Mitch turned his Audi into the leafy street in Rockville. Following Ellen’s directions, he pulled up in front of a large white house with a neat garden out the front and a quaint, old-world feel about it.
“Nice,” Ellen muttered beside him as she looked past him to the house.
“Mm, must be money in politics,” Mitch agreed, “or William Ying had very good life insurance.”
“Will you tell Mrs. Ying about her husband’s fingerprints on the binoculars?”
“No, not at this stage,” Mitch said. “We’ll tell her it is normal procedure to follow up a year after a case is closed to ensure nothing new has come up. We’ll see if she is oblivious to his whereabouts. Look for signs that there might be a man in the house, assuming she hasn’t got a new guy, of course.”
On the second floor, he saw a figure move away from the window.
“Let’s do it.” Mitch alighted. They made their way to the intercom system on the gate, Mitch announced themselves and they were admitted.
Ellen pushed open the gate and they proceeded to the front door, taking the four stairs to the entrance. Waiting for them was a lady in her mid-forties, immaculately groomed and dressed; her pale pink and white woolen suit was cut to perfectly fit her trim figure. Mitch showed his identification and she indicated for them to enter. They sat on the floral couch as instructed. The room was full of furniture—every square inch had a piece of furniture, a photo frame, artificial flowers or a mirror trespassing on it.
Mitch began. “Mrs. Ying, thank you for seeing us. This is just a routine visit, given it is now a year since the disappearance of your husband, William.”
She nodded her understanding. Mitch noted how stiff she seemed; she sat with her feet crossed, her back perfectly straight and her hands clasped in her lap.
“Will you be closing the case?” she asked in a calm voice.
“Not yet. Have you learnt or heard anything about your husband or his whereabouts in the past year?” he asked the obvious question.
“Nothing,” she said and shook her head.
“Have you heard from any of his colleagues here or in China?”
“No. Only his mother who calls on days of occasion.”
Mitch nodded. She gave nothing away.
“Have you returned home since the disappearance of Mr. Ying?” Mitch continued.
“No,” she answered firmly. “This is home for me; my daughter is in first grade now.”
“Do you know Danny Huang?” Mitch asked. He noted she didn’t look surprised or shocked by the name. She frowned slightly.
“I know that name, Huang. But Huang is quite a common name … I went to school with a Huang and to university with another Huang.”
“So you don’t know a Danny Huang? Or to use his Asian name, Huang Ming?”
She frowned again. “No. Is he relevant to my husband’s disappearance do you think?”
“Just a line of enquiry,” Mitch said. He tried to take in as much of the surroundings as he could—the hallway, the bathroom with its open door and the kitchen. He rose and stood near the window, conscious of her eyes upon him.
“Mrs. Ying, are you living here alone?” Ellen asked, distracting Mrs. Ying from watching Mitch.
“My daughter and I, yes.”
Ellen continued. “Did Mr. Ying own a pair of binoculars?”
“Binoculars!” she exclaimed surprised. “Why yes. He was given a pair by the company he worked for before we left Taiwan. I remember because I thought it was an odd present. William had been working for him as a negotiator. What did he want with binoculars?”
“Do you still have them by any chance?” Ellen continued.
“I haven’t seen them, but I’m sure they are here somewhere. I don’t know that William ever used them.” She looked up at the ceiling while thinking. “If I still had them, they would probably be in a box in the garage. I can see for you, but I would prefer to get the gardener to look for you.”
“You have a gardener, how often does he come?” Mitch asked.
“Once a week,” Mrs. Ying answered. “He was here today.”
“And what is his name please, just so we don’t waste our time if his name comes up as connected to the property,” Mitch said.
Mrs. Ying frowned. “His name is Lam Ji.”
Mitch made a note. “Thank you. So he could check to see if the binoculars are there for us?”
Mrs. Ying nodded. “If you don’t mind waiting? The garage is dirty and full of …” She wrinkled her nose as she seemed to be searching for a word.
“Rodents?” Ellen suggested.
“Memories,” she concluded.
“Rodents. I’m a dill,” Ellen laughed as they slipped back into Mitch’s Audi.
“I don’t know, rats would have kept me out of the garage,” Mitch said. “I wonder if she allows the gardener access to the house.”
“Why?” Ellen asked.
“I saw through to the bathroom and someone male has been inside recently.”
“Two toothbrushes?” Ellen asked.
Mitch shook his head. “Toilet seat up.”
“Oh! I wonder how often she uses that bathroom or if someone left not long before we arrived.”
“Mm, I suspect the house has few bathrooms. Will you …”
“I’ll find out who the gardener is and if he has connections,” Ellen finished Mitch’s sentence.
