She's Not Coming Home (3 page)

Chapter Five

Weber scribbled on
the front page of his notepad as if to test his pen was working. ‘If we could take it from the top,’ he said. ‘I’ll need some names first. Your first name, Mr Gibbons, and your wife’s.’

‘Matt. Matthew. Matthew Gibbons. And my wife’s name is Ruth.’

‘Okay. Now, Mr Gibbons: just tell me, in your own words, what has happened.’

‘My wife hasn’t gotten home from work.’

‘I understand that, sir. But I need the sequence of events of tonight; what makes you believe she has gone missing.’

‘All right.’ Matt sipped some more tea. ‘She went to work as normal this morning.’

‘Where does she work?’ asked Weber. ‘What does she do?’

‘She works in the offices of Cambridge Pharmaceuticals.’

‘Offices in the city?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What does she do there?’

‘She’s been there a number of years, and has had a number of different jobs there. She did tell me what her latest position there is, but frankly it was so technical, I didn’t understand. Still don’t understand exactly what she does there.’

‘And what about you, Mr Gibbons. Are you at work? I noticed…’ Weber indicated to the dinosaur backpack Nathan had left in the corner.

‘I work for a bank. Downtown.’

‘Which bank? What do you do there?’

‘I’m a Personal Banker at the Bank of New England.  I’ve had a couple of days vacation. Due back tomorrow. Is all this relevant?’

‘Just collecting information, Mr Gibbons.’

‘You don’t think her disappearance has anything to do with my job at the bank?  I mean – we get shown security training videos where staff members’ family members get kidnapped for safe combinations, that sort of thing.’

Weber put a hand up.

‘Whoa, Mr Gibbons. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I am just collecting background information, that’s all.  Standard procedure.’

‘Okay, okay. I’m sorry.’

‘No problem. Now, when your wife left for work this morning, did anything unusual happen? I mean, every household has their getting up and leave for work routine; was there any deviation from yours this morning?’

Matt considered for a moment. ‘No. No, I don’t think so.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Okay. When she -’

‘Wait – there was one thing, I guess. I normally get up first, but this morning when I woke up, she was already in the shower.’

Weber nodded, as he continued writing.

‘Why? Do you think that’s important?’

Weber shrugged. ‘Going back to what I was asking: when she goes to work, how does she commute? By car?  The T?’

‘No, she walks.’

Weber looked up. ‘Walks?’ he asked.

‘Most days. Unless the snow’s too bad or it’s raining too hard. Always has done. Says she enjoys it.’

‘And how long does the journey take her?’

‘That depends. Mornings and in the summer – when it’s daylight – she cuts across the Common.’

Weber nodded. ‘It’s quite a busy commuter route.’

‘I know. But when it’s dark, she takes a detour around the park. Tremont and Beacon. My idea, not hers. She does it to humour me.’

‘And she would have taken this detour tonight?’

‘Should have done, yes.’

‘Sure. Backtracking to during the day. Some couples just say goodbye in the morning and don’t speak until that night. Others are calling or texting each other every five minutes. Know what I mean?’

Matt nodded.

‘Which category are you in?’ asked Weber.

‘The former,’ said Matt. ‘Unless there’s anything that can’t wait. A couple of guys at work are the other category. Drives me mad: I could be having a conversation with them, then bleep bleep, it’s all over.’

‘My partner’s the same,’ Weber smiled. ‘Drives me mad too.’

‘Your work partner?’

‘What? Oh yeah. My work partner. Detective Mancini. Always on her cell. Don’t understand what they can have to say all the time.

‘Anyhows,’ he continued, ‘when she left for work, that was the last contact you had with her. Is that right?’

‘Until around five. Just before she’s about to leave, she sends me a brief text.’

‘What does the text say?’

‘I’ll show you.’ Matt retrieved Ruth’s last message and showed it to Weber.

‘“Leaving now”,’ read Weber. ‘Is that pretty standard?’

‘Word for word. I think it’s saved as a template on her phone.’

‘So, when she does that, you have an idea when to expect her home? What about when you are at work?’

‘We both do the same thing. So, for example, I might text her at five thirty; so she knows I’ll be home about six.’

Weber turned again to the backpack. ‘How many kids?’

‘Just the one. Nathan. He goes to kindergarten. He’s upstairs asleep, I hope.’

‘Who takes and collects him?’

‘We take turns. In the morning Ruth drops him off, and I’ll pick him up. Next day I’ll do the drop off, and she’ll pick up.’

‘Generous employers,’ Weber commented.

‘Not entirely. Ruth’s contract is drawn up to reflect that, and she’s only paid the hours she actually works. I have to make the time up, on Saturdays or something.’

