Harlan Coben - Just One Look

“Around ten o’clock.”

“And you thought that maybe he went to the grocery store?”

“I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

“He just upped and left?”

“Right.”

“And you never asked him where he was going?”

“I was upstairs. I heard the car start up.”

“Okay, here’s what I need to know.” Perlmutter let go of the paunch. His chair creaked as he leaned forward. “You called him on the cell phone. Pretty much right away. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, see, that’s the problem. Why didn’t he answer you? I mean, if he wanted to talk to you?”

Grace saw where he was going with this.

“Do you think your husband-what?-got in an accident right away? Or maybe someone grabbed him within minutes of leaving your house?”

Grace hadn’t really thought about that. “I don’t know.”

“Do you ever drive up the New York Thruway?”

The change of subject threw her. “Not often, but sure, I’ve taken it.”

“Ever go to Woodbury Commons?”

“The outlet mall?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been, yes.”

“How long do you figure it takes to get there?”

“Half an hour. Is that where he went?”

“I doubt it, not at that hour. The stores are all closed. But he used his E-ZPass at the tollbooth on that exit at precisely 10:26 P.M. It leads to Route 17, and heck, that’s how I go to the Poconos. Give or take ten minutes either way, that would fit a scenario where your husband left your house and drove straight in that direction. From there, well, who knows where he went? It’s fifteen miles to Interstate 80. From there you can go straight to California if you’d like.”

She sat there.

“So add it up, Mrs. Lawson. Your husband leaves the house. You call him immediately. He doesn’t answer. Within a half hour or so, we know he’s driving in New York. If someone had attacked him or if he got in an accident, well, there’s no way he could have been snatched and then his E-ZPass used up there in that short a time frame. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Grace met his eye. “That I’m a hysterical bimbo whose husband ran out on her.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just… Well, we really can’t investigate any further at this point. Unless…” He leaned a little closer. “Mrs. Lawson, is there anything else you can think of that could help us here?”

Grace tried not to squirm. She glanced behind her. Officer Daley had not moved. She had a copy of the strange photograph in her purse. She thought about Fuzz Pellet Josh and the store not opening. It was time to tell them. In hindsight she should have told Daley about it when it first showed up.

“I’m not sure it’s relevant,” she began, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a copy of the photograph and passed it to Perlmutter. Perlmutter took out a pair of reading glasses, cleaned them with his shirttail, and pushed them into place. Daley walked around and bent down over the captain’s shoulder. She told them about finding the photograph mixed in with her others. The two officers stared at her as if she’d taken out a razor and started shaving her head.

When Grace was done, Captain Perlmutter pointed to the picture and said, “And you’re sure that’s your husband?”

“I think so.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

He nodded in that way people do when they think you’re a lunatic. “And the other people in the photo? The young lady somebody crossed out?”

“I don’t know them.”

“But your husband. He said it wasn’t him, right?”

“Right.”

“So if it isn’t him, well, this is irrelevant. And if it is him”-Perlmutter took off the glasses-“he lied to you. Isn’t that correct, Mrs. Lawson?”

Her cell phone rang. Grace grabbed it fast and checked the number.

It was Jack.

For a moment she went very still. Grace wanted to excuse herself, but Perlmutter and Daley were both looking at her. Asking for privacy was not really an option here. She hit the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

“Jack?”

“Hey.”

The sound of his voice should have filled her with relief. It didn’t.

Jack said, “I tried you at home. Where are you?”

“Where am I ?”

“Listen, I can’t talk long. I’m sorry about running out on you like that.”

His tone was aiming for casual, but it wasn’t hitting the mark.

“I need a few days,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Where are you, Grace?”

“I’m at the police station.”

“You called the police?”

Her eyes met Perlmutter’s. He wiggled his fingers, as if to say, Give me the phone, little lady. I’ll handle it.

“Look, Grace, just give me a few days. I…” Jack stopped. And then he said something that made the dread grow tenfold. “I need some space.”

“Space,” she repeated.

“Yes. A little space. That’s all. Please tell the police that I apologize. I have to go now. Okay? I’ll be back soon.”

“Jack?”

He didn’t reply.

“I love you,” Grace said.

But the phone was dead.

Space. Jack said he needed space. And that was all wrong. Never mind that “needing space” was one of those lame, cloying, namby-pamby, New Age we-are-the-world terms that was worse than meaningless-“needing space”-a terrible euphemism for “I’m soooo outta here.” That would have been a clue perhaps, but this went much deeper.

Grace was home now. She had mumbled an apology to Perlmutter and Daley. Both men looked at her with pity and told her that it was all part of the job. They said that they were sorry. Grace offered up a solemn nod and headed for the door.

She had learned something crucial from the phone call.

Jack was in trouble.

She had not been overreacting. His disappearance had nothing to do with running away from her or fear of commitment. It was no accident. It had not been expected or planned. She had picked up the photograph from the store. Jack had seen it and run out.

And now he was in serious danger.

She could never explain this to the police. First off, they wouldn’t believe her. They would claim that she was either delusional or naïve to the point of a learning disability. Maybe not to her face. Maybe they would humor her, which would be both a tremendous irritant and waste of time. They’d been convinced that Jack was on the run before the call. Her explanation would not change their minds.

And maybe that was best.

Grace was trying to read between the lines here. Jack had been concerned about police involvement. That was obvious. When she said that she was at the police station, the regret in his voice was real. That was no act.

Space.

That was the main clue. If he had just told her that he was leaving for a few days, blowing off steam, running off with a stripper he’d met at the Satin Dolls, okay, she might not believe him, but it would be in the realm of possibility. But Jack hadn’t done that. He had been specific about his reasons for disappearing. He even repeated himself.

Jack needed space.

Marital codes. All couples have them. Most were pretty stupid. For example, there was a scene in the Billy Crystal movie Mr. Saturday Night when the comic Crystal played-Grace couldn’t remember the name, barely remembered the movie-pointed at an old man with a terrible toupee and said, “Is that a toupee? I, for one, was fooled.” So now, whenever she and Jack saw a man with a possible toupee, one would turn to the other and say, “I for one?” and the spouse would either agree or disagree. Grace and Jack started using “I for one” for other vanity enhancements too-nose jobs, breast implants, whatever.