Once he returned to Manhattan, Jonathan didn’t know what he should do. He wanted to keep active, to continue to look for Ann. But where?
Finally, he ended up back in Ann’s office. Taking a seat at her desk, he started to rummage through the drawers.
The photo caught his eye and stopped him cold. In it, he was posed in front of his easel. Ann must have taken it when he was unaware, engrossed as he was in his work. He looked content, serene.
Jonathan went to lift the photo when it dawned on him that it was a typical Ann move, to want to preserve an image of him but not display her affection publicly.
Goddamnit, Ann, where are you? Give me a clue. Any clue. Please…
In the file cabinet next to her desk, he came across a report on the trip they had both taken to introduce Baby Talk N Glow to the major retailers across the United States. Did the answer lie there, he wondered. With one of the retailers?
He didn’t know what to think. He had to go with what was familiar, he guessed. Removing files from the cabinet was like following a paper trail of everything he and Ann had been involved with, from the time she had first committed to Baby Talk N Glow.
Jonathan’s search took him to the proposed shipping schedule of the doll out of China, showing how the million pieces would be broken down month by month, and how the inventory would be split between the company’s warehouse and an outside facility to handle the excess quantity.
Everything seemed straight forward. Jonathan was about to go on, when something stirred in his subconscious, bringing him up short.
Excess quantity. Outside facility …
Wait a minute!
His move for the door was so abrupt, vertigo took over and he almost lost his balance. Slowing down, he made his way out of Ann’s office, through the reception area and out into the corridor.
The office for SG Dolls was located a short distance away and Jonathan made a beeline for it. Breathlessly he asked for Sidney’s secretary, then started to pace the entranceway until the girl showed up.
“Andrea,” he began without wasting time on preamble, “did you hear from Sidney?”
“No. I spoke to his wife. She’s thinking of calling the police.”
“Then tell me this, do you ever use an outside warehouse when your own warehouse is full?”
The girl looked at him strangely, as if his question was odd. “No,” she said, sending disappointment shooting through his veins.
“Huh?”
“We have no need to. We have our own storage facility that we use for slower moving goods. It’s located a few blocks from our warehouse. There are no employees. Whenever product is required we send our warehouse people over to get it.
An imaginary light bulb went off in Jonathan’s head. “No employees,” he said as if talking to himself. “Your warehouse staff just get what they need, when they need it?”
“How often would that be?”
“Maybe once a month. If that.”
“Once a month …” Jonathan’s mind was churning. “Andrea,” he said, “do you happen to have a key I could borrow? I’ll bring it back to you before the day is out.”
“A key? I don’t know, Mr. Morhardt.”
“I’ll take full responsibility.”
“I’m not sure I have the authority.”
“Sidney’s been a friend of our family for years,” Jonathan argued. “You know that, don’t you? And I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important. It could be tied in to his disappearance.”
To Jonathan’s relief, the girl’s hesitation dissolved. When she returned with the key, he took it in hand but couldn’t remember thanking her. Out of the building on the run, he hurried towards the parking lot.
He did not relish what he had to do next, so he started to drive, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. When he finally got Detective Rondgrun on the line, the pause was prolonged.
Jonathan explained how much more sense this made—a seldom used storage facility versus Sidney’s active warehouse.
Still, the detective held his silence.
“I’m not wrong,” Jonathan persisted. “I need you to trust me this one last time.”
No reply.
“Look—I’m going there anyway. With or without you.”
“That wouldn’t be wise.”
Relief at finally hearing Detective Rondgrun’s voice spurred him on. “Then, will you meet me there?” he asked.
Another pause.
“Detective?”
“Five o’clock. But I’m agreeing to this against my better judgment.”
“Five o’clock? Fine. You won’t regret it.”
“I better not. And do not do anything until I arrive. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear,” Jonathan said. He shut his cell phone and looked down for an instant. The horn of a nearby car brought him up short. He had pulled into the passing lane without looking.
Get a grip, he told himself.
He drove mechanically, trying not to think. But his hands were sweating and his face felt flushed.
It was a little after three o’clock when he arrived at a low, flat building in New Jersey. The building looked deserted. Detective Rondgrun said he couldn’t make it until five. A wait of practically two hours loomed ahead. Jonathan began weighing the consequences of going in on his own. His gut told him he hadn’t a choice. What if Ann was incapacitated? What if she was being assaulted this very minute? He had promised the detective he would wait, but it was not a promise he could keep. He got out of his car.
Pins and needles was no longer a corny euphemism. Every nerve fiber in his body had come alive.
He approached the main door, put the key in the lock.
The minute he had the door open he made a beeline for the light switch. His hand was about to turn it on when a little voice inside his head warned him to stop. It would not be wise to announce his arrival. Instead, he opened the inner door and entered an area that was pitch dark. He palmed his father’s revolver. Then he stepped a little further inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. Slowly, he began to make his way around the room’s periphery, clinging to the wall.
He turned the first corner and thought he spotted someone lying on the cement floor. He crept a little closer, then jolted, involuntarily letting out a cry.
Ann’s face was so battered, he barely recognized her. There was blood everywhere; too much blood.
Jonathan pocketed the gun and bent over her, letting himself down on his haunches. Gently, he cradled her in his arms, whispering to her, talking to her as if she could hear his every word, begging her to fight, to please not give up.
“I love you,” he said. And he began to prattle on, telling Ann that she had changed his life, that he didn’t want to—that he could not—live without her.
Jesus, he was babbling. But he couldn’t help himself.
“Ann?” he said.
Her eyes were still closed.
Just as he went to wipe away the caked blood on her face, a sudden movement caught his eye. As he turned, something hard collided with the back of his head.