“What do you think about Diane not calling?” Lauren asked me as I was kissing her and Grace good-bye before leaving for my office.
“I’m worried. It’s not like her.”
“There’s probably an explanation,” she offered.
“I hope you’re right. But I can’t think of what it might be. Diane’s a stay-in-touch kind of person.”
“She’s always been unpredictable.”
“About some things, yeah. Not about staying in touch. About that she’s as reliable as sunrise.”
She kissed me again. “If Raoul doesn’t hear from her by midday, let me know, and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do. Maybe somebody knows somebody in the DA’s office in Las Vegas. Okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Sam might be able to reach out, too,” she added. “He might have cop contacts out there.”
And what, I thought, was I going to tell Sam about the Millers and Bob and Doyle and Hannah Grant that might entice him to reach out to cop colleagues in Las Vegas? “Maybe she’ll call,” I said, not quite believing that she would.
I unlocked the front door of the building, flicked on the lights in the waiting room, and started a small pot of coffee in the tiny kitchen. At 7:43 the red light that indicated that my first patient had arrived for her 7:45 appointment flashed on in my office.
It was time to go to work.
29
Raoul had my pager number. I’d told him to use it as soon as he knew anything about Diane and that I’d call him back as soon as I could.
Lunchtime came and I didn’t hear from him. I tried his cell phone. My call was routed to voice mail; I left a message asking him to phone me with news immediately.
Nothing.
Midafternoon I went through the same routine with the same result. Just to be certain that my bases were covered, I left an additional message on Raoul’s hotel room voice mail at the Venetian.
Nothing.
When 4:45 came around and the red light on the wall in my office flared on, I found myself becoming alarmed that almost an entire workday had passed with no news about Diane. My level of concern for her was approaching ten on a ten-scale.
I walked down the hall to get Bob. My apprehension about the session was high. I had almost convinced myself that Bob really did know something important about Mallory.
Bob wasn’t sitting in the waiting room. No one was.
My first reaction? Who flicked the switch that had turned on the red light?
I checked my watch. Four forty-four.
I waited a minute. Four forty-five. Had Bob ever before been late for therapy? Maybe once or twice, but his absence from the waiting room was certainly an anomaly. Had he forgotten that we’d made this appointment the day before? How could he have? Given the drama in front of my house at dawn, I was sure Bob would have remembered his usual appointment time.
I flicked off the switch that illuminated the red light and returned down the hall to check my calendar and my voice mail. I was still thinking that Bob would show up any minute.
I was wrong.
Five o’clock came and went, then five fifteen, and finally five thirty, the time that Bob and I would usually be finished with his session.
The reality was that patients missed scheduled appointments all the time. If I had a busy week I could usually count on at least one no-show among my patients. Sometimes patients forgot their appointments and that was that; other times patients spaced out their appointments and the fact that they’d forgotten was ripe with therapeutic meaning. Sometimes life intervened. An injured child, a traffic accident, a late flight.
But Bob? He’d never missed a scheduled appointment. Never.
I thought about the midnight-blue box with the Kinko’s logo that was sitting in the file cabinet near my desk. Bob had said, “Don’t read it yet. I’ll tell you when.”
After he’d handed it to me I thought I’d said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
I thought Bob had replied, “Sure.” Was it possible that Bob had known he wouldn’t be showing up for this appointment? With most patients, I would have simply packed up my things, gone home, and not given the missed session another thought. But Bob wasn’t most patients: Bob was Doyle’s friend, and Bob knew Mallory.
Bob thought he knew what Mallory had been thinking. Bob had been next door the night that Mallory had disappeared. Bob had written a story about Mallory’s disappearance. Bob thought Mallory was scared.
I had a copy of what he had written.
But he’d told me not to read it.
Powered by the pair of fresh batteries that I’d installed that morning, the pager on my hip vibrated with irritating insistence. The number that flashed on the screen was for Raoul’s cell.
I dialed immediately. “Raoul, it’s me: Alan.”
“I’m ready to kill these people. Tell me something: Does Nevada have the death penalty? I think I’m becoming a proponent.”
“Which people?”
“Take your pick. The Las Vegas police. The fascists in Venetian security. Even the damn minister at the Love In Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. He might be first.”
“What?”
“I gave the housekeeping manager two hundred more bucks to look for Diane’s calendar in her room. It wasn’t there, but she let me see the notepad by the telephone. Diane was visiting wedding chapels. She wanted to talk with somebody named Rachel at a wedding chapel. She had a list of them on the notepad. I visited all three. Love In Las Vegas was the most promising.”
Without much thought, I said, “I’m glad you found that…” I didn’t know how to end the sentence.
Raoul did. “On my own, you mean,” he said.
“Yes. Did you talk to this… Rachel?”
“Nobody at the chapel will tell me anything. But they know her, that’s clear enough. The minister is a guy with a fake British accent who prances around like he’s on holiday from his day job in the House of Lords. He acted really cagey when I mentioned Rachel’s name. I’ll find her tomorrow.”
“Diane?” I said, hopefully.
“I pray. But I’ll find Rachel, and she’ll help me find Diane. Despite the neon carnival and depraved World’s Fair ambiance of the place, Las Vegas feels like a small town. Money is ammunition here. That works in my favor. I’m well armed.”
“The police are uninterested?”
“ ‘Uninterested’ is a generous word.”
“And Venetian security?”
“I think they went ahead and looked at the videotapes of whatever happened while Diane was walking out of the casino. When she lost her phone.”
“Did you get the impression it seemed significant to them?”
“It raised an eyebrow or two. But they won’t tell me why.”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”
“Like that. There’s one woman on the security team who wants to talk with me. I flirted with her a little, and I’m going to see if I can catch up with her later on when she gets off work. Her shift ends at eight.”
I tried to imagine Raoul’s frustration. His determination was apparent, but whatever he was doing to mask his frustration was admirable. I asked him, “Why aren’t you bugging me for more information about Rachel?”
“Diane wouldn’t want me to. She didn’t talk to me about her clients. One of the things she respects about you is how you’ve kept your mouth shut through all the… difficult situations you’ve been in over the years. I’m trying to respect what she respects.”
“I appreciate that. I’m in another difficult position right now. I’d really like to be more helpful, but Diane’s not the only one who’s…”