12

As he sped along I-80, Mitch’s mind played out gruesome scenarios. He peeled off the freeway at Central Street and took direct aim toward the shopping center, slowed slightly as he skidded into the parking lot and pulled into a slot two rows beyond the recognizable PD cars and a detective’s sedan.

Jerking open his door as he turned off the ignition, he loped across to the uniformed officer leaning against the squad car, arms crossed like he didn’t give a shit what the commotion was all about. Yellow plastic crime scene tape was strung from the patrol car’s side mirror across to a sign that read LEAVE CARTS HERE and around to an unmarked. Cary’s Honda sat inside the tape. Sitting here for four days. If she was in the trunk … All Mitch could see as he jogged up were bags of groceries on the backseat.

The patrol cop, beefy, young like he didn’t know his ass from his elbow, straightened as Mitch approached. Mitch didn’t know him, he was El Cerrito PD. The nameplate said POST, and he stared at Mitch through mirrored sunglasses where Mitch could see twin images of himself.

“Black? I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, man.”

Mitch wasn’t surprised that Post knew him, probably every cop around knew his wife was missing. Most of them would be worried and sympathetic, but a few would be telling jokes and sending knowing looks at each other.

“Who’s got this?”

Post shrugged. “Sergeant Fuller.”

Mitch knew him slightly.

“You found the car?”

“Yeah.” Post was proud of himself.

“You touch it?”

“The door handle. Opened it to see if she was scrunched down in back or something.”

The she this clown was referring to was his wife. “Touch anything else?”

Post planted his feet wide, getting defensive. “Thought about popping the trunk lid. In case she was inside. Missing four days…”

Cary in the trunk for four days. Mitch didn’t want the image that brought.

“Detectives came along and yelled at me.”

“Should have done more than yell. I appreciate that you were checking this out, but you could have fucked up a crime scene. You understand that?”

Post tightened up. “If it was my wife, I’d want somebody to check the trunk on the chance she might be stuffed in there and still be alive.”

“Next time don’t touch anything. Report it, let the detectives do what they’re trained for.” He’d have done more than touch the trunk release, he’d have popped the fucking thing.

Ducking under the yellow tape, he walked toward Cary’s car. Roy and Irving, the odd couple, were talking to the gawkers standing around. Irving was skinny as a wire and wrapped about as tight. Roy was squat and thick, built along the same lines as a Hummer. Crime scene guys were working the car.

“Mitch, what the hell you doing here?” Roy said.

“If it was your wife, where would you be?”

“Go home. We’ll let you know what we find.”

“What’ve you got?”

Roy took a stance and crossed his arms. “Look, Mitch, I know this is hard but—”

“Just tell me what the fuck you found! I know you found something. I can tell from the way you won’t look at me. What? Blood? Ransom note? What?”

Roy squinted at him, then stuck his fingers in his back pockets. “We found her purse.”

Relief caught up there somewhere high in Mitch’s throat. He had to clear it before he could talk. “Empty?”

Roy shook his head. “Driver’s license, credit cards, checkbook. Stuff women carry around with ’em.”

Cary wouldn’t walk off and leave her purse. “You check in the trunk?”

“Mitch, we have to do this right.”

“Open the trunk, Roy.”

“We’re just about to do that.” Roy put his hands on what would be his hips if he wasn’t one solid block up and down, looked around at the crowd that had gathered to watch what was going on and back at Mitch. “You shouldn’t even be here. If you give me trouble, I’ll get somebody to cart you away. Swear to God. Cuff you and take you in, if I have to. Understand?”

Mitch wanted to squash his round, lumpy face.

“I’m cutting you some slack here,” Roy said. “But you’re using it up real fast. If something happened to your wife, we don’t want to mess up evidence that tells us what went down here.”

“Open the goddamn trunk, Roy, or I am personally going to shoot you in the nuts.”

“That’s it! You just ran out of slack! Get your stupid ass out of here and let me do my job!”

Maybe Mitch had a thing or two to learn in the charm department, but he was going to see if she was in that trunk, or he would kill every fucking person in this lot. “Come on, Roy. Have one of the techs check the fucking lever and pop the trunk!”

Roy stuck his face in Mitch’s. “I know you’re under some serious shit here, but there’s a limit to my patience. Now get the hell out.”

Mitch wanted to wring his thick neck. Except Roy’s neck was big as a tree trunk and Mitch wasn’t sure even both hands would fit around it. Reaching hard, Mitch pulled out a level voice. “Please, Roy, I’m beggin’ you. Just open the trunk and I’m outta here. I have to know. Just do it. Please.”

Roy took a breath of such magnitude most of the air in the parking lot got sucked in. Mitch thought it would be used to blast him, but Roy relented and nodded at the tech guy.

Mitch moved in close, stiffened himself, and locked his knees so hard a strong wind could have blown him over. The tech popped the trunk, the lid raised a few inches. Roy nudged it up.

No Cary. Spare tire, jack, old blanket, empty paper bags, flat of bottled water, first aid kit, sack of books.

Relief came crashing down with such a jolt that Mitch staggered to keep his balance. Then rage took over with equal force. How dare she put him through this?

“Okay,” Roy said, voice flat, but Mitch could hear the relief under it. “Now get the hell out of my way.”

Mitch didn’t leave, but he did get out of the way.

A flatbed truck arrived, Cary’s car was loaded and the truck drove away. That’s when the car keys were found. They were laying on the ground, under the car. Like they’d been dropped and accidentally kicked.

Nothing to explain what happened. If some sicko grabbed her, the only sign of possible struggle were those keys on the ground.