shelves inside, but he was clueless as to what those spaces had held.
He picked up a bottle of antihistamine and noted the name of the doctor who had prescribed it. Maybe he would know what Jonna had come back for.
It was only six-thirty, too early to call Paul.
Instead, he finished dressing, fed the dog, and put him in the wire crate before heading back through the house.
Outside, tree branches drooped to the ground under 8 the weight of the ice they carried. Every individual needle of the evergreens and each separate twig of the oaks and maples was encased in crystal. A few limbs had even snapped off. Overhead, the sky was still a dreary gray with no break in the solid cloud cover for the sun to shine through and start melting the ice.
Before locking the front door, he thought to check for the key. It was no longer under the rock.
Now, why would Jonna take that key when she had her own? Unless Cal—? No, it couldn’t have been Cal. His son would surely have waked him. But it had to be one of them because Bandit was a barker, and no matter how tired he was, Dwight was certain he would have heard barks had there been any.
When he and Jonna were still married, she used to hang their spare keys on a closet nail. A neat, methodical woman with a place for everything and everything in its place, she had done it in Germany and again in Arlington, so now?
He slid his fingers along the inner jamb of the front closet door and immediately touched the nail. Two keys, and one of them fit the front lock.
He put it on his own keyring, then slowly drove along the ice-slick streets, nearly fishtailing at a stoplight, until he found an open diner. After pancakes, sausage, and three cups of weak coffee, he stopped by a drugstore and picked up shaving gear and other toiletries. He would have liked fresh underwear and a fresh shirt, too, but nothing else was open this early on a Saturday morning.
The sand trucks were out, though, and Jonna’s street had been sanded by the time he got back to the house.
He showered and shaved and was lavish with the new stick of deodorant. It would have to do till he could get clean clothes.
8:00.
Deborah liked to sleep in on Saturday mornings, but if Minnie was expecting her for breakfast, surely she’d be up by now.
“Just got out of the shower,” she said. “I’m standing here drying off. You get any sleep last night?”
He told her what he’d found when he woke up this morning and they kicked it back and forth.
“Something else is going on with her,” Deborah said.
“There has to be. Have you talked to her girlfriends?”
“I don’t know any of her friends.”
“Then ask her mother. Ask her boss. Hell, ask Cal’s teacher. I don’t have to tell you how to do your job. But once you get a couple of names, they’ll give you some more, and sooner or later, you’ll get to whoever’s hiding them.”
“You’re right,” Dwight conceded. “I’m not thinking straight.”
“This is why they don’t let doctors operate on their own kids.”
“Yeah. I need to quit acting like a dad and start acting like a cop.”
“You’re a good dad.” Her voice softened. “And a very good cop.”
“Who let his son be taken right from under his nose,”
he said glumly.
“Don’t beat up on yourself, okay? There’s no way you could have expected Jonna to do something like this.”
After they hung up, Dwight went looking for an address book and found one beside the kitchen phone. He 8 leafed through it, trying to deduce which names were personal friends who might could offer suggestions or information about his ex-wife.
8:15.
Too early to start calling strangers. Instead, he dialed Paul’s number.
“Radcliff here.”
“Hey, Paul. Dwight.”
“I was just about to call you,” his friend said.
“You’ve got something?” Dwight asked eagerly.
“Not the way you mean. Sorry. I’m at the office reading old background reports. You want to come over?”
“Be right there.”
He grabbed up the address book and took it with him on the off chance that Paul could help him sort out the names.
At the police station, Paul handed him a mug of strong black coffee and listened attentively while Dwight told him about his nocturnal visitation.
