What's Needed
Chapter 2
-23 HOURS MISSING
Martin Fitgerald looked up as Danny Taylor, Vivian Johnson, and Samantha Spade filed in to take their places at the conference table. "The father's missing?" he asked, his blue eyes following Samantha as she sat down.
She nodded, from her position opposite him and next to the head of the table. "Got the call last night. The New Orleans police reported that a Murray Smith did show up at the hotel, but, as fate would have it, he wasn't the one we're looking for." She watched Jack arrive. Not missing a beat, she continued to speak while her eyes followed him to the head of the table. "As far as we can tell," she said, "he didn't fly out on the plane his wife believed he was booked on." Returning her gaze to Martin, she finished up, "We haven't been able to trace him past his leaving the house on Monday morning. He just dropped out of sight."
"Except for the 9:00 p.m. phone call he made to his wife Monday night: we traced that to a pay phone on Parsons Boulevard, near the 25A," Jack interjected.
Settling into his chair, he glanced quickly around the table at his team. Stopping when he got to Samantha, he asked, "You filled them in on everything?"
"The highlights."
Jack nodded. "Okay. Well, as expected, there's been no ransom request, no further insights as to where Shelly might be. Her father: ditto. He dropped out of sight Monday morning, but phoned as usual to announce his safe arrival and promised to phone on Thursday. He said he'd be returning on the 5:45 flight from New Orleans. No flights are booked in his name, there are no charges for a flight on his credit card. So now its two people, not one, we're looking for."
"They're together?" Vivian asked.
"At this point, we don't really know. It's a possibility."
He looked at Danny and Martin. "I want you two to go out and talk to Mrs. Smith again. See if you can find a reason Mr. Smith isn't where he should be. She hasn't been told he's not in New Orleans, so use that element of surprise. Keep up the Shelly end of things, but I want as much information on the father as you can get."
"Maybe he decided to split and took the daughter with him," Martin suggested.
"That's one theory. It'd certainly take care of the bother of a custody battle," Jack said, "but as far as we can tell he hasn't made the financial preparations you'd expect. And no one's mentioned the marriage having troubles."
Martin shrugged. "We'll see what the wife has to say once she hears hubby's not where she thinks he is."
Nodding, Jack dismissed Martin and Danny with a wave of his hand. "You two might as well get started. Talk to the mother, then see if you can find out anything more on Shelly. Visit the school again and talk to her teachers and classmates. There has to be something we're missing; see if you can find it. Keep in touch."
The two rose and left.
"Do you really suspect the father?" asked Vivian, her dark brow furrowed.
"There's a chance he took her, but like I said, looking at his bank records, I'd guess no - not that guesses are worth much these days."
Vivian shook her head. "The mother must be frantic - daughter missing, husband still hasn't contacted her; it's going to be a blow to hear he's actually missing," she said.
"Benson from victim services has someone stay with her last night. Danny said yesterday she had a friend coming to stay, too," Jack said. "She'll do as well as we can expect, I guess. Hopefully, whoever it is will still be there. What I need you to do," he continued, "is to start checking the father's work place - co-workers, gossip - you know the drill."
Vivian rose. "Sure do." With a smile at Samantha, she left.
After Vivian's departure, Samantha sat quietly. Some of her surprise showed, making Jack smile inwardly. Infinitely patient in some things, he knew she'd sit there wordlessly until he told her what she already knew: she'd be working with him, checking out Murray's parents, siblings, and friends.
It would be the first time they'd worked together since the book store fiasco. Vulnerabilities had surfaced then that had frightened them both and made others sit up and take notice of things had both tried hard to make sure that they didn't. He'd kept things low key since then, but enough time had passed - and he missed working with her enough - that it seemed the right time to at least try to regain their old professional footing.
He told her the day's agenda. When he was finished, she asked quietly, "Is this wise, Jack?"
"It's time, don't you think?"
She felt herself relax under his steady gaze. She did indeed. Nodding, she planted her hands on the top of the desk. "So, we're starting with Murray's parents, right?" When he nodded, she smiled. "Let's go,then." Rising, she walked to her desk to gather up what she needed. It felt good - very, very good - to be heading out with him again.
* * *
Ushered into the small but tidy living area of Jeff and Caroline Smith's third floor apartment, Samantha and Jack had refused the offered cup of coffee, had learned that this was not the family home, but a recent downsizing, and that it was not too far from their old community and friends. "Too much to clean in the old place," Murray's mother had said, her eyes worried that they were here to tell her something she wasn't prepared to hear.
Their surprise when told that their son was missing was unmistakeable. Stunned, they sat side by side, a couple in their mid-seventies who had grown old together, their looks and personalities somehow blending until one seemed interchangeable with the other.
"We don't understand," Caroline Smith said for the fourth time - speaking, as she had since their arrival, for both herself and her husband.
"He travels a lot," the husband interjected while his wife nodded in agreement. "Monica and little Shelly are used to it. He always phones when he's away - you said he phoned Monday night. I'm sure there's a mistake."
"He'll call on Thursday, just like he said he would," Caroline Smith added. "You just wait and see. He's a good son, a good husband and father." She glanced at her husband. "There's got to be a logical explanation. He wouldn't just up and leave."
"What about his marriage? Is he happy?" Samantha asked. "Might he have taken Shelly somewhere? Decide to up and make a go of it somewhere else with her?"
Jeff Smith frowned. "You don't kidnap your own child. Why would he do that? And he has a business to run; he can't just leave everything."
Caroline rose and went to get a wedding photograph from the mantle. Bringing it over to them, she said, "The marriage has been a wonderful success." Passing the photograph to Jack, she added, "We were worried at first, with their being such a big age difference. Monica was preparing to metriculate when they got engaged, though we always said she looked barely old enough to be out of grade school! Things have been good for them, though. He adores Monica and Shelly." Her face clouded over as she sat down again. "He's going to be sick, just sick, when he comes home and finds out Shelly's gone missing."
"What about you, Mr. Smith?" Jack asked. Glancing at the photo, he passed it to Samantha. "Have you seen anything to make you think your son might be unhappy, or thinking of changing his life somehow?"
