Carter Decker wasn’t sure he wanted to trust the instincts of some Manhattan DA investigator he didn’t know from Adam.
According to the investigator he’d just spoken to, Hanover was a busybody by nature. In his words, “like a dog with a bone when she can’t get an answer about something nagging her.” Maybe that’s exactly the kind of person who might go looking for a missing person on her own, just because he may or may not have been one half of a couple she saw bickering on the street, but the whole thing felt off to Carter.
He’d seen the video when he initially googled her. It was the first hit in the search results, before her bio on the Fordham Law School website, before the op-ed that she had published about the subway incident. The woman seemed very tightly wound, but he couldn’t see any connection to David Smith’s disappearance, if he was even willing to call it that yet. The fact that Smith’s cell phone last pinged on Saturday definitely had him worried, but he could also imagine a guy overloaded with work calls and a prying mother letting his battery go conveniently dead for a few days.
His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his own phone. Another 401 area code. He was beginning to think that David Smith’s mother had sent his number to the entire state of Rhode Island. “Decker.”
The caller said his name was Simon Bowlby, asked if Decker was the detective working on the David Smith case, and then explained that an attorney named Anthony Walker had suggested he call about his friend David. “I haven’t talked to Dave since Thursday night. We got beers after work and watched the Red Sox game. He was planning to leave the next morning for the Hamptons with Christine.”
He finally had a name for the plus-one. Walker had confirmed that Smith’s phone was company-issued but was still working on getting the call records. “You have a last name for Christine? A contact number?”
“No. I’ve only met her a few times when we’ve hung out in groups. She’s in marketing or something like that. Pretty sure she went to Colby, but I don’t know how I know that. Oh, she was wearing a Colby baseball cap at the brewery and I asked her. So yeah, Colby.”
“So is she Dave’s girlfriend or what?” Carter asked.
“I mean, sort of? Like he sees her pretty regularly, but it’s not exclusive.”
“Does she know that?”
“Um…knowing Dave? Maybe not explicitly.”
“His mom didn’t seem to know anything about her.”
“If your mom is Tinsley Smith, you don’t introduce her to a girlfriend unless you’re ready to get married.”
“Because?”
“She’s, I don’t know…clingy. Dave’s dad was already geriatric when he was born, and Tinsley really leans into the idea that it’s up to Dave to keep the legacy going, or whatever. She wants Dave to be locked down with kids already, but she also doesn’t really approve of anyone. Like no one would be good enough for Dave unless they were the equivalent of the royal family. She thinks the kind of girls Dave dates are twit gold diggers.”
“And are they?” Carter asked.
“Sometimes, but he doesn’t always see it if they hide it well enough.”
“How about Christine?”
“Definitely not a twit, but she’s definitely got a side to her that falls within Dave’s blind spot.”
“Such as?”
“Honestly? I get the impression she’s almost playing the part of someone you’d want to marry. A super-fun girl around the guys, super-doting toward Dave. Almost too good to be true. But she’s the kind of person who yells at the waiter when she thinks no one’s listening. Does that make sense?”
“Definitely paints a picture, yeah. You said it wasn’t exclusive. Was he still dating around? If he was using any dating apps, we could get into his accounts—”
“No, man. Apps are lame. Just say hey to a girl in her DMs. It’s, like, less formal that way.”
Carter had just been swiping—more left than right—that morning. “And these women he’d talk to online, were they friends? Acquaintances? Strangers?”
“A little of all of that, I guess. Like mutual follows, or people you met a long time ago and reconnect with. I don’t know how old you are, but probably how Facebook used to be.”
Carter was only forty-two, not much older than Dave Smith, but this guy was one step away from calling him a boomer.
“And you think Christine didn’t know about these contacts with other women?”
“I seriously doubt it. Here’s the thing: Dave was originally going on this Hamptons trip with another girl. I never met her, but I got the impression he was really into her. We’d be out for drinks and he’d be all distracted, texting with her constantly. He said it sucked that she lived like an hour or two away—maybe he said Hartford? So they couldn’t see each other that often. I think that’s what was keeping him from breaking things off entirely with Christine, but it seemed like he was thinking about it. He’d let things go cold with her for weeks, telling her he was slammed with projects or had work trips, when it was really because of this other woman. And then, like, three weeks ago, he tells me she turned out to be a total crackpot, and that was the end of that.”
“A crackpot how?”
“I don’t know. He said he didn’t want to talk about it, but I got the impression he was pretty hurt about the whole situation. Like he might have really loved her and was disappointed when it didn’t work out.”
“And you don’t know anything else about this woman?”
“Nope.”
“But you’re sure the woman here with him this weekend was Christine?” Once he got access to Smith’s Instagram, he would presumably find a connection to an account for someone named Christine who attended Colby.
“Yeah, at least as of Thursday night. I don’t have her number, but I sent out a text blast to a bunch of people hoping word gets to her. Hopefully one of them can call home base and Tinsley can stop calling everyone under the sun about Dave.”
“You don’t sound especially worried about your friend.”
“I mean, not really. Maybe because I don’t want to be worried?”
“You’re close?”
“Yeah, man. Real close. I’ve known him since sixth grade.” Simon’s voice had softened. Gone was the bro-vado. “I don’t even want to think that anything…yeah, no. He’s just out there partying, is my guess. Lost his phone or something. That’s got to be it.”
Carter had heard this kind of wishful thinking from witnesses before, trying to convince themselves that the worst case couldn’t possibly be the truth. “And what does partying involve for Dave?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Drugs, for example?”
“I mean, weed, yeah. That’s like legal now.”
“Nothing else?”
“Some coke on occasion, but very rarely. Back when we were in our twenties? Yeah, that was pretty regular, and he did go on a bit of a binge after college when he was going through a rough time. So if I’m telling you all this, it means I’m being honest. These days, it would only be if it’s going around at a party or something. So if you’re thinking this a drug thing, it’s not.”
The local market for recreational cocaine was relatively well mannered, but Carter knew that summer could bring in some rougher dealers from out of the area, drawn to visitors who didn’t have access to a regular supplier.
Another call was coming in to Carter’s phone. A 401 area code again. Not the mom, not her lawyer. He thanked Simon for the information and switched to the incoming call.
“Is this the East Hampton police department?” The woman was slightly out of breath. Tentative and nervous.
“Yes. Detective Carter Decker. This is my cell.”
“You’ve been looking for Dave Smith?”
“Yes. His mother has reported him missing.”
“Then I think you’ve been looking for me. My name’s Christine Harper. I just saw him Saturday.”
“And you’re not with him now?” Carter asked.
“No. I’m in New York City. Or at least I was. I’m on the train now.”
“Going where?”
“I was planning to go back home to Providence until my phone blew up with people looking for me. I managed to get on the Long Island Railroad right before they closed the doors.”
“So you’re coming back out here?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m sorry, are you meeting Dave? Where is he?” He felt like he was one step behind during this entire conversation.
“No, I’m meeting you. Or someone else from your department. I assume you have questions.”
“I do, and I’ve been trying to ask them.”
“I promise you, I have no idea where he is. But I’d prefer to talk to you in person. That’s why I almost face-planted down the stairs running for this train. If I sound weird, it’s because I’m still catching my breath.”
“I’m not sure that’s even necessary, Christine.”
“It is, Detective. Because it sounds like I’m the last person who saw Dave, he would never ignore his mother for two days because he’s scared shitless of her, and if you haven’t already done so, you’re going to go to our hotel room and find a shattered statue of a bird that I threw at him the last time I saw him. So, yes, I think you need to see me in person.”