‘You said you’re on vacation. What happened then?’

‘Only yesterday and today. If one of us is off, we do both duties.’

‘Got it. So: she sent you this text just after five; so you would reasonably expect her home at...?’

‘Around five forty.’

‘And when she didn’t show?’

‘I left it till six then called her.’

‘Called or sent a text?’

‘Both. Several times.’

‘Did you try her office landline?’

‘Eventually.’

‘Eventually?’

‘I tried the number saved on my cell, but it wouldn’t connect. Then I called 411 and got a totally different number.’

‘Which you dialled?’

‘Yes, but I got the office voicemail saying please call back in the morning.’

Weber raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Don’t you just love that?’

He turned the page on his notebook.

‘How long have you been married, Mr Gibbons?’

‘Three years. But we’ve been together as a couple six. Almost seven. Nathan will be six this summer.’

‘Happily married?’

‘Sure.’

‘Has there ever been – I’m sorry, I have to ask this – anybody else?’

‘No. Never.’

Weber looked up at Matt and gave a brief smile. ‘Any rows, or arguments, over the last few days? Anything to make her pissed off; making her stay away just to get back at you?’

‘No, nothing. But she’d never leave Nathan.’

Weber looked up again. ‘You’d be surprised, Mr Gibbons.’ He paused a beat. ‘Is there anywhere, anyone, she would visit rather than come home? Friends, girlfriends, her parents, your parents?’

Matt shook his head slowly. ‘Can’t say so.  I tried her best friend’s number when I couldn’t get through to Ruth. But it went to voicemail.’

‘Any call back?’

‘Nothing yet.’

‘Parents? Brothers and sisters?’

‘We’re both only children. Ruth’s parents died some years ago; before we got together, so I’ve never met them. My parents live on Cape Cod; we go see them every so often, so Nathan can see his grandparents. They and Ruth: well, they get on, I guess, but they’re not what you’d call really close. I think they disapprove, to be honest.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

Weber paused.

‘Is your wife dependant on drugs?’

‘No. No way.’

‘Sorry. Procedural questions. When you last saw her, this morning, what was her mental, her emotional state?’

‘Normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Nothing to give you concern?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Has she ever gone missing before?’

‘No. Never.’

‘Okay.’

Weber paused again. Then said, ‘Anything else you can tell me? That might be relevant.’

Matt thought and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Do you have a picture of her I can take?’ Weber asked.

‘Surely.’ Matt flicked through a letter rack behind the TV and pulled out a picture. It was a vacation picture of him, Ruth and Nathan. ‘All three of us,’ he said as he passed it to Weber. ‘Down at Busch Gardens, Virginia last summer.’

‘Thanks,’ said Weber as he put the picture inside the notebook and stood up. ‘We’ll get it copied and return it.’

‘So what next?’  asked Matt.

Weber scratched his nose as he spoke. ‘This is what happens now. I take this information back to my Captain. He then passes everything to the MPU. The Missing Persons Unit.’

‘And then?’

‘And then they follow their procedures. Even though I have a lot of information here,’ – he tapped his notebook – ‘somebody from the MPU will be in touch with you. Most likely tomorrow. May have other questions to ask you. Then will liaise with you, keep you in the loop. They’ll also give you a contact number just in case you think of any other information that might be helpful. Or if your wife reappears.’

‘Okay,’ said Matt. ‘Thanks for your help. And for coming so promptly.’

‘No problem,’ said Weber, making his way to the front door. ‘Hope it all gets sorted for you.’

He paused and glanced up the stairs. ‘How’s your son?’

‘I told him Ruth had to work late. He’s expecting to see her in the morning.’

‘Don’t focus on the worst case scenario. There could be a perfectly good explanation.’

‘Sure. Thanks again,’ said Matt as he let the Lieutenant out.

Matt slowly shut and locked the door, then quietly made his way upstairs to check on Nathan.  His son was sound asleep, sharing his pillow with a pterodactyl.  Matt moved the dinosaur onto the dresser and ran his fingers through Nathan’s hair. Nathan stirred slightly. Matt leaned over and kissed him gently on the temple. Stepped over to the window, parted the drape and looked out.

Their neighbourhood was on a hill, and from Nathan’s bedroom, Matt could see the lights from the vehicles travelling along Charles Street. He could also make out the flickering of light from a vessel on the Charles River Basin in the distance. It was a clear night, and the sky was full of stars, and the white and red lights from a couple of aircraft in the sky.

Yes, as the Lieutenant said, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe she had gotten fed up with him, but to leave Nathan?