Jeff ran a wrinkled hand over his balding head. "No," he said slowly, his long face worried, "can't say that I can. They are just an ordinary couple, an ordinary family."
Jack and Samantha glanced at one another. An ordinary family that had had two people disappear from it within two days. Samantha placed the wedding photo on the coffee table in front of her. "I understand you have a daughter, as well," she said, drawing her eyes away from the photo and looking at the couple on the sofa. "Are your two children close?" she asked, trying for another angle.
A shadow crossed the older couple's faces. "No," Murray's father said, shaking his head. "Rebecca is a lot younger than Murray. There's an almost nine year difference between them. They were real close when Rebecca was younger, but they kinda drifted apart, I guess, when she got older. I don't think she'd be able to help you much. It'd be more of a waste of your time than anything."
Their daughter, Rebecca, Mrs. Smith told them, didn't have time to visit often. They had hardly, she said, seen her since she'd moved out after finishing high school. Rebecca had gone off to college, got a job in another state, and that was that. They sometimes saw her at Christmas, the father offered.
Once they had given the name of Rebecca's employer, and her address and phone number, there seemed little more information about their daughter they could give. Believing they'd learned all they could, the two agents signalled it was time to go.
Walking towards the car, Samantha shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trenchcoat and commented, "Ordinary people leading ordinary lives."
"They weren't too excited about our wanting to talk to their daughter, were they?"
Samantha paused thoughtfully while Jack unlocked the car. "It'll be interesting to meet her. She doesn't seem to fit the picture, somehow."
"We're heading for Tampa, are we?" Jack asked over the roof of the car.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You knew that the minute they said where she lived."
Jack grinned and slid into his seat. In minutes, he was steering their car smoothly out into morning traffic. Having made the trip to Tampa before, he glanced at the clock on the dash and made some quick calculations. If the caught the 11:15 flight out of La Guardia, they could interview Rebecca Smith and catch a 6:00 p.m. flight back. It'd be tight, but they could make it. "If we want to get there and back today, we'd better move."
She nodded. The days when a trip like this was an acceptable excuse for an overnight stay together were, regretfully, over.
* * *
Rebecca worked for a small import company. When Samantha phoned ahead to make sure she was there, she was told by a pleasant gentleman with a slight German accent that Rebecca was taking a lieu day, and that they would likely find her at home.
"I think we'll just drop over," Jack said. "An element of surprise never hurts, and if she's not there, she's not there. At least we'll be where we can talk to her neighbours."
Samantha nodded and got out the map to help direct him to Rebecca's home.
The slender woman who opened the door of the neat Tampa bungalo could have been Shelly herself, twenty years from now. Curly reddish blond hair framed a delicately boned face; a light smattering of pale freckles dotted her lightly tanned features. Large green eyes, however, rather than Shelly's deep blue ones regarded them curiously.
"Rebecca Smith?" asked Jack.
"Yes."
"I'm Agent Jack Malone, and this is Agent Samantha Spade. We're from the FBI and would like to ask you a few questions, if we may."
She looked concerned. "You've learned something more about Shelly?"
"Actually, we're here to investigate the disappearance of your brother," Jack told her, observing her closely.
"Murray? What are you talking about? He's missing?"
Her surprise was genuine. Samantha and Jack shared a glance. She hadn't known. No one had thought to phone and tell her.
"It appears so," Jack said. "May we come in?"
Still taking in the turn of events, Rebecca looked at them blankly. Recovering, she said, "Yes, yes, of course. Come in." With a gesture, she indicated they should have a seat in the comfortably furnished living area just to the right of the home's entrance. "You're fortunate you found me here. I'm usually on the road, but I'm taking a lieu day today. Please, sit down. I'll just go turn off the stove. Can I get you anything to drink? I can make coffee."
Samantha nodded, noting that she seemed in no rush to find out about her brother's circumstances. "If you don't mind," she said politely, "I could really do with a drink of water."
With Rebecca occupied at the back of the house for a few extra minutes, Samantha and Jack took the opportunity to look at the framed photographs scattered around the small, sunlit room. A sofa table set in front of the curtained bow window held several; there were four or five more on the painted mantle of the faux fireplace to their left, and a side board along the far wall held several more. Groups of smaller pictures stood on each of the sofa's two glass-topped end tables. Moving to stand by the mantle, Samantha examined the pictures there and then turned to Jack. "Here's one of Shelly. Don't know the woman she's with, though."
Jack took a look at the two smiling faces. The picture was obviously taken at a fair of some sort: he could see a ferris wheel in the background, and Shelly held a rediculous looking stuffed pink dog with a red ribbon tied around its neck. A dark haired woman hugged her with one arm. They looked very happy. Glancing at the other photos on the mantle, he indicated another picture. "Same woman, I think. This one," he said, picking up the picture, "looks like it was taken when she was in high school, though. Rebecca's with her."
Samantha looked and nodded. Glancing around, she noted, "There are pictures of Rebecca with other people: this guy in particular" she said, gesturing towards a shot of Rebecca with a tall, smiling blonde man, casually draping his arm over her shoulder, "but none of her brother or parents. That's-"
Her quiet observation was cut short. "People keep sending me pictures. I never know quite what to do with them," Rebecca commented as she crossed the room and passed Samantha a tall glass of ice water.
Samantha smiled her thanks as she reached for the drink and said, "Framing them and putting them around seems to work. I'm sorry that we arrived at a bad time," she added, gesturing towards the kitchen, from which the fragrant scent of tomato and spice emanated.
"That's okay. It'll keep," Rebecca said. Gesturing them towards the sofa, she asked, "Is there any word on Shelly? I haven't slept since my parents told me. I'd have flown up, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do."
"Is your family close, then?" she asked.
"No, not really," she replied with a little shake of her head. "Monica - that's Shelly's mother - and I have met only a couple of times. I didn't make it to the wedding when she and Murray got married. For the most part, I keep up on Shelly through my friend, Nancy. She's the dark haired woman in that picture," she told them, nodding her head towards the framed picture they had examined earlier.
"So you don't see Shelly often?"
"No, I'm a little too far away for that, I'm afraid. Fortunately, Nancy keeps me posted."
