thanks.” Picking up his mug, he blew at the vapor trailing off the surface and sipped it. “You make good coffee.”

“With no wife, I get a lot of practice.”

The sheriff cracked a smile. “Well, let’s see what I can do to change that.”

“Have you found out anything new?”

Holman shook his head. “No. Since the discovery of Alicia Hyams, your wife’s case has lost some of its urgency.”

“Lost some of its urgency? You mean it’s relegated to second-division status.”

But Holman already had his hands up in surrender. “Yes, the cold, honest truth of the matter is that your wife’s case isn’t as important as it was yesterday. I have a missing person, but I also have a murdered woman. Now, honestly, which do you think is going to be at the top of my list of priorities?”

Terry didn’t respond.

“But it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to do anything about your wife.”

“So you’re sure it’s Alicia Hyams?”

“Yes. Mr. Hyams, her husband, made a formal identification early this morning.”

Poor bastard
, Terry thought. He knew exactly how the man was feeling. Of course, he’d been taken to the brink, but Alicia Hyams’s husband had been pushed over it.

“What happens with Sarah?”

“This afternoon I will be holding a press conference with Mr. Hyams and we’ll make an appeal for witnesses to come forward. I spoke to the media about doing a similar appeal for your wife, but I need your approval.”

“There’s nothing to approve,” Terry said. “When?”

“Monday at eleven. I want to put the weekend between your wife’s case and Alicia Hyams’s. I don’t want anyone getting confused.”

“Do you think it will help?”

“I’m hoping so. We need something to kick-start the investigation. This could be the tonic we’ve been looking for.” Holman checked his watch. “I’d better be going.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Holman gulped the remainder of his coffee. Terry didn’t know how the man did it. The brew was far too hot for him to sip, let alone gulp.

Holman got up to leave. Terry followed him to the door. Although twenty years Terry’s senior, Holman carried himself with the confidence of a man who could handle all situations. Terry couldn’t help admiring him. He darted around Holman to open the door for him.

“I want to say thanks, Sheriff,” Terry said, offering his hand. “You don’t have an easy task, and people like me don’t make it any easier.”

Holman took Terry’s hand and crushed it. “You’re just trying to do your best for your wife. It’s totally understandable.”

“Well, I’ll speak to you Monday.”

Letting himself out, Holman agreed and pushed the screen door to one side. He went to let it go, but stopped.

“And Mr. Sheffield, no more flyers.”

“Okay. Do you want me to take them down?”

The sheriff shook his head. “No need.”

Terry imagined that Holman had sent his deputies out to remove them already. “Why?”

“How many calls have you received because of them?”

“None so far.”

“And you won’t.”

“It’s been less than a day. Give it a chance.”

“Trust me, Mr. Sheffield, flyers like yours rarely have an impact.”

The instant Terry closed the door, the phone rang. Knowing his luck, it was probably someone responding to one of his flyers. Picking up the phone, he watched Holman drive away.

“Hello,” Terry answered.

“Oh, you don’t sound like Sarah,” the caller said, sounding surprised.

“I’m not.”

The caller was male, but he didn’t sound like Terry’s mystery caller. This guy didn’t have the malevolent streak the mystery caller possessed.

“Goddamn it, have I dialed the wrong number again?”

Who is this clown?
Terry thought.

“I’m always dialing wrong numbers. I should use speed dial, but I can never work the damn thing out, and no one ever has the time to do it for me.”

This definitely wasn’t Terry’s mystery caller.

“You wanted to speak to Sarah Sheffield?” Terry asked, interrupting the caller’s speech on his technical ineptitude.

“No, Sarah Morton. I have dialed the wrong number. Dammit. Sorry to have disturbed you. Have a nice day.”

“No, you haven’t,” Terry said before the caller hung up. “Sarah’s my wife.”

“Married? She’s not married.” The caller paused. Somewhere the penny dropped. “Oh, yeah. She eloped some months ago with some English guy.”

“I know. I am some English guy.”

“Of course you are.” He laughed at his foolishness. “Put her on the phone?”

“She’s not here.”

“Tell her I called, then.”

“You don’t understand. She’s missing.”

That stumped him. And it shut him up, which was a blessing in itself. Terry had only been on the phone for a couple of minutes, but the caller already had his head buzzing.