His thoughts went to a guy he used to know years ago at High School, and a phrase he would always be using. For once, it was apposite.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

Chapter Six

Matt slept very
little that night. After the Lieutenant had left, and he had checked on Nathan, he tried Ruth’s cell phone one more time. Then Gail’s. Again, both phones went direct to voicemail.

In bed, he lay awake for hours, thinking over some of the things Weber had asked, and why he had asked them. He had
assumed
there was nobody else; at any rate, not as far as he was concerned, and Ruth had said or done nothing to indicate anything of that nature. In any case, walking out on him was one thing; leaving Nathan was another. In fact, the only variation on their normal routine was her getting up before him that morning. Hardly an indication that something was wrong.

After three or four hours’ fitful and restless sleep, Matt came to just before six. Instinctively, he turned over to Ruth’s side of the bed. It was empty, and cold: it hit Matt that she really was not around; it had not all been a dream. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. What to do first?

He had to return to work for one thing; then try Ruth’s phone again. If not her cell phone, then her work landline. Maybe try Gail again if he had no luck there. Presumably he would hear from the Missing Persons Unit Lieutenant Weber spoke about last night. And then there was Nathan. What to tell him?

By the time Nathan woke an hour later Matt had decided what to tell him.

‘Where’s Mommy?’ he asked, scratching his head and yawning.

‘Oh, you missed her, sport,’ said Matt, ruffling his hair.

‘What?’

‘She’s very busy at work right now. She came in late, and had to go in extra early.’

‘Will she be back tonight?’

‘Should be, sport. Should be.’

Matt froze for a second, wondering if Nathan would accept what he had said, or ask more awkward questions.

‘Okay.’ Nathan turned round and shuffled into the bathroom.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. That worked for now, but he would have to tell him more soon. Unless Ruth turned up.

*****

Matt and Nathan had breakfast as normal, and set off for Bambinos, then Bank of New England. Matt would be taking the car, a 2008 Toyota Camry, and Nathan skipped a few feet ahead of his father as they walked round to their parking garage. As he climbed into his seat and fiddled with his safety strap, Nathan looked up at Matt.

‘Will Mommy be home tonight?’ he asked.

Matt leaned down and kissed his son on the top of the head. ‘She should be. If she’s not too busy at work.’

He quickly closed Nathan’s door and climbed into the driver’s seat.  Bambinos was only a two minute ride away, and after Nathan was safely handed over, Matt set off for his office.

His normal route would be to head east along Cambridge Street, turn onto Court Street at the Government Center; then, negotiating Boston’s infamous one-way streets, he would take a right down Congress Street, left down Water Street onto Milk. Then up India Street to the small parking lot at the back of his branch building. The Bank of New England was situated on State and India. The journey would in normal circumstances take around half an hour – he always wondered why he didn’t walk – but today the streets were gridlocked. According to the traffic reports on WBUR, there had been a collision at 5:40 that morning on the I-93 Expressway between an SUV and a tractor-trailer. Although the debris had been cleared, the knock-on effect had not. Therefore, Matt was parking his Toyota behind the branch at 9:50.

In spite of the cold, he was hot and flustered, and ran up the steps into the branch. Inside, it seemed quite busy. Unusual for a Wednesday. He hurried over to his desk and sat down.

‘Afternoon,’ said a familiar voice.

Matt looked up and saw Larry Mason, a fellow Personal Banker and one of Matt’s closest colleagues at this branch. He grinned up at Larry.

‘Very funny. Traffic’s at a standstill out there. A smash on the 93 apparently.’

‘I know,’ Larry replied. ‘Why do you think it’s so busy here? Half the staff haven’t gotten in yet. My nine thirty client hasn’t shown up yet. When’s your first one in?’

While they were chatting, Matt had logged onto his personal computer.

‘Not until ten thirty, thank God,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Gives me a chance to get myself sorted out.’

‘Well, if you get any grief from Ms Barber,’ said Larry, ‘ignore it. She only just arrived ten minutes ago herself.’

‘Right; thanks for the heads-up.’

‘How was the vacation, by the way?’ asked Larry. ‘Do anything particular?’

‘Nah. Just a few things around the house.’

‘Ruth off too?’

Matt shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Catch up lunchtime?’

‘Sure.  See you later.’

Matt nodded and started to shuffle some paperwork. Once Larry had gone, he put down the paperwork and pulled out his cell phone. He looked around: the part of the branch where his desk was situated was quiet. The longer than normal line of customers was around the teller area. He could see that only two positions were manned: normally there were four. Perhaps the missing two were stuck in traffic. Larry was talking to one of the customers waiting in line, and José Vasquez, the third Personal Banker, was missing.  Larry lived in the Forest Hills district of Boston and used the Orange Line subway; Matt had forgotten exactly where José lived, but remembered him saying that he was having to use a replacement bus service as his branch of the T was being refurbished; so he would be stuck in traffic too.

