Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (3 page)

“And church, too,” I said.

“That’s right,” Robbie agreed. “Both our families attend St. Joseph’s on Capitol Hill.”

Toni nodded. “I see. Did Gina go to college here?”

“Yes, she graduated from U-Dub with a degree in business finance in—I think—2006.”

“That sounds right,” I added. “I went out with Gina for a bit in late 2006. She’d just recently graduated then.”

Toni glanced up at me for an instant, then looked back at her notes. She wrote for a minute without speaking. The room grew quiet.

“Anything else on the background?” I asked her.

She finished writing and flipped back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face before she looked up. “No, that’s good. That helps for now,” she said. “Okay, Robbie. Back to current time. You’re in Gina’s condo. You’ve noticed that her purse and keys are still there and her car, too.”

“Yes. After I saw all of Gina’s stuff—her purse and her keys—in there, that’s when I started to get worried. She wouldn’t go anywhere without telling us, and she certainly wouldn’t go anywhere without her purse or her keys. So I called the police to report her missing.”

“Did the police send someone out?” I asked. The notion that you have to wait forty-eight or seventy-two hours before filing a missing person report with the police is an old wives’ tale. On the other hand, just because you filed a report, the police wouldn’t necessarily do anything right away unless there was suspicion of foul play, or unless the missing person suffered from some sort of mental condition that could put him- or herself in danger.

“They did. They were very prompt, as a matter of fact. They sent two people—a detective and a patrol officer. They looked around her condo a little and filled out a missing person report. They told us that they’d file the report, but that there wasn’t much that they’d be able to do, at least not initially. I went straight over to my parents’ home right afterward and told them what was happening.” Robbie paused and looked around, then said, “Would I be able to get a bottled water from you?”

“Of course,” I said. I hopped up and grabbed him one off the credenza.

He took a long drink and then continued. “They pretty much freaked out. My dad called Gary Frohming—our family lawyer. Gary must have had some pull with some higher-ups at the police department because later that same afternoon, the police called back. They sent out two different guys. They interviewed us and took another report.”

Never hurts to have friends in high places. I knew Gina’s dad, Angelo Fiore. He was “plugged-in” socially and politically. If anyone had friends with pull, it would be Angelo.

“We’re still talking about last Friday, August 12?” Toni said.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Do you remember who these two guys were?” I asked. “If we’re able to help out and take this case on, we’ll have to coordinate with them.”

“I do,” Robbie said. “I have their cards.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out two business cards and handed them to me.

“Dwayne Brown,” I said, reading the names off the cards. “I know Dwayne Brown pretty well. I don’t think I’ve met his partner, Symanski, but I’ve worked with Dwayne in the past.”

“He’s the guy that was at our open house?” Toni asked. “The one you worked with while you were in the army?”

“Yeah,” I said. I was a U.S. Army CID Special Agent at Fort Lewis with the sixth MP-CID Group for three years from 2005 to 2008. Dwayne was with the Seattle PD. We worked on three or four cases together. “Dwayne’s a good guy.”

“He’ll cooperate with us?” Toni asked.

“Most likely,” I said. “Unless he’s being told not to by his bosses.”

“Okay,” Toni said, focusing back on Robbie. “So Robbie, you said the police came out—where’d they interview you?”

“The second time, they talked to all of us at my parents’ home.”

“We’ll talk to them separately, but did your parents have any information they were able to add?”

“No, not really. My mom said that Gina was supposed to have come over that Friday night. Dad didn’t know anything at all.”

“After the interview, did the police visit Gina’s condo and do any sort of investigation there?”

“Yes. The next day—last Saturday—they sent a whole team of people out. They photographed everything and took some of Gina’s things—pictures and bathroom stuff, mostly. They collected some fibers from the carpet. Oh, and they took a cup from the sink. On the way out, though, Detective Brown told me that there didn’t initially appear to be anything unusual or suspicious about the condo—aside from the fact that Gina wasn’t in it and all of her personal stuff was.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Sounds like a CSI investigation. I’ll follow up with him about that.”