"She's a friend of the family?" asked Samantha.
"A friend of mine: best friend, since grade school." Smiling, she continued, "She lives in Boston, now, but travels into New York a couple times a month. She got into the habit of dropping in to see how Shelly was doing after I asked her to drop off a present for Shelly's fifth birthday. Nancy and Monica hit it off, and that worked out great."
"You don't contact them yourself?"
"Not often. Christmas, mostly. I'm too far away. Work keeps me busy. You know how it is." Neither agent was certain they did just yet, but they nodded.
"So you can't offer any ideas as to where your brother might be?"
"No idea, I'm afraid."
"When was the last time you spoke to him?"
"Last Christmas. I flew home. First time in three years or so. Murray and I have never been close. My parents and I..." she shrugged. "We live different lives, see things differently." She looked at first one, then the other, agent. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help. I'm sure he'll turn up. I really think it's Shelly's disappearance you should be concentrating on."
On their way back to the airport, Samantha settled more comfortably into the passenger seat of their rental and commented, "She wasn't too concerned about the brother, was she? And it's interesting that her parents claim she and Murray were close at one time, but she says they never were."
"Something tells me we'll have to talk to her again. I don't get the feeling she's telling us all she could," Jack said. The white Malibu he drove surged forward as his foot pressed on the accellerator. He felt pressured to make their flight and resented both the pressure and the reason for it. "We need to check where she was the morning Shelly disappeared. There's something strange about her reaction to her brother's disappearance." Seeing their exit to the airport, he flicked on his signal indicator and quickly changed lanes.
Samantha looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. It was a possibility, she supposed. Better to check than not. Something else was nagging her, though: her brow furrowed, she wondered aloud, "She's worried about a niece she's rarely met, but not her brother. Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"
"Maybe she finds it easier to express emotion for someone she doesn't care as much about. Or maybe she's acting: maybe she knows where Shelly is. Shelly could have been twenty feet away, for all we know," Jack said, continuing his line of treating her as a possible suspect. "There's something wrong here somewhere. Look at how little contact she maintains with her family. She talks as though living in Tampa is like living in Tibet."
"Exactly," Samantha nodded. "She uses a three hour flight as an insurmountable distance so that she doesn't have to see them. That's not natural. Nor is keeping tabs on a niece she rarely sees but never contacting the rest of the family."
Jack turned the car into the rental drop off area. "She didn't say it, but I don't think there's any love lost between her and her brother."
"My guess is she hates him," Samantha said cryptically.
Jack stopped the car and undid his seatbelt before responding. Turning to look at her more fully, he said, "That's a bit strong, isn't it?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so. We'll see. Her parents didn't talk much about the two of them, only about Murray. They were definitely uncomfortable about our coming down to talk to her. There's something we're still not getting."
Jack looked at his watch. "It's been thirty-three hours," he said, referring to the length of time Shelly had been missing. "Whatever it is, we'd better get it fast. We're running out of time."
-37 HOURS MISSING
In spite of how late it was, the whole team still sat around the conference table on the 23rd floor, watching Danny draw lines and make notations on the white board with a black felt tip marker.
Standing back, he commented, "That's it on Shelly. A classmate saw her about one block from school. The girl - her name is Sarah Turner - says she lost sight of her when she had to stop into a house to pick up a younger child she walks to school. When she came out, Shelly wasn't in sight. She didn't think anything of it; just figured she had turned the corner already." He turned to draw his conclusions. "I think Shelly knew who picked her up," he said, putting the cover onto his marker with a click. "Convincing her to get into a stranger's car would have taken time and the friend would have been back out on the street and seen it. A snatch and run would have been almost impossible - there were too many people around that time of day not to notice a commotion."
"But not so many that no one can remember seeing her get into a car?" Vivian asked.
Danny shrugged. "People don't always notice what doesn't call attention."
"What did you get from Monica Smith the second time around?" Jack asked.
Martin spoke up: "Not quite the happy homelife originally depicted. Now that hubby's on the MIA list, she's being a little more honest about things. She was totally shocked that the father wasn't where she thought he was, though. She said she wasn't too concerned when he didn't contact her last night, since he sometimes doesn't get in until very late and wouldn't have got the message about Shelly until he showed up. She started worrying more when it got closer to dawn. She couldn't say what she thought he'd be doing until the wee hours when he was away on business, but that's the story she gave. On the home front, the friend who stayed with her last night was on his way out the door when we arrived. He's a very good friend, if you catch my drift. She admitted as much after we talked a bit. We've got his name and particulars. We're checking him out now."
Danny added, "She assures us that the daughter knows nothing about her affair and doesn't think that even if she did it would be a reason for her daughter to take off. She said Shelly was the kind of girl who talked things out. The mother is certain she'd have asked questions before reaching a conclusion and taking off. Her friends and teachers seem to agree with that."
"Maybe, maybe not," Jack said. "Kids that age aren't always predictable in how they react to things - and they're definitely not stupid. She might have figured it out and decided to keep it to herself." Jack looked at his notes, then back up at Danny and Martin. "Did you learn anything else about Shelly's frame of mind?"
"Just the regular almost-teenager stuff. Nothing to indicate there was a reason for her to take off."
Moving the briefing along, Jack turned to Vivian. "The father," Jack said, "What did you find out?"
"For reasons unknown, the dispatcher screwed up and didn't record where Murray was dropped off. The cabbie who took him," she said, looking down at her notes, "one Jason Freemont, is away and can't be located - nothing sinister, just that his work says he often can't be found on his day off - they think he's got a woman up north somewhere. He's expected at work tomorrow, though, so I'll be lying in wait to see if he remembers."
Malone nodded. The picture was evolving, the little pieces of the puzzle slowly finding their places. It was taking way too long, though. He looked at the group. "If Murray didn't leave the city, where did he go?"
"We're working on it," Danny said. "No one saw anything around the pay phone he made the call from on Monday. Vivian helped us match the trips out of town he told his wife he was on against his out of town work expenses. Once or twice a month, for a night or two each time, he said he was away when he didn't charge anything to the company."
"So where does he go?" Jack asked.
