“It’s not Ryan.” Jimmy spoke to somebody else and then back into his phone. “Whoever it is was in his forties and was killed by a gunshot wound to the head.”
I’d pulled my car over to the side of the road to answer my cellphone. In a strange twist of late fall weather, today was sunny and unusually warm. I leaned my head back against the seat and looked at the blue sky as I asked, “Do you have any idea who he could be?”
“We’re going through the missing persons files now and checking his prints with the database.”
“You were able to get prints?”
“Only from one hand. The other hand wasn’t in good shape . . . Do you really want to know the details?”
“No, that’s okay. I’m going to head over to the Greens to talk with Chuck and Vanda. I was waiting to know if we’d found Ryan.”
I eased my car back into traffic and continued north on Bank Street. The Greens lived west of Bank on a street filled with large houses on narrow lots. Their house was a three-storey red brick home set back from the road and surrounded by an iron fence. I got the feeling that this was a quiet street with wealthy owners who liked their privacy.
I parked and opened the gate, which creaked loudly. By the time I reached the front door, Vanda Green was holding it open, inviting me in. She brought me into the kitchen at the back of the house. It was completely modern with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Green-shaded lamps hung over a large central island. I sat on a stool next to the island while she poured coffee.
“You just missed Chuck and Travis,” she said, sitting down across from me. Her hair was threaded with grey and her perm was growing out, curly at the ends and straight in other places. “They’ve gone to the mall.” Her hands moved constantly, pouring cream, adding sugar, tapping her fingers on the counter. “I won’t let Travis go alone anymore.”
“I know this is a difficult time for your family,” I said. “Before you hear on the news, a body was found yesterday evening. But it’s not Ryan.”
One hand found the buttons on her shirt. “Thank the Lord. Who was it?”
“The police are trying to find out now. It’s a man, but he’s older than Ryan.”
“His poor family.”
“Can you tell me about the week Ryan went missing? Did anything unusual happen, no matter how small it seemed at the time? A change in Ryan’s behaviour, perhaps?”
Vanda’s eyes searched the room as if the answer could be found in one of its corners or behind a piece of furniture. “He was mad at me,” she said at last. “We had a fight that morning. Ryan said that he was tired of my constant worrying and I had to give him some room.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Did I push him away? I haven’t been able to sleep, thinking that I’m the reason he’s gone.” Her voice dropped. “He yelled awful things. I . . . I was shocked. I never told anybody, not even Chuck. I was scared the police would stop looking for him. My son would never run away.”
“Do you know who his new girlfriend was?”
“Ryan always had new girlfriends. I think he kept this one a secret so I wouldn’t check up on her. I did that sometimes.”
No wonder he’d told her to back off. I tried a new line of questioning. “You moved around a lot, before settling in Ottawa a few years ago. What does your husband do, exactly?”
“Chuck works for National Defence in the office. He orders equipment. It’s boring work, from what he tells me.” She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The laugh seemed out of place.
“Where did you live before you moved to Ottawa?”
“Oh, different places. The last posting was in Paris.” She waved a hand in the air. “I became ill and we decided to come back to Canada. I wish now that we hadn’t.”
“Could Ryan have gone back to Paris or one of the other places you lived?”
“Not without his passport. It’s in our safe.” She stood up and glanced toward the hallway. “Would you like to see his room?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She led me upstairs to a bedroom at the end of the hall. It was a large, square-shaped room with a queen-size bed and a desk under the window. Posters of soccer players filled one wall and a collection of model airplanes sat on top of a dresser next to the closet. I carefully searched through Ryan’s clothes and books, but I didn’t find anything helpful. I hadn’t thought that I would. Jimmy and his team would have already been through the room with a fine-toothed comb.
Vanda had left me alone in the bedroom and gone back down to the kitchen. She met me at the bottom of the stairs, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Did you find anything?” she asked.
“No, but don’t give up hope. I won’t stop until we find Ryan.”
“That’s the same thing the police said.” She opened the front door and waited for me to step past her. “I’m beginning to wonder if my son even wants to be found. Because the idea that someone is keeping him from coming home is more than I can bear. You will let me know if you find anything new?”
“You can count on it,” I said.
I was more determined than ever to find out what happened to her son. Because nobody deserved to live with the pain that I saw in her eyes.
. . .
I called Dad as soon as I got inside my car. He answered on the third ring with a gruff hello. “Do you have time to do some research for me, Dad?”
His voice lightened. “Of course. What have you got?”
“Chuck Green, Ryan’s dad, is in the Department of National Defence, where I know you still have contacts. I need to know more about what he does for a living. He lived overseas for a number of years and moved around a lot. I’m wondering if something in his past could be a factor. I’ll send you a text with their address details so you have something to start with.”
“Mission accepted. I’m on it. Dinner might be a little late.”
“Me too, so that works.”
I hung up and checked my watch. I wasn’t that far from the Bella Vista Restaurant. I had time to find out why the waitress, Jeannie, had acted strangely and disappeared after I asked her about Ryan. I didn’t like loose ends and she felt like a long, dangly one.