Michael Prescott - Blind Pursuit

He saw it in her face, in the wide green eyes and pursed lips-the desperate hopefulness, the intense need for answers.

This was when she expected him to make his brilliant deduction, prove his criminalistic skills. Do you see this speck of dust, Annie? It’s found only in the forests of southern Romania-thus proving that your sister was kidnapped by Gypsies.

Something like that.

He didn’t answer at once. He took a moment to peer into the back of the closet, where two items of luggage were stored. A carry-on bag and a large suitcase. There was a space between them where another suitcase, apparently of intermediate size, had stood.

“How familiar are you with Erin’s wardrobe?” he asked.

“We trade clothes all the time.”

“Can you take a look at what’s here and get some idea of which items, if any, are missing?”

Annie registered disappointment. This was hardly the stunning breakthrough she’d anticipated. “Sure. I can do that.”

He waited while she took inventory.

“As best I can tell,” she said finally, “three outfits are missing.” Puzzlement had replaced worry in her expression for the first time.

“Items suitable for spring?”

“Two skirts and, I think, a pair of shorts. Three blouses, all short-sleeve. Oh, and a pair of boots. I don’t see her robe either.”

“Pajamas? Slippers?”

“She’s got several pair of each. I can’t be sure.”

“Some things were taken from the bathroom also. Toothbrush, comb-toiletries. And there’s a suitcase missing from her luggage set.”

Annie sat on the bed, her features suddenly slack. “You’re saying she packed a bag and left.”

“Looks like it.”

The slow shaking of her head was oddly mechanical, a robot’s programmed routine. “She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. I mean-it’s not like her at all.”

He stood near the bed, looking down on her, the red curls thick on her shoulders, her hands steepled in her lap. “In my experience,” he said, “no matter how well we think we know someone, there’s always a surprise lurking somewhere.”

“Not this kind of surprise. Not with Erin.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. But everything points to the conclusion that your sister went away on an unscheduled trip.”

“Without telling me-or anyone? Without even leaving a note?”

“It happens.”

“But she didn’t take her Tegretol. Or her watch.”

“She probably has enough of the medicine left from the last refill of her prescription. As for the watch… Maybe she bought a new one you don’t know about. Or maybe she just forgot. Or she wants to get away from schedules and deadlines for a while.”

“Schedules and deadlines are her life.” He heard despair in her voice.

Walker hesitated, then sat beside her. The mattress springs creaked, and the Smith. 38 in his armpit holster rubbed against his ribs.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “she needs a temporary break from her life. All of us do now and then.”

“She flipped out? Erin? ”

“That’s putting it a little strong. Look, Annie, it sounds to me as if your sister subjects herself to a lot of pressure. A place for everything and everything in its place. Never late for an appointment, never irresponsible, never out of control. It’s hard to maintain that kind of discipline day after day.”

“Not for her. That’s just the way she is.”

‘Then there’s this to consider. She’s a psychologist. The mental-health professions have among the highest rates of”- suicide, he nearly said, but checked himself-“burnout. Dealing with other people’s problems all day can get pretty grim. Erin simply may have needed some time off.”

Annie looked at him, and he saw stripes of wetness on her cheeks. “I talked to her on the phone yesterday. We made a lunch date. She didn’t sound depressed or overworked or stressed out. She was fine.”

“You don’t know what she might have been hiding.”

“We don’t hide stuff from each other.”

“Everybody hides something.”

“Not us.” Anger flashed in her eyes. He thought of gemstones catching the light. “We’re close. We’ve always been. Ever since…”

The spark died then, and her eyes were glassy and cold.

“Since…?” Walker prompted.

She gazed at her restless hands. “Since we were seven years old. We lost our parents, you see. We were orphaned together.”

Gently he touched her arm. “How did that happen?”

“Fire.” The word a whisper.

He didn’t know what to say. The question that came out of his mouth was safely factual and meaningless. “Was this in Tucson?”

“No, in California. Small town called Sierra Springs, where we were born. We moved to Tucson after the fire. Our aunt adopted us. Aunt Lydia.”

“Your mother’s sister?”

“Yes. She lived here in town.”

He picked up on the singular pronoun. “Alone? No husband?”

Her gaze ticked toward him, then away. “Lydia’s husband… died.” Peculiar hesitation there. “Years before. So Lydia had to raise us on her own. She worked two jobs. It was rough on her.”

On her. Walker almost smiled at the way she put it. “I’d say you and Erin were the ones who really had it rough.”

“Yeah, well… it was a long time ago.”

The unnatural pause in her statement about Lydia’s husband intrigued him. Lydia, he thought. Lydia what?

“Did you take your aunt’s last name?” he asked casually.

“No. Reilly was our father’s name. Albert Reilly. We wanted to keep it. Even though… I mean…” She swallowed. “We just wanted to keep his name, that’s all.”

Defensiveness in her tone, which he didn’t understand.

“Our aunt was Lydia Connor,” she added. “You might have heard of her.”

He frowned. “I don’t think so. What makes you say that?”

“Just because… Well, she was local, you know. Lots of people knew her.” Evasiveness now. Strange.

“I take it your aunt is no longer living.”

Annie blinked. “She passed away six years ago. Cancer. How did you know?”

“You told me on the phone that you had no family.”

“Oh. That’s right. No family… except Erin. She’s all I’ve got left.” She brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead and fixed him with her green gaze. “You’re not going to help me, are you, Detective?”

“Michael.”

She would not be charmed. “You haven’t answered my question… Michael.”

Here was the bad part. The words he hated having to say.

“Let me explain the situation,” he began slowly. “In order for Tucson P.D. to initiate an investigation of a missing adult, certain requirements have to be met.” He disliked talking this way, as if quoting from the rules-and-procedures manual. “If the person is believed to be mentally unstable, or is elderly and easily confused, then we have a basis for pursuing the matter. Or if there’s some evidence of foul play or suicide or accident.” He showed her his hands, palms out. “In other words, there has to be a justification for the use of police resources.”

Frustration smoldered in her face, rising slowly to a white heat of fury. “And in this case there isn’t?”

“I don’t see any reason to suspect that a crime has been committed or is likely to be. It’s not illegal for an adult to pack up and leave town. It may be irresponsible, inexplicable, but it’s not a crime.”

“Damn it, she’s disappeared! ”

Abruptly she was on her feet, glaring down at him from a sudden advantage of height. Her small hands were balled into fists at her sides, the knuckles squeezed white.

“I told you Erin isn’t irresponsible or impulsive or emotional. I’m the emotional one, for God’s sake. I get moods, I get crazy-but not Erin. She’d never walk out on her patients or… or on me.”