left,” Gus Kramer interrupted sharply.
“That’s what I meant,” she said hurriedly. “It’s just I keep seeing him in the T-shirt and jeans because that’s when I had a little talk with him that morning.” Her face convulsed. “Gus and I had nothing to do with his disappearance,” she cried. “Why are you torturing us?”
As I stared at her I thought of what Lucas Reeves, the private investigator, had written in his file, that the Kramers were nervous that they might lose their jobs because of Mack’s disappearance. Now, nearly ten years later, I didn’t accept that reasoning.
They were nervous because they had something to hide. Now they were trying to keep their stories straight. Ten years ago Mrs. Kramer had told Reeves that Mack was just coming out of the building when she saw him and that her husband was in the lobby.
At that moment I would have bet my life that neither one of them ever saw Mack leave this building. Or did he ever leave it? That question rushed into my mind and was immediately dismissed.
“I know how long it’s been,” I said. “But would it be possible to see the apartment where my brother lived?”
I could see that my request startled them. This time both Kramers looked to Howard Altman for guidance.
“Of course, the apartment has been rented,” he said, “but since it’s the end of the term many of the students have already left. What is the situation in 4D, Lil?”
“The two who shared the larger bedroom are gone. Walter Cannon has Mack’s old room but he’s leaving today.”
“Then perhaps you could phone and ask if Ms. MacKenzie might stop in?” Altman suggested.
A moment later we were climbing the stairs to the fourth floor. “The students don’t mind stairs,” Altman told me. “I must say I’m glad I don’t go up and down them every day.”
Walter Cannon was a six-foot-four twenty-two-year-old who waved aside my apologies for the interruption. “I’m just glad you weren’t here an hour ago,” he said. “I had stuff all over the place.” He explained that he was on his way home to New Hampshire for a summer vacation and was starting law school in the fall.
He’s at the same point in time Mack was when he disappeared, I thought sadly.
The apartment coincided with my vague memory of it. A small foyer now stacked with the luggage Cannon would be carrying, a kitchen directly opposite the outer door, a hall to the right with a sitting room and bedroom off it, a bathroom at the end. To the left of the foyer, a second bath and, beyond it, the bedroom where Mack had lived. Not listening to Altman’s comments about how well the apartments were maintained, I walked into what had been Mack’s bedroom.
The walls and ceilings were off-white. A light flowered cotton spread was tossed on the bed. Matching drapery panels framed the two windows. A dresser, desk, and easy chair completed the furnishings. A wall-to-wall blue-gray carpet covered the floor.
“This apartment, like all the others after they’ve been vacated, will have a fresh coat of paint immediately,” Altman was saying. “The carpet and spread and drapes will be cleaned. Gus Kramer will make sure the kitchen and baths are spotless. We’re very proud of our units.”
Mack lived here for two years, I thought. I imagined him feeling about it the way I feel about my apartment. It was his own space. He could get up early or late, read or not read, answer the phone or not answer the phone. The closet door was open, and of course it was empty now.
I thought about the Kramers’ claim that he was wearing a jacket and open-necked shirt and slacks when he left that afternoon.
What was the weather like that day? I wondered. Was it one of those chilly May afternoons like last Sunday? Or, if it was very warm, and Mack did leave at three o’clock, would wearing a jacket have any significance? A date? A drive to a girl’s house in Connecticut, or Long Island?
It’s funny but in that room, ten years later, I had a sense of his presence. He was always so laid back. Dad had been competitive, quick to size up a situation, and, with lightning accuracy, appraise and judge it. I know I’m like that, too. Mack was more like Mom. He was always giving everyone a break. Like her, if he ever realized he was being used or treated shabbily, he wouldn’t have a confrontation, he’d simply withdraw from the situation. And that, I think, is what Mom is doing now-she views Mack’s note in the collection basket as a slap in the face.
I moved to the window, trying to see what he had seen. Knowing how Mack loved to stand at the windows of the Sutton Place apartment and study the panorama, the East River with boats and barges, the lights of the bridges, the air traffic heading in and out of LaGuardia Airport, I was sure he’d often gazed out these windows, overlooking West End Avenue, the sidewalks constantly streaming with people, the vehicle traffic bumper to bumper in the street.
The dream I had had of him after his predawn phone call on Mother’s Day replayed itself in my mind. Once again I was walking along a dark path, desperate to find Mack.
And once again he was warning me to stay back.
11
I n a weary voice, Dr. David Andrews said, “Detective Barrott, Leesey left that bar at three o’clock yesterday morning. It is now one o’clock Wednesday afternoon. She has already been missing thirty-four hours. Shouldn’t you check the hospitals again? If anyone knows how busy emergency rooms are, God knows it’s me.”
Leesey’s father was sitting at the small kitchen table in his daughter’s college apartment, his hands folded, his head bowed. Heartsick, sleep-deprived, and despairing, he had refused his son’s plea to go back with him to his apartment and wait for word there. After being here all night, Gregg had gone home to shower and change before stopping at the hospital to see his postoperative patients.
Roy Barrott was sitting opposite Leesey’s father at the table. The night my daughter went to a prom, his daughter went to that joint, then disappeared, Roy thought, with a sudden guilty feeling at his own good fortune. “Dr. Andrews,” he said, “you have to hold on to the possibility that Leesey may be perfectly all right. She is an adult, and has the right to privacy.”
Barrott saw the expression on the doctor’s face harden into anger and scorn. I sound like I’m suggesting that she’s an easy pickup, he thought, and hurried to add, “Please don’t think I believe that this is the case with Leesey. We’re treating her disappearance as a serious problem.” Barrott’s boss, Captain Larry Ahearn, had made the urgency of this case perfectly clear already.
“Then what are you doing to find her?” The anger drained from David Andrews’s face. His voice was low and halting.
He’s only one degree from going into shock, Barrott thought. “We’ve reviewed the security cameras of the Woodshed, and she did leave alone. The only people left in the bar were the band that was playing, the bartender, and the security guard. They all swear that none of them left for at least twenty minutes after Leesey, so we presume none of them followed her. So far, they all check out as okay guys. Right now our people are going over every frame in the security camera at that bar Monday night to see if we can identify any potential troublemakers.”
“Maybe someone who was there earlier waited outside for her.” David Andrews knew that his voice was a monotone. Is this detective trying to reassure me? he asked himself. Then the same thought crossed his mind for the thousandth time: I know something terrible has happened to Leesey!
He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I’m going to offer a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward to anyone who helps us find her,” he said. “I’m going to put her picture and a description of what she was wearing on posters. You’ve met my daughter’s roommate, Kate. She’ll get Leesey’s friends to tack them up on every street between that bar and this building. Somebody has to have seen something.”
As a father that’s exactly what I would do, if I were in his shoes, Roy Barrott thought as he got to his feet, too. “Dr. Andrews, that’s a very good idea. Give us the picture from your wallet and her height, weight, and hair color. We’ll take care of having the posters made. It will be a big help if those posters are up when the bar crowd comes out tonight. I can promise you our undercover people will be in the Woodshed and every other dive around here,