Martin shook his head. "There are no hotel bills, no nothing to indicate he's anywhere but at home."
Jack frowned. "He's got to be somewhere, and he has to get there somehow. You and Danny get to work on it. Someone somewhere has seen him."
"What about the sister? Did she say anything?" Vivian asked.
"Not much. There's something we're not being told, but God knows what it is and if it would help us even if we knew."
"She's estranged from the family," Samantha explained, "though she wouldn't put it that way herself." She described what they'd encountered in Tampa, finishing by saying that they'd investigated her whereabouts the morning of Shelly's disappearance and found that she was undoubtedly at work in Tampa. Two clients had confirmed that she had made sales calls.
When she finished, Jack said, "We're going down to talk to her again. I'm hoping she'll be like the wife and open up a bit more the second go around."
Vivian noticed the time. "Sorry, guys," she said, slowly standing up to leave. "I've gotta run. My sitter turns into a pumpkin at midnight. I'll be sitting on the doorstep of the taxi company first thing tomorrow morning, though. I'll let you know what happens." With a wave, she was gone.
Her departure signaled a move to leave by the others was well. Martin stood and asked Jack, "Will we see you tomorrow morning before you leave?"
Jack shook his head. "Eight-oh-five flight out. We should be back late afternoon. I have a feeling we'll be talking to a friend of hers in Boston next. She seems to be on good terms with Shelly and her mother and may know something. At least that's a shorter flight."
Ready to leave, Danny nudged Martin's arm. "We'll check the taxi stand outside Murray's office building first thing tomorrow. Maybe we'll hit it lucky."
As Jack watched them go, Samantha watched him. She recognised the look on his face: he was wondering if this was one of those cases where the lost wasn't found; if this was one of those times they looked and looked and came up empty-handed and always wondered what they might have missed.
"I'm going to go finish writing up my report," she said, trying to divert his attention.
He turned towards her and noticed for the first time how tired and pale she looked. "We didn't have time for dinner. You need to eat."
She gave him a weary smile that still managed to look beautiful to him.
"God, I look that bad? You always try to make me eat when I look bad," she teased.
He wanted to tell her she looked wonderful, but he had rarely allowed himself to say that sort of thing at work, and certainly couldn't now. Instead, he said, "No, you don't look bad at all. My stomach is reminding me it's gone foodless for too long. That means yours has, too - and you can't afford to miss the number of meals I can," he said with a wry grin.
She smiled broadly, flashing bright, even teeth. "There were peanuts on the plane."
Jack grunted. "Peanuts aren't food. I'll order something up while you get started on your report." What harm would there be, he asked himself, in sharing a missed meal together? "Work fast," he ordered over his shoulder as he walked away, "Wong's doesn't take long to deliver."
Samantha hurried to finish up when she saw Jack head for the elevator to pick up their order at the reception desk. When he returned, she was pleased that he set out all the food containers on her desk. She examined the boxes as he took them out of the carry out bag, secretly satisfied he hadn't needed to ask her what she liked. This impromptu meal with him made her happy: she missed him, and spending the day with him had brought home just how much. She missed the conversation and warm companionship that had led to more than they should have allowed - and which, once allowed, had been so wretchedly hard to give up. She missed touching him casually, missed his staying over - and missed waking up to watch him get ready for work even more.
She paused, remembering. His keeping clothes at her place had leant a sense of permanence to their affair that she had all too soon discovered was false.
She looked at Jack. Though the sense of permanence had been false, the emotion that their relationship had been based on was not. Whatever they had had while involved was there still: strong, undeniable, and very much with them.
She smiled to herself as she watched him choose his chopsticks. If she'd ever had the need to explain her feeling for him to someone, she knew she couldn't have. He was older, he was married, he was less buff and certainly less classically handsome than anyone she had been in a relationship with before. It didn't matter, though. He was it. He was the man no one else in her life compared to. Whatever it was between them didn't have to make sense: it just was.
"Damned pheromones," she muttered under her breath.
"What?" Jack asked.
"Nothing," she replied, showing a flash of teeth. After reaching over for her own pair of chopsticks, she picked up a box of cashew chicken and dumped half of it into her box of rice. "I'm starved."
When she was finished, she sat back, clutched her stomach, and groaned.
Jack smiled. "You were greedy."
"Hey, I'm sure it was you I saw finish off the beef broccoli."
"True, but you ate most of the sweet and sour fish," he accused gently.
"I always do."
They smiled at one another, enjoying the moment.
Reluctantly looking away, Jack gestured towards her computer. "Ready to print yet?"
"Almost. I'm too full to think just yet, though. You'll have to give me a minute." She leaned back and closed her eyes.
More than happy to give her some time, Jack leaned back in his chair. Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he regarded her steadily. As the mood shifted easily between them to something more intimate, he realised again how much he'd missed this. Here, just sitting in close proximity with her, he was happy, relaxed, complete. Here, he didn't have to try to make things work, didn't have to walk a verbal tightrope.
Eyes still closed, Samantha asked him, "What are you thinking, Jack?"
"I'm thinking you're like Chinese food," he said honestly.
She opened her eyes at that, then nodded in understanding. With a sense of satisfaction coursing warmly through her, she looked at him steadily and said in a soft voice, "I think you are, too."
It was the first time in a long time either had made reference to the emotions behing their 'situation'. They had understood that they had needed to end their affair, but here they were, a metaphorical hour later, hungry for more of what they had had and knowing they shouldn't...
A wash of need swept over her and she found herself consciously willing herself not to say or do anything that would jeopardize the delicate balance they had been trying to work out between them. The past needed to remain in the past. At least for now. "Jack..." she said, her voice soft.
He looked at her, his eyes dark. The moment hung in the air between them until he nodded and said, "I know," in a voice deep and gruff with emotion.
A longer silence and then, with a sigh, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and thrust himself to his feet. "I've got to go." He stood, staring at her, not wanting to leave. Finally he said, "Today felt good, Sam. Thank you."
Samantha smiled up at him. "Same for me. Now go," she urged him. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah," he said, and turned to leave.
She nodded and rolled her chair to her computer. She could feel the distance between them grow as he walked away, but the connection between them held steady.
