“It’d be nice, but I doubt it.”
“So do I,” he said. He leafed through numerous pages to the initial incident report. “I just got this promotion. I’m junior man on the team so this is a training exercise as far as they’re concerned. Let’s see what we got.” His gaze zigzagged along the page. “Crystal Purcell filed a missing persons Tuesday morning, September 16, seventy-two hours after the doctor failed to arrive home as scheduled. Records took the information. We’d had some residential burglaries that same weekend so I didn’t pick up the report until noon Thursday, September 18. As far as we could determine, Purcell wasn’t at risk, and there was nothing suspicious about the circumstances of his disappearance.” He paused to look at me. “Tell you the truth, we figured he’d gone off on his own. You know how it is. Half the time the guy shows up later with his tail between his legs. Turns out he’s got a girlfriend or he’s been off on a bender with the boys somewhere. Might be half a dozen explanations, all of them harmless. It’s aggravating to the wife, but nothing sinister.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Half a million to a million people run away each year. It’s tough on family and friends. You’ve probably seen it yourself. At first, they get into denial. Can’t believe someone’d do such a rotten thing to them. Later, they get mad. Anyway, I called the current Mrs. Purcell and made an appointment for Friday afternoon. This was September 19. Frankly, I stalled, assuming she’d hear from him.”
“Which she didn’t?”
“Not then and not since. From what she says, he wasn’t suffering any physical condition that raised a flag on that score-no heart problems, diabetes, no history of mental illness. She said she’d called and talked to him at the office-this was September 12, shortly after lunch. Purcell told her he’d be late, but there was no mention of his not coming home at all. By Saturday morning, she was frantic, calling everyone she knew-friends, relatives, his colleagues. Hospitals, CHP, the morgue-you name it. There was no sign of him.
“I sat with her for an hour, this was at the house in Horton Ravine. She’s got another place at the beach she stays most weekends. I went through the drill. Asked about habits, hobbies, job, country club memberships; had a look at his bedroom; went through his chest of drawers, phone bills, credit card receipts. I checked his credit card accounts for any recent activity, address book, calendar-covering all those bases.”
“Nothing surfaced?”
He held up a finger. “I’ll get to that in a minute. Over the next couple weeks, we went through the mail at his home and at the clinic, arranged a mail cover, talked to his associates, entered him in the DOJ missing persons system, and put a stop on his license plate. Meantime, you have to understand, we’re not talking about a crime here, so this is strictly a public service. We’re doing what we can, but there’s no evidence to suggest we got a problem on our hands.”
“Fiona tells me his passport’s missing.”
Odessa smiled ruefully. “So’s mine for that matter. Just because his wife can’t lay hands on it, doesn’t mean it’s gone. We did come across a recent statement for a savings account at Mid-City Bank. And this is what caught our attention. It looks like he made a series of cash withdrawals-thirty thousand dollars’ worth-over the past two years. Balance drops from thirteen grand to three in the past ten months alone. The last activity on the account was August 29. His wife doesn’t seem to know anything about it.”
“You think he was prepping for departure?”
“Well, it sure looks that way. Granted, thirty thou won’t get you far in this day and age, but it’s a start. He might’ve milked other accounts we haven’t come up with yet. It’s always possible the guy’s a gambler and this is his stake. She says he’s not, but she might’ve been kept in the dark.”
“Could we go back to the passport? If Purcell left the country, wouldn’t Customs have a record of it?”
“You’d think so. Assuming his was the passport he used. He might have traded in his personal ID-driver’s license, birth certificate, and passport-for a set of phony papers, which means he could have flown to Europe or South America under someone else’s name. Or he might have driven into Canada, booked a flight, and left from there.”
“Or he might be lying low,” I said.
“Right.”
“Wouldn’t someone have spotted his car?”
“No guarantee of that. He could’ve run it off a cliff, or driven into Mexico and sold it to a chop shop. Park a car like that in South Central and see how fast it disappears.”
“What kind of car?”
“Four-door Mercedes sedan. Silver. Vanity plate reads ‘Doctor P.’ ”
I said, “You haven’t mentioned foul play.”
“No reason to. Or if there is, I don’t see it. It’s not like we found blood stains in the parking lot outside the nursing home. No signs of a struggle, no evidence of assault, and no reason to believe he was forcibly removed. We canvassed the neighborhood, hitting every house within range. Nobody saw or heard a thing that night.”
“Fiona thinks he might have left on his own. What’s your take on it?”
“Personally, I don’t like the feel of it. Nine weeks with zip. You almost have to assume there’s something else going on. We’re beginning to backtrack, looking for anything we might have missed the first go-round.”
“Did Fiona’s story affect the investigation?”
“In what regard?”
“All this talk of his past disappearances,” I said.
Odessa waved that aside. “Air and sunshine. She says he’s gone off before. Maybe so, maybe not. I’m not entirely clear about her motive.”
“According to her, she wants results.”
“Sure, but who doesn’t? We’re cops, not magicians. We don’t perform miracles.”
“Did you believe the story she told?”
“I believe he left her. Whether he was having problems with the current Mrs. P. is anybody’s guess.” He paused. “Have you met Crystal yet?”
I shook my head.
Odessa lifted his brows and shook his hand as though he’d burned it. “She’s a beautiful woman. Hard to picture anyone walking out on her.”
“You have a theory?”
“Not me. From our perspective-so far-this is not a criminal matter. You got no crime, then there’s no Miranda and no need for search warrants, which makes our job a hell of a lot easier. We’re just a bunch of good guys trying to do the family a favor. Personally, I think things look bad, but I ain’t gonna say that to anyone else, including you,” he said.
I indicated the file. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Wish I could, but this is Paglia’s case and he’s hell on confidentiality. He doesn’t mind us passing on the gist of it when it seems appropriate. The point is to find the guy, which means we cooperate when we can.”
“He won’t care if I go back and talk to some of these people?”
“You’re free to do anything you want.”
When he walked me out to the front, he said, “If you find him, let us know. He can stay gone if he wants, but I’d hate to keep putting in the hours if he’s off in Las Vegas with a snootful of coke.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t. Nor do you.”
On the way back to the office, I did a two-block detour and made a stop at the bank. I filled out a deposit slip, endorsed Fiona’s check, and waited my turn in line. When I reached the window, I pointed to the account number printed on the face. “Could you verify the balance in this account? I want to be sure the check’s good before I make the deposit.” Another lesson learned the hard way: I don’t start work until a check has cleared.
The teller, Barbara, was one I’d been dealing with for years. I watched while she typed in the account number on her computer keyboard and then studied the screen. She hit the Enter key once. Tap. Again. Tap. I watched as her eyes traced the lines of print.
She looked back at my deposit slip and made a face. “This is covered, but it’s close. Want the cash instead?”
“The deposit’s fine, but let’s do it before another check comes in and leaves her short.”
Chapter 3
I returned to the office to find that Jill and Ida Ruth had left a note on my door: “Kinsey-Below is an itemized record of Jeniffer’s tardy days, screwups, and unexplained absences. Please add any other incidents you know of, sign this, and leave it on my desk. We think it’s best if we present a unified front. We mean business! Ida Ruth.”
I dropped the list in my trash and put a call through to Crystal Purcell at the house in Horton Ravine. The housekeeper informed me she’d left for the beach house, where she’d be spending the weekend, one gave me the number, which I dialed as soon as we’d hung up. I hoped the woman who answered would be Crystal, but when I asked or her by name, I was put on hold until a second woman picked up. “This is Crystal,” she said.