“Last time we’ll be here,” he said smiling,raising his Beaujolais to Liddy’s glass.
“Maybe we’ll come back,” she shrugged, butPaul didn’t think so.
“You kidding? It’s a whole different worldin Soho. A really new beginning.”
Between wine and poulet rôti they checkedtheir phones to track delivery of new cookware and a new, king-sized bed they’dordered. The wine warmed as Liddy described mundane things like the constructioncompany who was going to come work extra fast (“maybe tomorrow”) because Bethsent them so much business; ditto the fabric firm Beth sent tons of business whowere going to re-do fast the couch and ottoman and also help Liddy hang drapesand window shades. “A blessing,” she said. “I’d go crazy if I had to take thattime away from painting.”
“Money sure talks,” Paul said, dumping saltonto his pommes frites.
Under the mundane, though, Liddy’s trip tothe police station troubled her – rather, what really bothered was feeling thatshe shouldn’t or couldn’t tell Paul. Why not? her mind rebelled. I’lljust say I thought I saw and sketched that missing coed, and told the policewhere. Shouldn’t married people be able to share confidences? Not feel afraidto say whatever especially if it upsets them?
She found herself staring at the little redsquares in the red-and-white-checked tablecloth. Her fingertips touched them; movedacross a jagged line of them. Forget the police visit.
It bothered her worse after their secondglass of wine, over a dessert of shared tarte aux pommes and vanilla ice cream withfresh strawberries sprinkled on top. She stopped eating for moments; stared atthe red strawberries. Say nothing about the police.
It bothered her still worse as they nursedtwo brandies - an extra celebration, a saying good-bye to the old neighborhood.Liddy caught herself staring at a woman at a near table wearing a red sweater. Itwas the sweater she stared at – and then thought, why am I staring at redthings?
“You know her?” Paul asked.
“No. Just admiring her sweater.”
She slugged her brandy too fast, let ittake effect, and out it came.
She told Paul, casually, as if it werenothing: she was just the thousandth person reporting a possible sighting ofthat missing girl, a good citizen doing her civic duty.
Paul looked at her as if he hadn’t heardright. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“God, stay away from the police.”
“Why? If I or anybody can help-”
“Just don’t get involved, any lawyer willtell you that. Don’t even give them the time of day, they’ll find noon at threeo’clock.” He frowned uneasily as something hit. “Had you been drinking beforeyou went there?”
Furious, the question made her, but she hidit and shrugged. “I just stopped at Pepe’s.”
“Where?”
“A bar on Prince. I had some wine.”
“How much wine? Jesus, Lids, Ithought you were better handling-”
“Two glasses. Nothing, for God’ssake.”
“Please don’t tell me that problem’scoming back.”
“It was never a problem.I had two glasses and stopped fine. The detective said they had a hundred newsightings. She was nice.”
“Detective,” Paul muttered, rolling hiseyes away as if she’d just falsely announced the place was on fire. With hishand holding his brandy he signaled the waiter, sloshing the brandy.
Liddy clamped her jaw; looked out. Say nomore, she warned herself. When they fought, they really fought.
The rain outside was heavier, fogging upthe glass. There was no scary face on it, though. She looked, and then looked harder.
Nothing. But she still felt rotten.
16
The man in the shadows…
He was standing under a tree, chin lowered withdarkened eyes clearly watching. Looked as if he’d just stood from that benchbehind him, watching Sasha and Becca.
Waiting for Becca to leave?
Looked it.
Kerri went back to studying the selfie –enlarged - of Becca and Sasha taken three and a half months ago. “EarlyMay,” Becca said. “When Sasha was still happy.”
ShadowFace’s features were too lost in theshadows, dammit.
After I told Sasha ‘bye and walked awaysomething made me look back. He’d approached her, they seemed to be arguing,I’m not sure. There was something emotional going on.
Becca thought Sasha had been in love from roughlyMarch through May. Then was depressed by May thirtieth, the last time Becca sawher. And Becca was the second person (!) to think there might have been aromance gone bad.
Kerri went back to her computer and zoomedthrough files, to the interview done last June by a different detective. Shefound it: Grace now back in Ohio had suspected a lover and asked Sasha if hewas married. “Taken,” was the coy answer. That interview had just gotten filedaway, lost in the cracks because Grace had been the only one to stronglysuspect a romance.
And the idea of a romance gone bad? Thathadn’t come up at all.
Until today.
Becca.
Excruciating new possibilities.
Kerri had flagged Liddy Barron’s file thesecond she left. Into that new file Kerri copied the Grace interview, Becca’s interviewwith her matching observations, and the enlarged selfie of Becca and Sasha withShadowFace in the background.
She fell back in her chair, tired to thepoint of seeing double, unwilling to give it a rest.
The body language of photos was somethingKerri believed in strongly, and Becca’s selfie alone was a breakthrough. Itwasn’t much but it put up a big red flag to any thought of sleep. Kerri hadalready put ShadowFace through facial recognition software, had expectednothing and gotten nothing - just dizzy watching the faces zoom past: perpfaces - not faces like the selfie’s well-built guy in a polo shirt and blazer,his type more likely to be a high-class swindler than a stalker.
Kerri switched her thoughts back to LiddyBarron.
A bizarre story, but still... The eerie waterconnection combined with Becca’s photo of the Hudson – correction - Sasha’sphoto of the Hudson, clearly taken in the middle of the river from a boat, thenshared to Becca’s Facebook page.
See where I Liked and posted allexcited? Wow, nice! Whose boat were you on!?
Sasha had taken the moment to like thequestion - but had avoided answering. And Becca told them, “I startedthinking it was maybe some guy with a jealous
