Jeff Abbott - No Rest for the Dead

“But they had issues.”

“Well, his affairs have been no secret,” Olsen said scornfully. “He’s not a particularly nice guy, Jon. He and I have had our differences.”

“Then why are you concerned?”

“He’s disappeared. He hasn’t been seen since that night. Rosemary had her say, then ran from the hall. Chris excused himself and followed her out. That’s the last anyone saw of him.”

Nunn thought a moment. “Has she reported him missing?”

“She’s gone to Mexico.”

“What?”

“No, it’s not what you’re thinking. She went on behalf of the museum. There’s an exhibit in Mexico City, Spanish armaments from the conquest. She oversees the Arms and Armor department of the museum, so she went to check it out.”

“Just like that?”

“She’s been in conversation with the museum down there for some time. But, yes, her decision to go seemed rather sudden, though I encouraged it. She was still very upset over what she called ‘making a fool of myself at the Pollock event.’ If you ask me, the SOB had it coming to him, and more, for a long time. I told her a few days away would do her good.”

“Is she aware that no one’s seen her husband since she told him off?”

“She acknowledged that he didn’t come home the night of the incident, but she wasn’t that worried about it. I’m assuming it wasn’t unusual for Chris to spend a night out. Certainly since she had brought his philandering into the open, it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t go home.”

Nunn mulled it over. “So no one’s actually reported him missing?”

“No.”

“I’m in homicide, Tony.”

“I realize that. But I hoped to get your read on it before getting the police officially involved. There’s no love lost between Chris Thomas and me, but I’d hate for Rosemary’s heartache to be made public. More so than it’s already been. Not to mention the museum’s reputation. The board’s concern is safeguarding that.”

“I get it. Donors wouldn’t appreciate a scandal involving museum personnel. But marital problems are marital problems, Tony. Common and not that scandalous.”

After a slight hesitation Tony said, “I suspect that Chris’s extracurricular activities may have extended beyond unfaithfulness to his wife.”

“Care to expand on that?”

There was a pause, then Olsen said, “Not until I have to.”

“Well, can you venture a guess where he might be?”

“After five days, when he still hadn’t come to work, the museum staff came to me. Things were stacking up. Issues needed his attention. Beyond that, they were concerned for his well-being. I called Rosemary at her hotel in Mexico. She still hadn’t had any contact with him. She said if I wanted to find him, I should talk to one of his girlfriends.”

“What exactly is it you’re asking me to do, Tony?”

“To look into it, his disappearance. You’re the only policeman I know personally, and I know I can trust you to be discreet.”

“I understand, but if he doesn’t turn up soon…”

“I know.”

They talked a few more minutes. Nunn promised to be back in touch soon.

He would put out feelers, interview the girlfriends, do some snooping, and it would probably result in his locating Christopher Thomas sunning himself on a private beach with one of his babes, her ass in one hand, a tropical drink in the other.

But a weekafter Nunn’s initial conversation with Tony Olsen-there’d been numerous conversations since-he was waiting outside customs when Rosemary Thomas reentered the United States.

She looked bedraggled as she pulled her suitcase behind her. Nunn placed himself in her path. “Rosemary Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Jon Nunn.” He presented her his badge. “I’d like to talk to you about the disappearance of your husband, Christopher Thomas.”

If anything had taught her patience, it had been the past couple of weeks. Ostensibly, the trip to Mexico was a chance for her to eye a magnificent collection of colonial Spanish armor, but the real reason for the sudden departure was to give Rosemary something that she had sorely been lacking for years.

Perspective.

She gave the intruder a quick once-over with a cool eye. His jacket was a size too small and a couple of years out of fashion. His hair appeared as if it had been styled by a nearsighted barber, and he was in need of a shave. His mouth was thin, his nose too long, but he was attractive and looked intelligent. “Who are you?”

Again, Nunn presented his shield, but she shrugged. “I know a dozen artisans who could forge that for five dollars or less.” She started walking, her suitcase in tow. Act tough , she told herself. “Leave me the hell alone.”

Nunn had to do a two-step to keep pace with her. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Not for a second.” She stopped and glared at him. “How dare you come to me with your badge and your insinuations?”

“I don’t remember any insinuation, ma’am.”

Rosemary kept walking but Nunn dogged her heels. She slung a large purse over her shoulder, almost clipping his face.

“Your husband’s missing.”

“Oh?”

“That doesn’t concern you?”

Rosemary swallowed. “My husband’s business is not my business.”

“Really?” Nunn tried to look her in the eye; impossible.

“Two weeks ago, it might have been, but not now. Christopher told me in no uncertain terms that I was a blight on him both professionally and personally, so why should I give a damn about him?” Rosemary took a deep breath, then another. “I don’t know where he is-and I don’t care.” She reached the automatic doors, and when they opened, she stepped outside. The traffic was thick and the noise deafening. She debated jaywalking to get rid of the cop, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She found the crosswalk and waited for the light to turn green. “Please, just… go away.”

“I hear you two fought. What else?”

Rosemary kept up the false bravado, though her head was starting to pound. “If you’re a detective, you should know.”

“Okay, let me tell you what I do know. Your husband had demanded a divorce, and that night you had a meltdown.”

“And…?”

“And then you fought, publicly.”

“Silly ninny that I was. I made a complete ass out of myself.” She tried to smile. The light changed to green, and suitcase in tow, she started across the four-lane roadway. “And for what? For some pompous, adulterous, priggish twit who has been using me-or more to the point, my money-for umpteen years? God, I detest that man!” she said, though a part of her ached when she said it.

When she got to the other side of the street, she ducked into the parking structure, took a deep breath, and picked up her pace, and Nunn had no choice but to follow.

“And you have no idea where he is?”

“No, nor am I concerned that he is missing. If God is half as benevolent as the preachers claim He is, He’ll make good and sure he stays missing.” Rosemary stopped and turned on Nunn until they were almost nose to nose. She wanted to run, but she stood fast. “Have I made myself clear, Officer?”

“Like it or not, Mrs. Thomas, you’re going to have to deal with the situation.”

“I told you, Christopher Thomas is no longer my business.”

“I’m afraid he is.” Nunn looked into the woman’s eyes, which were pale blue and sad. He didn’t buy her tough-gal act. “How about we go for a cup of coffee and discuss this?”

“Look, mister, I-”

“It’s Detective Jon Nunn. SFPD-homicide.”