Last night she had given him a list of books by Roald Dahl that he should get. He had been pleased. “None of my guests were as nice as you,” he told her.
What had he done to those women? Don’t think about that, Bree warned herself fiercely — it worries him when you show that you’re afraid. She had realized that the one time she broke down sobbing and begged him to release her. That was when he told her that the police had rung his bell and asked when the last time was that he had seen Miss Matthews.
“I told them I was on my way back from the supermarket Saturday, around two o’clock, and I saw you go out. They asked what you were wearing. I said it was overcast and you had on a bright yellow raincoat and slacks. They thanked me and said I was very helpful,” he said calmly, in his sing-song voice.
That was when she became almost hysterical.
“You’re making too much noise,” he told her. He put one hand on her mouth, while the other encircled her throat. For a moment she thought he was going to strangle her. But then he hesitated and said, “Promise to be quiet, and I’ll let you read to me. Please, Mommy, don’t cry.”
Since then she had managed to hold her emotion in check.
Bree steeled herself. She could sense that he’d be back any moment. Then she heard it, the turning of the handle. Oh, God, please, she prayed, let them find me.
Mensch came in. She could see that he looked troubled. “My landlord phoned,” he told her. “He said that according to the contract he has the right to show this place two weeks before the lease is up. That’s Monday, and it’s Friday already. And I have to take all the decorations down from here and whitewash the walls and also the walls of the bathroom and give them time to dry. That will take the whole weekend. So this has to be our last day together, Bridget. I’m sorry. I’ll go out and buy some more books, but I guess you should try to read to me a little faster…”
At ten o’clock on Friday morning, Kevin was once again in Lou Ferroni’s office in the FBI building.
“Thanks to the publicity, we’ve been able to pretty much cover Miss Matthews’ activities on Saturday,” Agent Ferroni told him. “Several neighbors reported they saw her walking down the street at about two o’clock on Saturday. They agree that she was wearing a bright yellow raincoat and jeans and carrying a shoulder bag. We know the raincoat and bag are missing from her home. We don’t know what she did on Saturday afternoon, but we do know she had dinner alone at Antonio’s in Georgetown and went to the nine o’clock showing of the new Batman film at the Beacon Theater.” Bree had dinner alone on Saturday night, Kevin thought. So did I. And she genuinely likes those crazy Batman films. We’ve laughed about that. I can’t stand them, but I had promised to see that one with her.
“No one seems to have seen Miss Matthews after that,” Ferroni continued. “But we do have one piece of information that we find significant. We’ve learned that the contractor she was suing was in the same movie theater that night at the same showing. He claims he drove directly home, but there’s no one to back up his story. He apparently separated from his wife recently.”
Ferroni did not add that the contractor had mouthed off to a number of people about what he’d like to do to the dame who was hauling him into court over what he termed “some silly leak.”
“We’re working on the theory that Miss Matthews did not get home that night. Was she in the habit of using the Metro instead of her car?”
“The Metro or a cab if she was going directly from place to place. She said trying to park was too much of a nuisance.” Kevin could see that Ferroni was starting to believe that Richie Ombert, the contractor, was responsible for Bree’s disappearance. He thought of Ombert in court this past Monday. Surly. Aggravated. Noisily elated when the judge dismissed the complaint.
He wasn’t acting, Kevin thought. He seemed genuinely surprised and relieved when Bree didn’t show up. No, Ombert is not the answer. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He suddenly felt as though he were being smothered. He had to get out of here. “There are no other leads?” he asked Ferroni.
The FBI agent thought of the briefly considered theory that Bree Matthews had been abducted by a serial killer. “No,” he said firmly, then added, “How is Miss Matthews’ family? Has her father gone back to Connecticut?”
“He had to. We’re in constant touch, but Bree’s grandmother had a mild heart attack Tuesday evening. One of those horrible coincidences. Bree’s mother is with her. You can imagine the state she’s in. That’s why Bree’s father went back.”
Ferroni shook his head. “I’m sorry. I wish I thought we’d get good news.” He realized that in a way it would have been better if they thought the serial killer had Matthews. All the women he had abducted had lived for several weeks after disappearing. That would at least give them more time.
Kevin got up. “I’m going to Bree’s house,” he said. “I’m going to call every one of the people in her phone book.”
Ferroni raised his eyebrows.
“I want to see if anyone spoke to her on Sunday,” Kevin said simply.
“With all the publicity these last few days about her disappearance, any friend who spoke to her would have come forward, I’m sure of that,” Ferroni told him. “How do you think we traced her movements on Saturday?”
Kevin did not answer.
“What about her answering machine? Were there any messages on it?” Kevin asked.
“Not from Sunday, or if there had been, they were erased,” Ferroni replied. “At first we thought it might be significant, but then we realized that she could have called in and gotten them just by using the machine’s code.”
Kevin shook his head dejectedly. He had to get out of there. He had promised to phone Ica after his meeting with Ferroni but decided to wait and call her from Bree’s house instead. He realized he was frantic to be there, that somehow being around her things made him feel nearer to Bree.
Her neighbor, the guy with the ponytail, was coming down the block when Kevin parked in front of the house. He was carrying a shopping bag from the bookstore. Their eyes met, but neither man spoke. Instead the neighbor nodded, then turned to go up his walk.
Wouldn’t you think he’d have the decency to at least ask about Bree? Kevin thought bitterly. Too damn busy washing his windows or tending his lawn to give a damn about anyone else.
Or maybe he’s embarrassed to ask. Afraid of what he’ll hear. Kevin took out the key Ica had given him, let himself in to the house, and phoned her.
“Can you come over and help me?” he asked. “There’s something about this place that’s bugging me. Something’s just not quite right, and I can’t figure out what it is. Maybe you can help.” While he waited, he stared at the phone. Bree was one of the few women he had ever known who considered the phone an intrusion. “At home we always turned off the ringer at mealtime,” she had told him. “It’s so much more civilized.”
So civilized that now we don’t know if anyone spoke to you on Sunday, Kevin thought. He looked around; there’s got to be a clue here somewhere, he told himself. Why was he so sure that the contractor wasn’t the answer to Bree’s disappearance?