She's Not Coming Home (11 page)

As he joined the Southeast Expressway, he realised just how little he knew about his wife.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Monday morning and
Lieutenant Weber and Detective Mancini were due to start their shift at ten.

‘The timing’s just about right,’ Weber had said on the phone to Mancini earlier that morning. ‘I’ll head down to see this Danny Clark guy, then meet up with you at the station for ten.’

‘I think you’re wasting your time, Sam,’ Mancini replied. ‘For one thing, it’s got nothing to do with you really; let the MPU deal with the case. And don’t we have enough work of our own to handle?’

‘Frannie, I’m doing this in my own time, aren’t I? And I’ve cleared it with O’Riordan and the MPU. I’ll make sure I’m back for ten.’

‘Up to you. Just make sure you’re on time. And fatso – I’ve told you before: don’t call me Frannie.’

Weber chuckled and hung up. He was in slow moving traffic heading down Washington Street, just three blocks away from the Cambridge Pharmaceuticals building.  He managed to park in a side street, and arrived at the offices just after nine.

‘Can I help you sir?’ asked a young man at the reception desk.

‘I’d like to see Mr Clark,’ Weber said. ‘Mr Danny Clark.’

‘I’ll just see if he’s available,’ the receptionist said, picking up the phone. ‘Who shall I say wants to see him?’

‘My name’s Weber,’ the Lieutenant said. ‘Lieutenant Weber, BPD,’ he added holding out his badge.

The young man flushed slightly as he spoke. ‘Is Danny Clark there? It’s Connor at the desk.’ He paused slightly, making an effort to avoid eye contact with Weber. ‘Mr Clark? I have a Lieutenant Weber down here to see you. No, he didn’t say.  Okay, I’ll tell him.’

‘Mr Clark will be down in a few minutes,’ he said, replacing the phone. ‘You want to take a seat over there?’

‘Okay. Thanks.’ Weber stepped over to one of the chairs and sat down. After a few moments the elevator doors opened and a man stepped out. Weber estimated he was aged around thirty, dark pants and open necked blue shirt. His dark hair was slicked back. Weber took an instant dislike to him.

‘Lieutenant Weber?’ the man asked, walking over to Weber, holding his hand out.

‘Sir,’ Weber replied, standing up and shaking his hand.

‘Danny Clark, office manager here. I must say, this is a coincidence.’

‘Coincidence, sir?’

‘I had one of your colleagues here the other day, asking me questions.’

‘Hm,’ Weber grunted. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time, sir. I just need to ask you a few more questions.’

‘More questions. Is this about Ruth Gibbons?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘But I told the other officer all about her.’

‘I’m aware of that, sir. There are just a few things we need to clarify.’

‘Okay. Fire away.’

‘Firstly: did Ruth Gibbons work here?’

‘Yes, she did – does, I should say. She still does.’

‘How long has she worked here?’

Clark shook his head. ‘Not sure exactly. I’ve only been here since the beginning of last year, and she was here when I joined.’

‘What did she do here?’

‘She was a Quality Auditor.’

‘What does that mean – Quality Auditor?’

‘It means – in layman’s terms, she was responsible for ensuring the purity, the integrity of our products. Entailed checking samples.’

‘Quite a responsible job, I imagine?’

‘Absolutely. If there were any imperfections in any products, that could have devastating consequences for the company.’

‘On a good salary, I imagine?’

‘Oh, yes. Not sure exactly how much.’

‘Ball park figure?’

‘Oh, around $60,000 off the top of my head.’

Weber nodded.  ‘And did she always work here?’

‘I told you, I’ve only been here a year or so myself.’

‘No, I mean, did she work out of the office here all week. Or was she out
sampling
?’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. No, she would be here maybe three days a week. Rest of the week she would be visiting our factory.’

‘Which is?’

‘South Boston. Old Colony Avenue.’

‘Okay. Thanks very much.’

Clark appeared relieved. He looked ready to go back upstairs.

‘Just a couple more questions, sir. You said she would go down to the factory two days a week?’ He looked at Clark for confirmation. Clark nodded.

‘Well, I understand she always walked to work.’

‘Mm?’ Clark gave him a puzzled look.

‘I’m just trying to figure out,’ Weber explained, ‘how she would get down to South Boston without a car.’

Clark said nothing.

Weber pressed the point.  ‘Do you know?’

‘I’m not sure. I think she mentioned that she walked in. Most days, at any rate. Maybe she used public transportation. No idea. Sorry.’

‘I see. One more question, then I’ll let you get back to work. You told the other detective that the last day she was in work was two Fridays ago. Is that right?’

‘U-huh.’

‘And you’ve heard or seen nothing of  her since then?’

‘No.’

‘Has any attempt been made to contact her?’

‘Naturally, we tried to contact her.’

‘How?  By phone?’

