“Hang on a sec,” Clare said, and he heard the clunk of the phone being put down.
He rolled out of his chair and paced into the kitchen, the phone still pressed to his ear. Who the hell would be dropping by unannounced at this hour? He envisioned a gang of rowdy teens who liked to make noise and scare single women. Then he thought of a sexual predator, who knew she lived all alone. Some serial rapist, just out of Clinton, looking for easy pickings-
She came back on the line. “It’s Debba Clow.”
“Debba Clow? Does she have her kids with her? She’s not trying to skip out on her ex, is she?”
“No, she’s alone. She seems really upset. I have to go. Sorry…”
She hung up on him, leaving only a wistful echo behind. He held the phone for a moment, listening to the dial tone. Debba Clow. At Clare’s. At 8:30 on a Sunday night.
He dialed the station house. Weeknights, all calls to the station were routed through to the Glens Falls dispatch, since Millers Kill didn’t have the need or the resources to keep a dispatcher on 24/7. But weekends, the busiest time of their week, they had live coverage with Harlene. Harlene had been working for the police department back when Russ was still spitting out sand during the first Gulf War, and he had no doubt she would still be there when he was retired to Arizona.
“Millers Kill Police Department.”
“Hey, Harlene.”
“What are you on the horn for? You’re supposed to be at home, getting some R and R.”
“Look, there hasn’t been any trouble at the free clinic, has there?”
She whistled in his ear. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that? I think this is a clear sign that you’re spending way too much time at work. No, there hasn’t been anything at the clinic, but just after you left this evening, Allan Rouse’s wife called in. He’s the clinic doctor.”
“I know who he is.”
“Bet you don’t know why she called, though.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath for you to tell me.”
“He’s gone missing.”
“What’s that mean, exactly? He’s a grown man, and it’s eight-thirty on a Sunday night. He’s probably hoisting a few at a sports bar, where they have something on worth watching.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But it turns out they were due to leave for Albany late this afternoon. They’re flying out to a medical conference in Phoenix, Arizona. Or at least they were. She had already missed the flight when she called.”
“Maybe he had some sort of medical emergency? Had to make a house call, or go to the hospital?”
“Mrs. Rouse said he’s always checked in with her before. She was calling their friends all this afternoon looking for him. She checked Washington County and Glens Falls Hospitals, thought he might be with a patient someplace. But no luck. She also called Laura Rayfield-that’s the clinic nurse practitioner.”
“I know who she is.”
“Well, she hadn’t seen him. Anyway, according to Mrs. Rouse, the doc seemed kind of restless and distracted, but she put it down to his upcoming trip. She says he left home around eleven o’clock this morning to run a few errands. He told her he was going to the clinic to deal with the mail and dictate notes for files. They were planning to be gone for a week. She reminded him he had to be home by four for them to make their flight in good season. Then he drove off. When he didn’t show up on time, she went over to the clinic, but he was gone. She hasn’t seen him since.”
He thought for a moment. “Did she check to see if he’d been admitted to one of the hospitals as a John Doe?”
“I dunno. Though you’d think someone would recognize him even if he had no ID. The man’s been practicing medicine in this town for thirty years.”
“What about a girlfriend?”
“I certainly haven’t heard anybody gossiping about one at my hairdresser’s. It wasn’t a question I wanted to put to his wife.”
“No, I suppose not.” He trailed across the kitchen floor slowly, letting his feet follow his thinking. “What did you tell Mrs. Rouse?”
“I told her that unless there’s evidence of something funny going on, we don’t declare adults officially missing for forty-eight hours. But it’s a slow night, so I asked Duane and Tim to stop into any bars that they pass and see if anyone’s seen the doc.”
“Good.”
“And since the man is sixty-five years old, I circulated a description of his car and plates to the staties. I told ’em it was a possible medical. For all we know, he had a heart attack behind the wheel while he was running those errands.”
“Good call.” There were a lot of stretches of road in and around Millers Kill where a car could roll off into the brush and not be noticed. “I don’t know why I bother to come in, Harlene. You go ahead and do my job for me.”
She snorted. “Someday this department will finally get a female officer, and then you’ll see it’s not that I’m so great, it’s that women are naturally smarter than men.”
“I never doubted that for a second. I have a hunch about the doctor, and I’m going to look into it. I’ll be back in touch ASAP.”
“Gotcha. I’ll call if one of the guys turns him up in the meantime.”
He said good-bye and rang off. He stood for a moment, the phone’s stubby antenna just touching his forehead, like a meditative finger. There wasn’t any reason to suspect that Debba Clow’s unexpected appearance at Clare’s house was connected to Allan Rouse’s equally unexpected disappearance. But he had been a cop, military and civilian, for a quarter century now, and he had learned to trust the little nudges that occasionally bubbled up from the bottom of his brain. He dialed Clare’s number again.
This time, her machine answered. He listened to her mechanically flattened voice advise him of her office and cell numbers, and when invited to leave a message, he said, “Clare, it’s Russ. Please pick up. I need to-”
“Hi, it’s me. What’s up?”
“Is Debba Clow still there?”
“Yes, and we’re having a pretty intense discussion, so I really can’t-”
“I’m not calling to chitchat, I promise. I’d like to speak to Debba.”
Clare’s voice was more guarded. “Why?”
“Just tell her I’d like to speak to her. Please.”
“Okay…”
He walked upstairs to his bedroom while he waited for someone to come back on the line. He pulled his jeans out of a pile of clothing on a chair. After a second’s thought, he also retrieved the uniform shirt he had worn earlier that day. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to put them on.
“She would rather not speak to you right now.” Clare was trying to sound neutral, professional, but he could hear the undercurrent of distress in her voice. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Can you tell me why she needed to talk to you so bad she couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
There was an exasperated burst of air. “You know I can’t disclose what I’m told in priestly confidence.”
“She’s not one of your congregation.”
“Russ, I’m not a priest just for card-carrying, pledging Episcopalians. I’m a priest for anybody who needs one. My obligations remain the same.”
He almost smiled. “I know.” The thought of telling her about Allan Rouse went through his mind. Followed by the thought of her telling Debba, and Debba splitting before he or anyone else had a chance to ask her what she knew about the doctor’s whereabouts. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I interrupted your conversation.”
“Russ.” Her voice was pitched halfway between exasperation and concern. Concern won out. “What’s going on? Can I help you?”
He did smile. “Not at the moment. But I’ll let you know. Later.”
“Okay.” She trailed off. “Later.”
He dropped the phone on his bed and shucked off his sweatshirt. He had been right. He was going to have to get dressed again after all.