“As a matter of fact, their jackets said ‘CSI’” Robbie said.

I nodded.

“I have a question,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“The CSI people took her hairbrush and put it in an evidence bag. Why would they do that?”

I looked at him. “It’s standard procedure. They’re collecting a DNA sample. It’s required by Washington law for identification in missing person cases.”

“Identification?” he said. “Why don’t they just—” He stopped and then said, “I see. It’s so that in case they find a body . . .”

“That’s right. In case they find a body, they can make a positive ID using a DNA sample, even if the body is otherwise unrecognizable. Don’t try to read anything into this—it’s standard procedure and good police work.”

He was silent for a second, then he said, “I guess it’s hard not to read anything into it when you’re talking about collecting a DNA sample to potentially identify the body of your sister.”

“I understand,” I said, “but I honestly don’t think it’s going to come to that.” I looked him in the eyes. “Look, Robbie, I’ve worked through several adult missing person cases over the years. And I know you’re probably scared to death, and you have a right to be. But I need to tell you, the odds are very good that Gina’s fine. She’ll either come waltzing home all by herself or the police, maybe with our help, will find her and she’ll be okay. It may be hard to think that now, but that’s probably what’s going to happen. Understand?”

He nodded. I continued. “The hard part for you and your family’s going to be dealing with the unknown, and particularly, dealing with the wait—the wait while the process plays out.”

Robbie nodded again.

“Because of this, you guys are going to face challenges and scenarios you’re not used to. As you go through them in your minds, these possibilities will run from simply unpleasant to downright horrible—the worst things that could ever happen to a family. You’d never have to consider these things in your normal, day-to-day lives. We’ll talk about these things—no sense locking them in a closet and then avoiding them altogether. As a matter of fact, when the time comes, we
should
talk about them so that you can develop rationally based expectations. Part of what we can offer is a little counseling—we can help provide you with some logic and context to all the possibilities. When we do this, you’ll see that the reality is that the odds of these really bad things happening to Gina are very low, even though you’re probably scared shitless now.”

He nodded. “We are—scared, I mean.”

I nodded. “That’s understandable and to be expected. For now, though, my advice to you is this: don’t dwell on the unpleasant possibilities. You’ll just scare yourself even more. And if
you
are scared, then your
parents
will be scared to death—scared at a time when they need your strength the most. Make sense?”

He nodded.

“Be strong for your parents; they’ll need your support. Take my advice. Bottle up the fears so you can channel your mental energy into something productive—liking helping to find Gina.”

He nodded. “I appreciate that, Danny.”

“No problem. But while we’re on this line of touchy questions, have the police said anything about ransom demands?” I asked. “Have they set up a recording system or some sort of monitoring system on your phones? I’m assuming there’s been no contact at all by anyone with anything to do with Gina regarding any sort of ransom?”

“Yes, they are monitoring my mom and dad’s phone. They set it up Saturday. But you’re right—we haven’t heard a word from anyone that would make us believe she’s been kidnapped,” Robbie said. “No calls. No letters. No e-mails.”

“Good,” I continued. “Now back to our questions. Let’s shift gears and talk about Gina and her behavioral traits. I know Gina from high school and from our brief time together in 2006, but this doesn’t amount to much—especially now, five years later. What can you tell us about her?”

“Well,” Robbie said, “she’s supersmart. She works hard. She’s outgoing. She’s usually happy, although she does have a temper. She’s focused. She’s a great manager at work.” This meshed perfectly with the Gina I remembered. It didn’t sound like she’d changed at all.

“Question,” Toni said. “When you say ‘usually happy,’ how had she been acting for the few weeks before last Thursday?”

“Maybe a little different,” Robbie said. He thought for a few seconds, then said, “I wouldn’t call it unhappy. She never seemed unhappy. If anything, I might call it preoccupied. Like when you have a big project at work and it demands all your attention.”

“Was there anything going on at work that would have caused her to be preoccupied?” Toni asked.

“That’s the thing. There’s nothing. It’s a pretty routine time for us. No expansions, no new distributor lines, nothing.”

“Business is good?”