Ellen bounded into Mitch’s office ten minutes after they arrived back at work. “You are not going to believe it!”
Mitch groaned. “Probably not … Mrs. Ying is not really alive, that was her ghost?”
Ellen stood up straight and looked surprised. “Well, almost. Lam Ji, the name Mrs. Ying gave as the gardener, is Mrs. Ying’s brother. Her maiden name was Lam. But, he’s clearly a gardener in spirit only,” Ellen said, “because according to the Registry of Births and Deaths, he died a good ten years ago in Beijing.”
“That’s a long time to leave the seat up,” Mitch agreed. “We really caught her on the hop with that question. She must have come up with the first name that sprang to her mind and didn’t think we’d check.”
“Especially if it is just a routine report one year after the event, with nothing new to report.” Ellen shrugged. “Unless there is another Lam Ji moonlighting as a gardener.”
“So, are we thinking that maybe William Ying had to disappear for some reason, but he’s not really gone? And the three people who last saw him and had photo evidence of who he might have left with have died.”
Ellen nodded. “That’s where we are at. Got any plans tonight? Want to do surveillance at Mrs. Ying’s house?” she asked in an alluring voice.
Mitch laughed. “Gee, best offer I’ve had since lunch. Yeah, we had better. But I can do it on my own, you don’t need to suffer beside me.”
“I’ll bring the thermos,” Ellen said and waved a file at him.
Nick and Samantha entered the hotel where they had made their new booking. Samantha took the lead as they had planned, and Nick followed her to the reception desk.
Nick tried to read the computer monitor in the mirrored glass. He turned to take in the room, willing the Asian man to make an appearance. Make my day buddy and walk past. Nothing happened.
“This will seem an odd question,” he heard Samantha start to ask and he turned back to watch her in action. She was using all her charm on the young male receptionist and it appeared to be working.
“My brother and I are here on business but I’ve lost my diary.”
Nick noticed she even blushed appropriately. “We’re supposed to be meeting an Asian gentleman whose name escapes me because I’m terrible with names and languages.”
“Me too,” the young man shared.
“He and his colleague are staying here. I know you probably have hundreds of guests coming and going, but any chance you have an Asian guest or two that checked in about a week ago and is still here?”
“I’ll have a look.” He smiled at her, then remembered to stop staring at her and looked at the screen. He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down four names.
“That’s the only four guests with Asian names that are checked in. Don’t ask me how to pronounce their names though.”
Nick noticed he didn’t exist; the male receptionist was oblivious to him as he handed over the list.
“You are a sweetie, thank you,” Samantha gushed. “I’ll know him once I see him, so I’ll start practicing names and at least I won’t totally embarrass myself.”
Nick leant over and took the room key the receptionist was about to hand Samantha for their room.
“Thanks buddy,” he said, and strode outside.
“Thank you, again.” Samantha lingered a little longer for effect before following Nick.
They walked along the veranda until they found their room number.
“Ooh,” Samantha said, “it’s actually called an oceanfront townhouse.” She looked around, and added, “and it is oceanfront.”
“Yeah, the townhouse description might be a bit liberal.” Nick put the key in the door of the room and they entered.
“Nice,” he said, impressed. “John’s excelled this time.”
“Two bedrooms, woo hoo!” Samantha yelled out.
“And a great view of the beach.” Nick drew apart the curtains. “We can stake it from our room.”
Samantha rejoined Nick, pulled out her phone and placed a call to Mitch.
“I’ve got four Asian guests’ names from the receptionist … it’s Samantha.” She stopped to announce herself before continuing, “yep, four names but I don’t know if one of them is William or his alias.”
“Excellent,” Mitch answered. “We can try and match them to the photos you took earlier, if we can find them in any system. Read them to me.”
Samantha read out the names and spelled them.
“What now for you two?” Mitch asked.
“We are going to eat soon but we’ll keep an eye out. If we see him, we can follow and confirm if he is staying here or elsewhere. How soon can you run those names in case I have a room to bug?”
“I’ll get them started now. Sam, separate beds or tell Nick he has to marry you.” Mitch hung up before hearing her reply.
Charlotte Curtis was pleased to find their regular sofa free as she slid onto the red velvet cushion opposite her best friend, Sally Downing. She had intended to have after-work drinks with Mitch, but yet again he was still at the office, leaving her alone.
“So where’s Mitch the ditcher?” Sally asked, glancing down the wine list.
“Three guesses,” Charlotte answered curtly.
“Work?”
“You win. He’s joining us later, maybe. He’s all work, with only guest appearances at home.” She glanced down the wine list. “A Cab Sav?”