‘By phone – her cell and home numbers. And Human Resources would have written to her home address.’

‘And still no reply.’

‘Like I said, we’ve heard nothing from her.’

Weber nodded, appeared deep in thought.

‘Why did you tell her husband you never heard of her?’ he asked quickly.

Clark appeared flustered. ‘Her husband?’

‘Yes, a Mr Gibbons. He told us he came down here last week, saw
you
, and you told him you had never heard of his wife.’

‘Er, no – I don’t recollect that.’

‘What don’t you recollect, Mr Clark? Speaking to Mr Gibbons, or telling him you’d never heard of his wife?’

‘No, no, no – I recollect speaking with him, of course. But I told him what I told you and the other detective. She’s not been in the office since the other Friday.’

‘I see. I guess Mr Gibbons misunderstood you.’

‘I guess so. He seemed pretty upset.’

Weber nodded. ‘Well, thanks for your time, Mr Clark. You can get back to work now.’ He held out his hand to shake Clark’s.

‘No problem,’ said Clark, shaking Weber’s hand. ‘Any time.’

With that, he walked over to the elevator and disappeared from view. Weber stood and watched him leave. Then nodded to Connor on the reception desk and walked back to his car.

He sat in the car and put the key in the ignition. Paused and rested his arm on the window ledge. So Clark confirmed what he had told the guys from the MPU. But there was a discrepancy between his story and Gibbons’.  Some misunderstanding; and Gibbons seemed a guy who was keeping it together.

So why was there a discrepancy?

And why was Clark’s palm so sweaty?

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘
If you’d come
with me this morning,’ Weber said to Mancini later that morning, ‘you’d know what I mean.’

‘I didn’t need to,’ Mancini replied as she emptied the paper cup of latte. ‘It’s not our case. You shouldn’t have gone. Did he know you’re not on the case?’

‘Does it matter?’ Weber replied. ‘I told you: O’Riordan sanctioned it, and the MPU okayed me going.’

‘What have you gained by going to see him?’

‘Just putting my mind at rest, that’s all, I guess.  It was niggling me – the fact that he told them that Mrs Gibbons did work there – does work there – but he told her husband that he’d never heard of her.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Said he never told Gibbons that. Said he told him the same he told the MPU guys – that he saw her last the Friday before she disappeared. Said Gibbons seemed upset when he called. Said he must have misunderstood.’

‘Perhaps he did tell Gibbons that. You know, a polite way of telling him to fuck off. Would you want my husband ranting and raving at you at the station?’

Weber laughed. ‘If you disappeared, your husband would be paying the one way fare.’

‘Very funny. Hey, we’d better get going. Look at the time.’

Weber checked his watch and got up. ‘Hey, can I get another refill?’ he asked the barista at the coffee shop they were in, holding out his paper cup. He got his refill and joined Mancini in the car.

‘Seriously, though,’ she said as they got in, ‘who do you believe?’

Weber looked over to her. ‘My head tells me to believe Clark. It seems more logical; the MPU told me Clark even checked on their computer records and checked the days she logged onto their system, and that confirmed the last Friday but one, whatever the date was. But…’

Mancini gave him a wry look. ‘But…?’

‘But I got the right vibes from Gibbons. Sure, he
could
have been so upset when he called on Clark; after all, apparently they had to threaten to call security. But Gibbons seems to have kept it together. He’s an intelligent guy – he works in a bank after all – and that’s one hell of a misunderstanding.’

‘You just didn’t like Clark, did you?’

‘Well, no.’

‘Hardly a reason for arresting him.’

‘I know, but listen to this: I asked him about Mrs Gibbons, and I said “did she work there” – you know, past tense.’

‘And?’

‘And he didn’t correct me. Well, not at first. But it seemed to unnerve him.’ Weber shook his head. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘O’Riordan thinks Gibbons may have done something to her.’

‘O’Riordan’s full of crap. Always was. Always will be. When we were on the streets together he didn’t have a freakin’ idea about most things. Got that promotion on account of his –
connections
. And you can tell him that the next time you have one of those one to one chats with him.’

‘Sam, I’m not -’

‘Forget it. Remember, I’ve known Ciarán O’Riordan for more years than I care to remember. He always more interested in the politics and his clear up percentages than what’s really going on. No, I don’t think Gibbons has done anything to her. If any evidence comes to light, that’s a different matter. There’s no motive, for a start. Sure, she was earning about 60K, but the mortgage on that house of theirs is tiny compared with how much they paid for it. Tiny compared with mine, for that matter. The rest came from Gibbons’ family. I checked out his bank statements -’

‘How’d you get to do that?’

‘Unofficially. His earnings more than cover all the household bills. Hers, plus some of his, just go into a savings account. So he doesn’t need any insurance money.’

‘Maybe they had a fight. Maybe she was having an affair.’

