Nick stared out the window of the plane as the flight attendants went through the safety drill. He was pretty sure if the plane went down whether he was in the brace position or not wouldn’t matter. Minutes later, he closed his eyes as the plane took off skywards.
“Don’t tell me you hate take-offs? You’re a pilot!” Samantha exclaimed.
He opened his eyes to find Samantha watching him. “No, I was just going through the process; pays to keep up the practice.”
“Really? I’ve never noticed Mitch doing that.”
“It’s just something I do. Besides, Wonder Boy probably never forgets a thing.”
Samantha smiled. “You’re on his case a lot.”
“I’m his best friend, it’s my job,” Nick said. “Someone’s got to keep him grounded. But I’ve got his back too.”
“Mm. You’ve known Mitch a long time, so what is the deal with his scars? Especially the ones on his back; he’s pretty cloak-and-dagger about it.”
Nick shrugged and looked away. “It’s not a big deal. He’s just not into talking about it.”
“But, how did he get them?” Samantha persisted.
Nick hesitated. “You know, best to ask him. Or maybe he will spill it one day.”
Samantha smirked at him. “Mm, loyalty will get you a long way, with Mitch anyway.”
Nick tried to hide his smile. He changed the subject. “So what do you think we’ll find at Cape Hatteras?”
Samantha flicked open the newspaper. “Some kelp,” she snapped.
Mitch led the way down the stairs to the parking lot.
“At least working on a Sunday there’s plenty of parking, unless you’ve got an allocated park seven days a week,” Ellen gave Mitch a glance and grinned.
“True. We should work more Sundays just for you then,” he teased her. “I’ll drop you back for your car later.”
Mitch unlocked his black Audi and slid into the cream leather interior. Ellen opened the back passenger door and threw her folder and bag on the backseat. Mitch’s phone rang and the car’s Bluetooth speakerphone projected John’s voice.
“Are you still in the office?” John asked.
“No, we’re off to follow up the few witnesses to William Ying’s disappearance a year ago. Want to come?” Mitch joked. “I can swing by and pick you up at home.”
“Mm, love to but I’ve got to do that … thing. Heard from Sam and Nick?”
“Yep, they’ve landed and got the car hire and accommodation details.”
“OK, keep me in the loop,” John said, and hung up.
Mitch started the car. “First address?”
Ellen read out the address of the first witness on her list. “Want me to put it in the TomTom?”
“No, I’ve got a rough idea of where that is.” Mitch turned the car out of the car park and headed right.
“What did you find on William or the witnesses?” he asked.
“From what I could gather in the few hours you gave me, there was surveillance footage at the function that William Ying disappeared at a year ago; it’s in our library and I’m yet to see it. But according to the file notes at the time, it had nothing incriminating in it.”
“Mm, I guess that depends on what the cops were looking for and what we’re looking for now,” Mitch interrupted. “Let’s try and finish the witnesses this afternoon and then we’ll visit William Ying’s wife or widow tomorrow.”
Ellen nodded. “The witnesses’ accounts were vague then, and we’re asking them a year later to recall the night of his disappearance.”
“I know but anything might help—like who did William Ying speak to that night at the art exhibition, how did he look—happy, stressed, scared? Which direction did he leave in? Did he use his phone during the night or take any calls? Tomorrow we’ll try the buildings surrounding the gallery; I’m not holding out hope that they’ll have kept their surveillance tapes or remember anything from a year ago, but you never know, someone might be anal about security.”
They drove in silence as Ellen looked up the addresses for the other witnesses and Mitch frowned in concentration.
“They all live nearby,” Ellen said. “I guess they wanted to be close to work or study.”
Mitch swung the car into the street of the first witness. It was a sterile street, neat with small brick houses.
“Keep an eye out for the house number, Ellie.”
Ellen ruffled back through her paperwork to check the number. She looked to the nearest house to her left. “It should be on your side about half way up the street.”
Mitch spotted it first and pulled up out front of a barren home. The house next door had a well-tended garden, but number fifteen simply had a mown lawn and a concrete path to the door. The curtains were closed.