“Done,” Sally agreed. She sat back and smoothed out her red dress with the flat of her hand. “I’m blending into the couch, no one will see me.”
Charlotte laughed and caught the waiter’s eye. She ordered and turned at the sound of a cheer from the crowd gathered at the bar. They were watching a football match being broadcast on a large screen.
“So, trouble in paradise?” Sally asked.
Charlotte looked back at Sally. She thought before answering.
“Depends how you define trouble.” She brushed her dark shoulder length hair back behind her ears and frowned with concentration. “Since we had plenty of practice as housemates before sharing a room, living together is the easy part. But when it comes to communicating, Mitch is a closed book. When we were just housemates it was no big deal but now … he just doesn’t ever open up. And don’t say give it time, it’s been seven, almost eight months.”
“Are we talking physical or verbal communication?” Sally asked.
Charlotte stopped to take the wine from the waiter. She clinked glasses with Sally and took a sip as though she needed it.
“That’s good.” She sipped again. “We’re talking verbal. Don’t get me wrong … he’s gorgeous … and sweet; and good in bed; you know …”
“Too much information,” Sally cut in.
“And loyal,” Charlotte continued. “I know with Mitch, I’ll be the only one, he’s just that type but …”
Sally waited.
Charlotte continued. “I can honestly say, I probably don’t know him any better than I did when I was just his housemate; except physically of course. He just lives on a day-to-day basis. He doesn’t discuss how he feels or how his day was, or his thoughts about his friends or his staff. He’s not interested in having them around for dinner or even introducing them to me. I still haven’t met his mother or his brother! It’s like he is keeping all his worlds separate. Even if he is frustrated, he will go for a run rather than get angry or talk about it.”
“Your last boyfriend wasn’t the greatest communicator either,” Sally reminded her.
“No, but at least Lachlan showed some emotion. He would get pissed off or tell me to get lost. I knew his family, his friends and I knew some things about him. He’d like to show me off … a girl likes that.”
Sally shrugged. “I’m not saying you and Mitch are not suited so don’t read that into what I’m going to say … I just think you have to find the right personality match for your needs. You do this for a living, you know what I mean.”
“I do, but I think we are right, on many levels,” Charlotte jumped in.
“Do you, or are you scared of wasting another year and starting over again?” Sally asked.
“Well, of course there is that too.” Charlotte sighed.
Sally continued, “I’m quite happy not to deal with a lot of drama and I’m especially not interested in their past relationships or baggage—somewhat impossible to avoid at our age, but I don’t mind living in the now.” She stopped to sip her wine before continuing. “I’m more likely to tell you my dramas than to tell a boyfriend. Do you think you expect too much from him?”
“Telling me how his day was and if I’ve pissed him off isn’t a big ask though, is it?” Charlotte continued without waiting for Sally to answer. “And, if I ask questions, he says I’m bringing my work home and trying to analyze him. He has been having these regular nightmares.” Charlotte leant forward and dropped her voice. “Last night he woke up drenched in sweat and yelling, kind of a fearful yell … but do you think he will talk to me about it? It’s like the night sweats that veterans get. I said that to him but he blew me off and said it was just a bad dream.”
“Maybe it is just a bad dream.” Sally shrugged.
“Three nights in a row?” Charlotte grabbed a menu. “Let’s order a pizza to share. Frustration makes me hungry.”
“You don’t want to wait another thirty minutes in case he makes it here?” Sally asked.
Charlotte scoffed. “Mitch will never make it here, trust me.”
Sally smiled. She placed her drink down on the table and grabbed the second menu. “So what are you going to do? Do you love him?”
“Sure, of course I love him but it is almost one dimensional. He’s gorgeous, strong, has the most beautiful smile and those blue eyes, but I can’t get into his head. Sex is his only emotional attachment to me. I know that’s normal,” she added before Sally could speak. “Women connect by communicating, while men on the other hand spend their whole life believing they shouldn’t show emotions, so connect through sex. But, I am not sure that connection alone is going to be enough for me.”
Sally groaned. “I love the two of you. This is always the problem when friends get it on together.”
“Don’t say anything to him,” Charlotte said.
“God no, I wouldn’t dream of it. It is a shame that you are living together, given you’re feeling so unsure.”
“I know, it just complicates matters further. Sometimes, I wish we had just stayed housemates.”
“Yes.” Sally twirled a strand of her blonde hair around her finger and cocked her head to the side. “You should have left him for me; I’ve never liked the clingy types.”
“Yep, well he’s not that,” Charlotte agreed. “More like Teflon.”