‘That’s possible. But there’s no evidence of that. There’s little evidence of anything, apparently. No, I’m sorry: the idea of him as a wife killer just doesn’t
feel
right.’

‘Just don’t get too deep, Sam. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Sure. Come on; let’s go see Ms Washington. See if she remembers anything else.’

‘Good news that’s she’s at home now.’

‘Mm. Hey – I’ve just realised: she’s Ms Washington; Mrs Gibbons works on Washington Avenue. Coincidence or what?’

‘Let’s just go see Ms Washington.’

‘I think it’s good karma, that’s all,’ said Weber as he turned the ignition.

‘You got her address?’ Weber asked.

‘Sure, it’s in Newton. Whittier Road. I’ll take the 90.’

They were five minutes into their journey when there Weber’s phone rang. He passed it to Mancini. ‘Here, you take it.’

Mancini took the call; listened for half a minute, then said, ‘Right; we’ll be there in around ten minutes.’ Then hung up.

‘Ms Washington will have to wait,’ she said. ‘You need to head up to Winchester.’

‘Not another mugging, I hope.’

‘No. This one’s dead.’

*****

It had started to rain by the time they reached the scene: a small block of apartments just off the Mystic Valley Parkway. Not the heavy, driving rain they had experienced over the last couple of days, but heavy drizzle: half rain, half sleet.  It had gotten bitterly cold since dawn.

They walked through the police cordon, past the two blue and whites and into the building. Climbed up to the second floor. Four uniformed police officers were in the corridor, two of them talking with an elderly couple in an apartment doorway. Further down the corridor, an apartment door was wide open with the other two officers in this doorway. As they walked in, nodding to the officers, Weber noticed the corridor carpet was soaking wet, as was the carpet inside the apartment.

The bathroom was to the right immediately as one entered the apartment, and they could see that the water emanated from there. Weber looked inside the white tiled bathroom: the bath was opposite the open door. He looked in further and saw, at the top end of the bath, a body. It was a woman’s body, naked, and slumped over the bath. The black hair, long down to just below her neck, was wet and straggly, hanging over both shoulders.

One of the uniformed officers joined Weber and Mancini in the bathroom.

‘The super made the call,’ the officer said. ‘He noticed the water stain on the carpet outside, tried to raise her, then used his master key, and found her. Like this.’

‘Who is she?’ Weber asked.

‘She’s a Ms Watanabe,’ the officer replied. ‘Ms Aki Watanabe.’

‘Asian? Sound it from the name.’

‘Japanese, apparently. Took this place about a year ago.’

‘What do you think happened?’ Mancini asked Weber as she looked around. She was hunched over the side of the bath, in the corner. The bath was filled with water, her face partially submerged. There was an integral bath/shower, with the shower hose leading from the faucets to the shower head. The hose and head were lying in the water, coiled like a snake. Weber said nothing, just looked around as well.

‘Look,’ Mancini said, pointing up to the shower arm, fixed to the wall above the bath. It was hanging in an odd position: at a forty-five degree angle.  I reckon I see what’s happened. She’d run herself a bath, maybe leaned over to switch off the faucets, the shower head came off the arm up there, hit her on the back of the head there,’ – she pointed to a two inch gash on the back of her head, dark matting showing on her black hair – ‘rendering her unconscious. Her face falls into the bath, and she drowns.’

‘Was the water running when the super came in?’ Weber asked the uniformed officer. ‘Or did he turn it off?’

‘He said he didn’t touch anything.’

‘Bullshit,’ muttered Weber. ‘Look at all that water. There’s been some displacement due to her body in the water, but not that much. He turned the water off, no doubt about it.’

‘I’ll check with him.’

‘Has he made a formal statement yet?’

‘Leave it until then. If he denies it – well, we’ll take it from there.’

Weber looked back at the bath and the body. He peered down to the submerged shower head. There were small particles of something floating in the water around the head, and red wisps in the water.

‘Well?’ asked Mancini. ‘Do you agree?’

‘Hm?’ Weber asked, still studying the body.

‘She’s crouching here, the shower head falls off, hits her, and she falls unconscious into the water and drowns. Subject to COD being confirmed of course. Has the ME been called?’ The last question was directed at the uniformed officer.

‘Yes. He should be here anytime. Oh, here she is now.’

The officer, Weber and Mancini stepped aside as a woman in her forties, dressed in a blue coat, her red hair tied in a bun, bustled into the bathroom. She grunted a greeting to them, and knelt down to the body.  The three officers stepped out of the bathroom while she did her work.

‘You agree?’ Mancini said quietly to Weber. ‘You saw the gash on the back of the head. The shower head must have hit her.’

‘Quite possibly,’ Weber said. ‘It may have fallen off the arm and hit her on the head.’

He paused a beat.

‘But did it also give her those bruises on the back of her neck?’