While he was looking at the line of customers, he noticed his manager, Debra Grant Barber, walk past the line. One of the customers attracted her attention and from what Matt could hear was complaining about the length of time he was having to wait in line.

Debra Grant Barber was the bank’s New Business Manager, Matt’s supervisor. Early forties, she was always immaculately presented, with not a hair out of place. Heavily lacquered, Matt always assumed; and he was in no doubt how she had gotten to the position she was in at such a comparatively young age. The two surnames: not yet forty-five and already two husbands under her belt.

Allowing himself a brief smile, Matt found Ruth’s cell number on his phone, and used the office landline to dial. A trick he had learned from Larry: if you use the office landline, as well as not paying for the call, it would not look like a personal call.

Matt could hear the dial tone, and then the click as it went over to voicemail. Rather than just hang up as he did the last couple of times the day before, he left another message.

‘Ruth, it’s Matt. Again. Look, what’s going on? I’m worried. Nathan keeps asking where you are. Give me a call as soon as you pick up this message.’

He pressed the red key, then retrieved her office number. Dialled. A few rings, a click, then a recorded voice saying the call could not be completed as dialled. He had forgotten the number stored in his cell was wrong, but he couldn’t remember the correct number.

He called directory assistance and got the number for Cambridge Pharmaceuticals. He was just about to dial when his cell phone rang. His heart missed a beat. The caller was showing as unlisted.

‘Matthew Gibbons?’

‘Mr Gibbons, my name is Sergeant Paula Edwards. I work for the Missing Persons Unit of the Boston Police Department.’

‘Oh, hello.’

‘Good morning, sir. How are you this morning?’

‘I’m fine, thank you. How are you?’

‘I’m good, thank you sir. Mr Gibbons, I have been passed your details by Captain O’Riordan of the Department -’

‘O’Riordan?’

There was a brief pause. Matt could hear some papers being shuffled.

Edwards continued, ‘Yes, although I understand you filed your report with Lieutenant Weber last night.’

‘That’s right. He said to expect a call from you’

‘Sure. I was just -’

‘Have you any news yet?’

‘Not as yet, sir. I was just about to say, this is a preliminary courtesy call to you to let you know the report of your wife’s failure to return home has been passed to us here at the MPU. No news yet, I’m afraid, but the Lieutenant’s report was very thorough.’

‘Do you need any more information from me? He did pass you the photograph of Ruth, didn’t he?’

‘He did, absolutely. I just want to let you know that I will be acting as your point of contact with the Unit, and will keep you up to date with what’s happening.’

‘How often?’

‘Unless there is anything specific to report, I’ll give you a call every couple of days.’

‘Okay.’

‘Mr Gibbons, I’m going to give you a contact number for the Unit, for you to use if Mrs Gibbons returns, or if you hear from her. Or have any more information above that which you gave the Lieutenant which would be of interest to us.’

‘Okay.’ Matt jotted down the number Sergeant Edwards gave him.

‘So I’ll call you in a couple of days, Mr Gibbons.’

‘Okay. Fine.’

‘You have a good day now, sir,’ she said, then hung up.

Matt replaced the phone. He looked around: the line at the other side of the branch was shorter now; it looked as if four tellers were on duty now. He checked the clock: he should just have time before his client arrived to make this call.

He dialled the number for Cambridge Pharmaceuticals. After a few rings a female voice answered.

‘Thank you for calling Cambridge Pharmaceuticals. My name is Roxanne. How can I help you this morning?’

‘I’d like to speak to Ruth Gibbons please.’

‘Hold the line, please sir.’

There was a click and Matt was put on hold. A moment later, Roxanne returned.

‘Sir, can you repeat the name?’

‘Ruth Gibbons.’

‘I’m sorry sir, I can’t trace her. What department does she work in?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t -’ said Matt. ‘Wait a minute – she works in Product Control?’ The end of his sentence was more of a question.

‘Product Control,’ Roxanne repeated. ‘I’ll try again.’

A minute on hold and then, ‘I’m sorry sir; I can’t find her under Product Control.’

‘She might have moved departments again. Could you check again, please?’

‘Hold the line, sir.’

Matt was on hold again, for two minutes this time before Roxanne came back to him.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, sir, but I still can’t locate her.’

‘Can’t locate her? What does that mean?’

‘Sir, I’ve trawled through the entire employee database, and haven’t been able to find the name.’

‘I – I don’t understand. What does that mean?’

‘Sir, it means nobody by the name of Ruth Gibbons works here.’