Jordan went left on Fifth, downtown, and then cut back east on Seventy-second Street. She said, ‘You go first.’
Marshall said, ‘He told us she’s been gone for ten weeks. That’s a long time to be missing. And he seemed pretty relaxed about the whole situation. Wife abducted by the mob apparently, but all he’s done is get Ray Vialoux to look into it.’
‘No offence to Vialoux.’
‘No, I just mean you’d expect a more dramatic response. If she’d been gone that long and her whereabouts was a genuine mystery, he’d be thinking she’s dead. Especially if he’s heard nothing. And especially given we’re dealing with people who are … you know. They obviously see some utility in the occasional homicide.’
‘One way to put it.’
‘Yeah, but you know what I mean. They killed Vialoux, they killed the woman across the street from them – Lydia – so why abduct D’Anton’s wife, rather than just kill her?’
She said, ‘Maybe they’re not as pragmatic as you are.’ She thought about it for a block, and said, ‘Might think they can hold her a while, encourage D’Anton out of whatever business he’s in. Give her back after six months, once he’s in an approved line of work.’
She was attractive, no question. And he liked the fact there was plenty going on in her head. Good to have someone who could catch and throw it back. What he needed to do was ask her to dinner, but he didn’t want to pop the question too early. Better to wait until closer to the time, make it seem more natural, like it was just the obvious way for the day to unfold.
He said, ‘It’s still a big liability, keeping someone prisoner. Especially for that long, two and a half, three months.’
‘So you think she’s just left him?’
Marshall said, ‘Would you want to be married to him?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Yeah. Me either. And I think his wife reached the same conclusion, and walked out. And he’s spinning it to us as something more, try and find out where she’s gone.’
There were people on the sidewalk carrying Halloween masks, a couple of guys with bullhorns waiting at a light. Maybe the Fifth Avenue protest was booked for an evening session.
Jordan said, ‘The question is, did he spin Vialoux the same story.’
Marshall shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Otherwise Vialoux would’ve told me. But he didn’t sit down and say his life was coming apart because of a gambling debt, and he was stressed out of his mind trying to recover a kidnap victim from the Italian mob. Kind of thing he would’ve mentioned.’
‘Yeah. Probably.’
They came to a stop, traffic backed up for the on-ramp at FDR Drive, a two-block waiting line.
Marshall said, ‘I think she went off on her own volition, and D’Anton asked Vialoux to find her. Or at least try to contact her, and I don’t know … negotiate conditions of return.’
‘And now he’s dead, D’Anton’s trying out a different story.’
Marshall said, ‘Something like that. Although I think the mob angle probably has a grain of truth to it. If he wants us to find her, there’s no point sending us in the wrong direction.’
‘So she ran off with the Italian mob?’
‘Yeah, potentially. Might’ve come to an arrangement with them. Set her up with a place, and in exchange she gives them D’Anton’s trade secrets or whatever. It’d explain Vialoux’s role, too. If D’Anton knew the mob had put her somewhere, he could’ve got Ray in as an intermediary, sweet-talk them into giving her back, rather than as an investigator, per se.’
Jordan said, ‘The credit-card detail wasn’t right. He said there’d been nothing on it since the day before she went missing. She either started using cash for everything, or she swapped over to a clean set of cards.’
‘Yeah. Which backs up the theory that she had help. They could’ve set her up with a whole new wallet. New ID, cards, bank account. All she had to do was walk out the door and she’s away. And maybe too they had some agreement they’d look after her if D’Anton sent people looking.’
She said, ‘Mob version of witness protection.’
‘Potentially.’
They crawled onward. People blasted their horns, as if they could only see one car ahead, and the source of the holdup was a mystery.
Jordan said, ‘Or maybe she was looking after herself, found a couple of guys to help her with the problem.’
She looked over at him. ‘Martin Boyne thought it was a woman in the car that night, with the smiley man. We should see if he recognizes her.’
Ginny answered the door.
They hadn’t called ahead, but she said, ‘Oh yes – come in, come in,’ as if in her mind a follow-up visit had been inevitable.
The house smelled of roast chicken, and from the rear Marshall heard a cable news commentator going on about something: a sustained dose of bewildered indignation. The door to the living room was open, and he saw a number of figurines and artillery pieces had been positioned on the model landscape.
Jordan closed the door behind them. ‘We won’t take up too much time. We just have a photo we want to show your husband.’
‘Oh, sure. Let’s see where he’s got to now.’
She left them by the front door and went upstairs, the wind chime outside touching out a melody, polite and subdued as hold music. Marshall heard muffled voices, a brief back-and-forth, slightly querulous in pitch. Then Ginny came back down with Martin Boyne in tow, the man’s faint smile somewhere between nervousness and strained patience.
He said, ‘Hello again.’
Jordan said, ‘Sorry, I know you told us you don’t have much recollection of the man in the car …’
Marshall showed him the copy of Renee Lewis’ passport.
Boyne took the paper from him, held it carefully at the edges like some kind of treasured artefact. He studied it in silence for a moment, tilting it minutely this way and that.
‘I think …’
He looked at his wife, and then at the paper again. More tilting.
‘I think. Yes, I think I’ve seen this person before.’
He looked up at Marshall, as if to imbue his words with greater certainty.
Marshall said, ‘You saw her in the car that night? With the smiley man?’
Boyne nodded. ‘I think so. Yes, I think this could be her.’