“Business is very good,” Robbie answered. “Seems the worse the economy gets, the more people want to drink. Since Gina took over the finance department five years ago, our profitability’s gone through the roof.”

This made sense. I’d have been surprised if she’d have been anything other than an excellent business manager. I said, “So she didn’t mention anything at all that might have caused her to be preoccupied?”

“No—at least, not to me.”

“How often do you speak to your sister?” Toni asked.

“She heads the finance department; I head operations. We work in different ends of the same building. We’d talk about business every couple of days, sometimes more often. We had weekly staff meetings with all the department heads. And we’d meet at mom and dad’s place for lunch sometimes, usually on Sundays.”

We scribbled on our notepads, trying to keep up. After a moment, Toni said, “Okay. Let’s change topics again. Gina has no history of just up and disappearing? Never done this before?”

“Never,” Robbie said.

“Okay,” Toni continued. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but is Gina straight or homosexual?”

Robbie looked surprised. “I think she’s straight,” he said.

“How about boyfriends or girlfriends?”

Robbie shook his head. “Well, first off, I don’t know of any boyfriends. Certainly nobody she brought home to meet the family. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t have boyfriends that I don’t know about. She may have—she’d probably not have told me unless she thought I needed to know.”

That was a pretty good summary of the Gina I thought I knew: she’d tell you if she thought you needed to know. She’d probably not tell you just to share information, like girlfriend-to-girlfriend chitchat.

“As to girlfriends,” he continued, “I think she was friendly with a couple of the girls in the finance and accounting department. Those girls would be good for you to talk to—they probably know more about Gina’s social life than I do.”

“Okay,” Toni said. “Does she use drugs? Any problems with alcohol?”

“As far as I know, she’s never used drugs. She’ll have a social drink or a glass of wine, but she’s not an alcoholic or anything like that.”

“Good,” Toni said. She wrote in her notebook. “How about any sort of personal problems? Any history of mental illness? Depression? Anything like that?”

“No mental illness. No personal problems I’m aware of.”

“Do you think she might be suicidal at all? Has she ever mentioned suicide?”

“Never.”

“Okay. Can you get us some recent photos?”

“Yeah. Mom’s got a bunch.”

“Good.”

I spent a minute reviewing my notes, then said, “Robbie, if we’re able to go to work on the case we’ll need a complete list of people from your organization that you think we should talk to—people who work with Gina or even just know her.”

“Okay,” he said, staring at the wall, concentrating intently on something.

“And—” I started to say when he interrupted me.

“Wait a second,” he said, “I made a mistake.”

“What’s that?” Toni asked, looking up from her notepad.

“Of course there was one guy that Gina brought home to meet my parents.”

My upper body tensed.

“Who?” Toni asked. “Do you have a name for this guy?”

“Yeah,” Robbie said. He turned to me. “It was you.”

~~~~

Toni looked at me, her mouth partly open, questions in her eyes. After a moment she recovered and said, “Danny? Anything you want to add?”

“Give me a second.”

I pictured Gina in my mind the way I remembered her—laughing, witty, happy, on top of the world.

I thought about it and figured that, in front of Robbie, I didn’t know how to say that I’d had a secret crush on Gina probably since the first time I saw her in high school. She was magnetic—everyone was attracted to her.

I didn’t know how to say that I watched her in school for two years and wished that she was somehow as attracted to me as I was to her.

I didn’t know how to say that after high school, I dealt with this by classifying it as a silly boyhood crush. That is, until I bumped into Gina in late 2006 and all the old feelings came back again. This time, at least, I’d grown up enough to find the guts to ask her out. To my never-ending joyous surprise, she’d said yes.

I didn’t know how to say that I spent three of the best weeks of my life with Gina in November of 2006. She was two years younger than I, but she was the one who had all the answers. She was the one who seemed totally sure of what she was doing and where she was going. I was happy just to be there with her.

I didn’t know how to say that I was crushed when I had to ship out to Quantico, Virginia, just after Thanksgiving that year for three months of FBI Advanced Training School and that during that time, our romance fizzled.