They exited the car and Mitch followed Ellen up the path. She knocked on the door. Adjusting his tie, Mitch flipped through the brief information on the first witness on the list: a Chinese student who was at the photographic exhibition that evening and was one of the last to be seen talking with William Ying.
Ellen stood beside Mitch in her jeans and jacket, trying to keep warm. Mitch eyed the paperwork again, noticing the witness was a second-year student at the time, so would now be in her third and final year of her degree. He hoped she was still in the country.
He glanced to Ellen as she watched the door impatiently. She knocked again.
Mitch was just about to leave when the door opened a few inches. A tiny, elderly Asian lady peered out through the slit in the door.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Mitch began, “but we were hoping to speak with Jessica Wu.” He read her nominated English name from a list.
“She not here.”
Mitch showed his identification. “We’re with the Federal Police and we need to speak with Jessica about a statement she gave last year about the disappearance of William Ying.”
“She gone.”
“Will she be back?”
“No, she gone,” she answered bluntly.
Mitch glanced at Ellen.
Like extracting teeth.
“Are you related to Jessica, uh, Ms. Wu?” he persisted.
“Yes,” she answered in a staccato fashion.
Mitch frowned, as the elderly lady was giving nothing away. “Do you have a contact number where we could reach her please?”
“She dead.” The old lady closed the door abruptly leaving Mitch staring at it with a surprised look.
Mitch turned to Ellen. “Well, that can’t be good,” he whispered.
Ellen nodded, equally surprised. “I didn’t think to search death records.”
“Well you wouldn’t,” Mitch agreed.
They headed to the car. Once inside, Mitch made a note to check on the date and means of Jessica Wu’s death.
Ellen typed the next witness’ address into the navigation system. Mitch started the car and followed the directions voiced by the articulate navigator to the next location. He pulled the car to the curb and double checked the address. A vacant block of land was all that existed at that street number.
“That was the address of Rodney Lam.” He looked at Ellen. “Starting to see a trend here?”
“I think so,” she agreed. “Let’s try the next name; he’s a lecturer at the university, lives at Harcourt Street.” She typed the address in the navigator and Mitch followed the directions as voiced.
Ten minutes later he drove down Harcourt Street.
“It is on your side again,” Ellen said.
Mitch scanned the house numbers until he found it and pulled over to the curb.
“Third time lucky.” He exited the car. They walked to the front of the two-story dark brick home with a ‘For Sale’ sign out the front.
“I hope they haven’t moved yet,” Ellen said under her breath, doing up her jacket against the cold.
Mitch tried the doorbell. He heard it echo.
“Sounds empty.” He tried again.
“They’ve gone, dear,” a voice called.
Mitch and Ellen turned to find an elderly woman standing on the stairs of the house next door.
“Hello, we were looking for Joseph Kinaird.” Ellen walked towards the neighbor, who remained on the stairs in her pink sweater and blue-gray pants.
Mitch noticed her hair was a similar color. He let Ellen approach and listened from afar.
“No dear, Mrs. Kinaird and her daughter have moved. She’s in the eleventh grade now. I’ve known her since she was a baby. They came here when Mr. Kinaird got a job at the university. It was nice and close.”
“And Mr. Kinaird didn’t move with them?” Ellen asked.
“Oh no dear, Mr. Kinaird died last year. Terrible thing. On his way home from work one night, he lost control of the car, the police said. It was a wet night. The family was devastated of course. He was only fifty-three.”
“Terrible,” Ellen agreed. “Thank you Mrs. …?”
“Stapelton, Pamela Stapelton.”
“Thank you Mrs. Stapelton. I don’t suppose you know where Mrs. Kinaird and her daughter moved to? We’re from the police.” Ellen stopped to show her badge. “We’re looking for a university friend of Mr. Kinaird’s who has gone missing. His family is very worried, as you can imagine. Mrs. Kinaird might remember some small detail about him which could help. You never know.”
“Of course. I have a forwarding address, so just give me a moment and I’ll write it out for you.” She turned and shuffled inside.
Ellen waited on the lawn, while Mitch returned to the car and updated his notes… he now needed details on the death of Joseph Kinaird.
Our first lead, he thought. Something odd happened to the last three people to see William Ying before he disappeared.