End Chapter 2
-23 HOURS MISSING
Martin Fitgerald looked up as Danny Taylor, Vivian Johnson, and Samantha Spade filed in to take their places at the conference table. "The father's missing?" he asked, his blue eyes following Samantha as she sat down.
She nodded, from her position opposite him and next to the head of the table. "Got the call last night. The New Orleans police reported that a Murray Smith did show up at the hotel, but, as fate would have it, he wasn't the one we're looking for." She watched Jack arrive. Not missing a beat, she continued to speak while her eyes followed him to the head of the table. "As far as we can tell," she said, "he didn't fly out on the plane his wife believed he was booked on." Returning her gaze to Martin, she finished up, "We haven't been able to trace him past his leaving the house on Monday morning. He just dropped out of sight."
"Except for the 9:00 p.m. phone call he made to his wife Monday night: we traced that to a pay phone on Parsons Boulevard, near the 25A," Jack interjected.
Settling into his chair, he glanced quickly around the table at his team. Stopping when he got to Samantha, he asked, "You filled them in on everything?"
"The highlights."
Jack nodded. "Okay. Well, as expected, there's been no ransom request, no further insights as to where Shelly might be. Her father: ditto. He dropped out of sight Monday morning, but phoned as usual to announce his safe arrival and promised to phone on Thursday. He said he'd be returning on the 5:45 flight from New Orleans. No flights are booked in his name, there are no charges for a flight on his credit card. So now its two people, not one, we're looking for."
"They're together?" Vivian asked.
"At this point, we don't really know. It's a possibility."
He looked at Danny and Martin. "I want you two to go out and talk to Mrs. Smith again. See if you can find a reason Mr. Smith isn't where he should be. She hasn't been told he's not in New Orleans, so use that element of surprise. Keep up the Shelly end of things, but I want as much information on the father as you can get."
"Maybe he decided to split and took the daughter with him," Martin suggested.
"That's one theory. It'd certainly take care of the bother of a custody battle," Jack said, "but as far as we can tell he hasn't made the financial preparations you'd expect. And no one's mentioned the marriage having troubles."
Martin shrugged. "We'll see what the wife has to say once she hears hubby's not where she thinks he is."
Nodding, Jack dismissed Martin and Danny with a wave of his hand. "You two might as well get started. Talk to the mother, then see if you can find out anything more on Shelly. Visit the school again and talk to her teachers and classmates. There has to be something we're missing; see if you can find it. Keep in touch."
The two rose and left.
"Do you really suspect the father?" asked Vivian, her dark brow furrowed.
"There's a chance he took her, but like I said, looking at his bank records, I'd guess no - not that guesses are worth much these days."
Vivian shook her head. "The mother must be frantic - daughter missing, husband still hasn't contacted her; it's going to be a blow to hear he's actually missing," she said.
"Benson from victim services has someone stay with her last night. Danny said yesterday she had a friend coming to stay, too," Jack said. "She'll do as well as we can expect, I guess. Hopefully, whoever it is will still be there. What I need you to do," he continued, "is to start checking the father's work place - co-workers, gossip - you know the drill."
Vivian rose. "Sure do." With a smile at Samantha, she left.
After Vivian's departure, Samantha sat quietly. Some of her surprise showed, making Jack smile inwardly. Infinitely patient in some things, he knew she'd sit there wordlessly until he told her what she already knew: she'd be working with him, checking out Murray's parents, siblings, and friends.
It would be the first time they'd worked together since the book store fiasco. Vulnerabilities had surfaced then that had frightened them both and made others sit up and take notice of things had both tried hard to make sure that they didn't. He'd kept things low key since then, but enough time had passed - and he missed working with her enough - that it seemed the right time to at least try to regain their old professional footing.
He told her the day's agenda. When he was finished, she asked quietly, "Is this wise, Jack?"
"It's time, don't you think?"
She felt herself relax under his steady gaze. She did indeed. Nodding, she planted her hands on the top of the desk. "So, we're starting with Murray's parents, right?" When he nodded, she smiled. "Let's go,then." Rising, she walked to her desk to gather up what she needed. It felt good - very, very good - to be heading out with him again.
* * *
Ushered into the small but tidy living area of Jeff and Caroline Smith's third floor apartment, Samantha and Jack had refused the offered cup of coffee, had learned that this was not the family home, but a recent downsizing, and that it was not too far from their old community and friends. "Too much to clean in the old place," Murray's mother had said, her eyes worried that they were here to tell her something she wasn't prepared to hear.
Their surprise when told that their son was missing was unmistakeable. Stunned, they sat side by side, a couple in their mid-seventies who had grown old together, their looks and personalities somehow blending until one seemed interchangeable with the other.
"We don't understand," Caroline Smith said for the fourth time - speaking, as she had since their arrival, for both herself and her husband.
"He travels a lot," the husband interjected while his wife nodded in agreement. "Monica and little Shelly are used to it. He always phones when he's away - you said he phoned Monday night. I'm sure there's a mistake."
"He'll call on Thursday, just like he said he would," Caroline Smith added. "You just wait and see. He's a good son, a good husband and father." She glanced at her husband. "There's got to be a logical explanation. He wouldn't just up and leave."
"What about his marriage? Is he happy?" Samantha asked. "Might he have taken Shelly somewhere? Decide to up and make a go of it somewhere else with her?"
Jeff Smith frowned. "You don't kidnap your own child. Why would he do that? And he has a business to run; he can't just leave everything."
Caroline rose and went to get a wedding photograph from the mantle. Bringing it over to them, she said, "The marriage has been a wonderful success." Passing the photograph to Jack, she added, "We were worried at first, with their being such a big age difference. Monica was preparing to metriculate when they got engaged, though we always said she looked barely old enough to be out of grade school! Things have been good for them, though. He adores Monica and Shelly." Her face clouded over as she sat down again. "He's going to be sick, just sick, when he comes home and finds out Shelly's gone missing."
"What about you, Mr. Smith?" Jack asked. Glancing at the photo, he passed it to Samantha. "Have you seen anything to make you think your son might be unhappy, or thinking of changing his life somehow?"
Jeff ran a wrinkled hand over his balding head. "No," he said slowly, his long face worried, "can't say that I can. They are just an ordinary couple, an ordinary family."
Jack and Samantha glanced at one another. An ordinary family that had had two people disappear from it within two days. Samantha placed the wedding photo on the coffee table in front of her. "I understand you have a daughter, as well," she said, drawing her eyes away from the photo and looking at the couple on the sofa. "Are your two children close?" she asked, trying for another angle.
A shadow crossed the older couple's faces. "No," Murray's father said, shaking his head. "Rebecca is a lot younger than Murray. There's an almost nine year difference between them. They were real close when Rebecca was younger, but they kinda drifted apart, I guess, when she got older. I don't think she'd be able to help you much. It'd be more of a waste of your time than anything."
Their daughter, Rebecca, Mrs. Smith told them, didn't have time to visit often. They had hardly, she said, seen her since she'd moved out after finishing high school. Rebecca had gone off to college, got a job in another state, and that was that. They sometimes saw her at Christmas, the father offered.
Once they had given the name of Rebecca's employer, and her address and phone number, there seemed little more information about their daughter they could give. Believing they'd learned all they could, the two agents signalled it was time to go.
Walking towards the car, Samantha shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trenchcoat and commented, "Ordinary people leading ordinary lives."
"They weren't too excited about our wanting to talk to their daughter, were they?"
Samantha paused thoughtfully while Jack unlocked the car. "It'll be interesting to meet her. She doesn't seem to fit the picture, somehow."
"We're heading for Tampa, are we?" Jack asked over the roof of the car.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You knew that the minute they said where she lived."
Jack grinned and slid into his seat. In minutes, he was steering their car smoothly out into morning traffic. Having made the trip to Tampa before, he glanced at the clock on the dash and made some quick calculations. If the caught the 11:15 flight out of La Guardia, they could interview Rebecca Smith and catch a 6:00 p.m. flight back. It'd be tight, but they could make it. "If we want to get there and back today, we'd better move."
She nodded. The days when a trip like this was an acceptable excuse for an overnight stay together were, regretfully, over.
* * *
Rebecca worked for a small import company. When Samantha phoned ahead to make sure she was there, she was told by a pleasant gentleman with a slight German accent that Rebecca was taking a lieu day, and that they would likely find her at home.
"I think we'll just drop over," Jack said. "An element of surprise never hurts, and if she's not there, she's not there. At least we'll be where we can talk to her neighbours."
Samantha nodded and got out the map to help direct him to Rebecca's home.
The slender woman who opened the door of the neat Tampa bungalo could have been Shelly herself, twenty years from now. Curly reddish blond hair framed a delicately boned face; a light smattering of pale freckles dotted her lightly tanned features. Large green eyes, however, rather than Shelly's deep blue ones regarded them curiously.
"Rebecca Smith?" asked Jack.
"Yes."
"I'm Agent Jack Malone, and this is Agent Samantha Spade. We're from the FBI and would like to ask you a few questions, if we may."
She looked concerned. "You've learned something more about Shelly?"
"Actually, we're here to investigate the disappearance of your brother," Jack told her, observing her closely.
"Murray? What are you talking about? He's missing?"
Her surprise was genuine. Samantha and Jack shared a glance. She hadn't known. No one had thought to phone and tell her.
"It appears so," Jack said. "May we come in?"
Still taking in the turn of events, Rebecca looked at them blankly. Recovering, she said, "Yes, yes, of course. Come in." With a gesture, she indicated they should have a seat in the comfortably furnished living area just to the right of the home's entrance. "You're fortunate you found me here. I'm usually on the road, but I'm taking a lieu day today. Please, sit down. I'll just go turn off the stove. Can I get you anything to drink? I can make coffee."
Samantha nodded, noting that she seemed in no rush to find out about her brother's circumstances. "If you don't mind," she said politely, "I could really do with a drink of water."
With Rebecca occupied at the back of the house for a few extra minutes, Samantha and Jack took the opportunity to look at the framed photographs scattered around the small, sunlit room. A sofa table set in front of the curtained bow window held several; there were four or five more on the painted mantle of the faux fireplace to their left, and a side board along the far wall held several more. Groups of smaller pictures stood on each of the sofa's two glass-topped end tables. Moving to stand by the mantle, Samantha examined the pictures there and then turned to Jack. "Here's one of Shelly. Don't know the woman she's with, though."
Jack took a look at the two smiling faces. The picture was obviously taken at a fair of some sort: he could see a ferris wheel in the background, and Shelly held a rediculous looking stuffed pink dog with a red ribbon tied around its neck. A dark haired woman hugged her with one arm. They looked very happy. Glancing at the other photos on the mantle, he indicated another picture. "Same woman, I think. This one," he said, picking up the picture, "looks like it was taken when she was in high school, though. Rebecca's with her."
Samantha looked and nodded. Glancing around, she noted, "There are pictures of Rebecca with other people: this guy in particular" she said, gesturing towards a shot of Rebecca with a tall, smiling blonde man, casually draping his arm over her shoulder, "but none of her brother or parents. That's-"
Her quiet observation was cut short. "People keep sending me pictures. I never know quite what to do with them," Rebecca commented as she crossed the room and passed Samantha a tall glass of ice water.
Samantha smiled her thanks as she reached for the drink and said, "Framing them and putting them around seems to work. I'm sorry that we arrived at a bad time," she added, gesturing towards the kitchen, from which the fragrant scent of tomato and spice emanated.
"That's okay. It'll keep," Rebecca said. Gesturing them towards the sofa, she asked, "Is there any word on Shelly? I haven't slept since my parents told me. I'd have flown up, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do."
"Is your family close, then?" she asked.
"No, not really," she replied with a little shake of her head. "Monica - that's Shelly's mother - and I have met only a couple of times. I didn't make it to the wedding when she and Murray got married. For the most part, I keep up on Shelly through my friend, Nancy. She's the dark haired woman in that picture," she told them, nodding her head towards the framed picture they had examined earlier.
"So you don't see Shelly often?"
"No, I'm a little too far away for that, I'm afraid. Fortunately, Nancy keeps me posted."
"She's a friend of the family?" asked Samantha.
"A friend of mine: best friend, since grade school." Smiling, she continued, "She lives in Boston, now, but travels into New York a couple times a month. She got into the habit of dropping in to see how Shelly was doing after I asked her to drop off a present for Shelly's fifth birthday. Nancy and Monica hit it off, and that worked out great."
"You don't contact them yourself?"
"Not often. Christmas, mostly. I'm too far away. Work keeps me busy. You know how it is." Neither agent was certain they did just yet, but they nodded.
"So you can't offer any ideas as to where your brother might be?"
"No idea, I'm afraid."
"When was the last time you spoke to him?"
"Last Christmas. I flew home. First time in three years or so. Murray and I have never been close. My parents and I..." she shrugged. "We live different lives, see things differently." She looked at first one, then the other, agent. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help. I'm sure he'll turn up. I really think it's Shelly's disappearance you should be concentrating on."
On their way back to the airport, Samantha settled more comfortably into the passenger seat of their rental and commented, "She wasn't too concerned about the brother, was she? And it's interesting that her parents claim she and Murray were close at one time, but she says they never were."
"Something tells me we'll have to talk to her again. I don't get the feeling she's telling us all she could," Jack said. The white Malibu he drove surged forward as his foot pressed on the accellerator. He felt pressured to make their flight and resented both the pressure and the reason for it. "We need to check where she was the morning Shelly disappeared. There's something strange about her reaction to her brother's disappearance." Seeing their exit to the airport, he flicked on his signal indicator and quickly changed lanes.
Samantha looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. It was a possibility, she supposed. Better to check than not. Something else was nagging her, though: her brow furrowed, she wondered aloud, "She's worried about a niece she's rarely met, but not her brother. Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"
"Maybe she finds it easier to express emotion for someone she doesn't care as much about. Or maybe she's acting: maybe she knows where Shelly is. Shelly could have been twenty feet away, for all we know," Jack said, continuing his line of treating her as a possible suspect. "There's something wrong here somewhere. Look at how little contact she maintains with her family. She talks as though living in Tampa is like living in Tibet."
"Exactly," Samantha nodded. "She uses a three hour flight as an insurmountable distance so that she doesn't have to see them. That's not natural. Nor is keeping tabs on a niece she rarely sees but never contacting the rest of the family."
Jack turned the car into the rental drop off area. "She didn't say it, but I don't think there's any love lost between her and her brother."
"My guess is she hates him," Samantha said cryptically.
Jack stopped the car and undid his seatbelt before responding. Turning to look at her more fully, he said, "That's a bit strong, isn't it?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so. We'll see. Her parents didn't talk much about the two of them, only about Murray. They were definitely uncomfortable about our coming down to talk to her. There's something we're still not getting."
Jack looked at his watch. "It's been thirty-three hours," he said, referring to the length of time Shelly had been missing. "Whatever it is, we'd better get it fast. We're running out of time."
-37 HOURS MISSING
In spite of how late it was, the whole team still sat around the conference table on the 23rd floor, watching Danny draw lines and make notations on the white board with a black felt tip marker.
Standing back, he commented, "That's it on Shelly. A classmate saw her about one block from school. The girl - her name is Sarah Turner - says she lost sight of her when she had to stop into a house to pick up a younger child she walks to school. When she came out, Shelly wasn't in sight. She didn't think anything of it; just figured she had turned the corner already." He turned to draw his conclusions. "I think Shelly knew who picked her up," he said, putting the cover onto his marker with a click. "Convincing her to get into a stranger's car would have taken time and the friend would have been back out on the street and seen it. A snatch and run would have been almost impossible - there were too many people around that time of day not to notice a commotion."
"But not so many that no one can remember seeing her get into a car?" Vivian asked.
Danny shrugged. "People don't always notice what doesn't call attention."
"What did you get from Monica Smith the second time around?" Jack asked.
Martin spoke up: "Not quite the happy homelife originally depicted. Now that hubby's on the MIA list, she's being a little more honest about things. She was totally shocked that the father wasn't where she thought he was, though. She said she wasn't too concerned when he didn't contact her last night, since he sometimes doesn't get in until very late and wouldn't have got the message about Shelly until he showed up. She started worrying more when it got closer to dawn. She couldn't say what she thought he'd be doing until the wee hours when he was away on business, but that's the story she gave. On the home front, the friend who stayed with her last night was on his way out the door when we arrived. He's a very good friend, if you catch my drift. She admitted as much after we talked a bit. We've got his name and particulars. We're checking him out now."
Danny added, "She assures us that the daughter knows nothing about her affair and doesn't think that even if she did it would be a reason for her daughter to take off. She said Shelly was the kind of girl who talked things out. The mother is certain she'd have asked questions before reaching a conclusion and taking off. Her friends and teachers seem to agree with that."
"Maybe, maybe not," Jack said. "Kids that age aren't always predictable in how they react to things - and they're definitely not stupid. She might have figured it out and decided to keep it to herself." Jack looked at his notes, then back up at Danny and Martin. "Did you learn anything else about Shelly's frame of mind?"
"Just the regular almost-teenager stuff. Nothing to indicate there was a reason for her to take off."
Moving the briefing along, Jack turned to Vivian. "The father," Jack said, "What did you find out?"
"For reasons unknown, the dispatcher screwed up and didn't record where Murray was dropped off. The cabbie who took him," she said, looking down at her notes, "one Jason Freemont, is away and can't be located - nothing sinister, just that his work says he often can't be found on his day off - they think he's got a woman up north somewhere. He's expected at work tomorrow, though, so I'll be lying in wait to see if he remembers."
Malone nodded. The picture was evolving, the little pieces of the puzzle slowly finding their places. It was taking way too long, though. He looked at the group. "If Murray didn't leave the city, where did he go?"
"We're working on it," Danny said. "No one saw anything around the pay phone he made the call from on Monday. Vivian helped us match the trips out of town he told his wife he was on against his out of town work expenses. Once or twice a month, for a night or two each time, he said he was away when he didn't charge anything to the company."
"So where does he go?" Jack asked.
Martin shook his head. "There are no hotel bills, no nothing to indicate he's anywhere but at home."
Jack frowned. "He's got to be somewhere, and he has to get there somehow. You and Danny get to work on it. Someone somewhere has seen him."
"What about the sister? Did she say anything?" Vivian asked.
"Not much. There's something we're not being told, but God knows what it is and if it would help us even if we knew."
"She's estranged from the family," Samantha explained, "though she wouldn't put it that way herself." She described what they'd encountered in Tampa, finishing by saying that they'd investigated her whereabouts the morning of Shelly's disappearance and found that she was undoubtedly at work in Tampa. Two clients had confirmed that she had made sales calls.
When she finished, Jack said, "We're going down to talk to her again. I'm hoping she'll be like the wife and open up a bit more the second go around."
Vivian noticed the time. "Sorry, guys," she said, slowly standing up to leave. "I've gotta run. My sitter turns into a pumpkin at midnight. I'll be sitting on the doorstep of the taxi company first thing tomorrow morning, though. I'll let you know what happens." With a wave, she was gone.
Her departure signaled a move to leave by the others was well. Martin stood and asked Jack, "Will we see you tomorrow morning before you leave?"
Jack shook his head. "Eight-oh-five flight out. We should be back late afternoon. I have a feeling we'll be talking to a friend of hers in Boston next. She seems to be on good terms with Shelly and her mother and may know something. At least that's a shorter flight."
Ready to leave, Danny nudged Martin's arm. "We'll check the taxi stand outside Murray's office building first thing tomorrow. Maybe we'll hit it lucky."
As Jack watched them go, Samantha watched him. She recognised the look on his face: he was wondering if this was one of those cases where the lost wasn't found; if this was one of those times they looked and looked and came up empty-handed and always wondered what they might have missed.
"I'm going to go finish writing up my report," she said, trying to divert his attention.
He turned towards her and noticed for the first time how tired and pale she looked. "We didn't have time for dinner. You need to eat."
She gave him a weary smile that still managed to look beautiful to him.
"God, I look that bad? You always try to make me eat when I look bad," she teased.
He wanted to tell her she looked wonderful, but he had rarely allowed himself to say that sort of thing at work, and certainly couldn't now. Instead, he said, "No, you don't look bad at all. My stomach is reminding me it's gone foodless for too long. That means yours has, too - and you can't afford to miss the number of meals I can," he said with a wry grin.
She smiled broadly, flashing bright, even teeth. "There were peanuts on the plane."
Jack grunted. "Peanuts aren't food. I'll order something up while you get started on your report." What harm would there be, he asked himself, in sharing a missed meal together? "Work fast," he ordered over his shoulder as he walked away, "Wong's doesn't take long to deliver."
Samantha hurried to finish up when she saw Jack head for the elevator to pick up their order at the reception desk. When he returned, she was pleased that he set out all the food containers on her desk. She examined the boxes as he took them out of the carry out bag, secretly satisfied he hadn't needed to ask her what she liked. This impromptu meal with him made her happy: she missed him, and spending the day with him had brought home just how much. She missed the conversation and warm companionship that had led to more than they should have allowed - and which, once allowed, had been so wretchedly hard to give up. She missed touching him casually, missed his staying over - and missed waking up to watch him get ready for work even more.
She paused, remembering. His keeping clothes at her place had leant a sense of permanence to their affair that she had all too soon discovered was false.
She looked at Jack. Though the sense of permanence had been false, the emotion that their relationship had been based on was not. Whatever they had had while involved was there still: strong, undeniable, and very much with them.
She smiled to herself as she watched him choose his chopsticks. If she'd ever had the need to explain her feeling for him to someone, she knew she couldn't have. He was older, he was married, he was less buff and certainly less classically handsome than anyone she had been in a relationship with before. It didn't matter, though. He was it. He was the man no one else in her life compared to. Whatever it was between them didn't have to make sense: it just was.
"Damned pheromones," she muttered under her breath.
"What?" Jack asked.
"Nothing," she replied, showing a flash of teeth. After reaching over for her own pair of chopsticks, she picked up a box of cashew chicken and dumped half of it into her box of rice. "I'm starved."
When she was finished, she sat back, clutched her stomach, and groaned.
Jack smiled. "You were greedy."
"Hey, I'm sure it was you I saw finish off the beef broccoli."
"True, but you ate most of the sweet and sour fish," he accused gently.
"I always do."
They smiled at one another, enjoying the moment.
Reluctantly looking away, Jack gestured towards her computer. "Ready to print yet?"
"Almost. I'm too full to think just yet, though. You'll have to give me a minute." She leaned back and closed her eyes.
More than happy to give her some time, Jack leaned back in his chair. Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he regarded her steadily. As the mood shifted easily between them to something more intimate, he realised again how much he'd missed this. Here, just sitting in close proximity with her, he was happy, relaxed, complete. Here, he didn't have to try to make things work, didn't have to walk a verbal tightrope.
Eyes still closed, Samantha asked him, "What are you thinking, Jack?"
"I'm thinking you're like Chinese food," he said honestly.
She opened her eyes at that, then nodded in understanding. With a sense of satisfaction coursing warmly through her, she looked at him steadily and said in a soft voice, "I think you are, too."
It was the first time in a long time either had made reference to the emotions behing their 'situation'. They had understood that they had needed to end their affair, but here they were, a metaphorical hour later, hungry for more of what they had had and knowing they shouldn't...
A wash of need swept over her and she found herself consciously willing herself not to say or do anything that would jeopardize the delicate balance they had been trying to work out between them. The past needed to remain in the past. At least for now. "Jack..." she said, her voice soft.
He looked at her, his eyes dark. The moment hung in the air between them until he nodded and said, "I know," in a voice deep and gruff with emotion.
A longer silence and then, with a sigh, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and thrust himself to his feet. "I've got to go." He stood, staring at her, not wanting to leave. Finally he said, "Today felt good, Sam. Thank you."
Samantha smiled up at him. "Same for me. Now go," she urged him. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah," he said, and turned to leave.
She nodded and rolled her chair to her computer. She could feel the distance between them grow as he walked away, but the connection between them held steady.
End Chapter 2