Chapter Twenty-three
C
raig and Rodriguez stayed at the McCann house, taking statements from the doctor and the two boys. Bryan didn't expect to learn anything more than what he already knew, but it was enough.
As soon as he was back at the station, he put the wheels in motion. He immediately called Pinky's. “This is Detective Whitmore, Goldenhills Police Department. One of your guys picked up a fare on Riverbend Road a few days ago. I need to know where they dropped her off. This can't wait. Yes, I'll hold.”
Sometimes being a cop got things done. Today was one of those days.
Pinky's came back on the line. He grabbed his pen and wrote down the address. All Night Fitness. He grabbed his badge and gun, and within twenty minutes, he was showing Molly McCann's picture to a young girl at the juice bar.
“That's Ms. M. She's been coming here forever. Is she in trouble? She's super nice. I'll get the ownerâshe can tell you more than I can.”
Bryan was greeted by a woman a few years younger than he, and she would give Craig a run for his money in the muscle department. She introduced herself as Becky.
He showed her a picture. “That's Ms. M. She's been coming here for over ten years. Just once a month or so. She in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. Actually, her husband has reported her missing, and, of course, we're following all leads.”
Becky shook her head, her short brown hair moving from side to side. “I had no idea she was even married. I thought she was a career woman. She'd mentioned something about her job not allowing her much time at the gym. I hope she's okay. She's a very nice lady.”
“Yes, so it seems. Did she ever meet anyone here? A man? Woman? Did she ever bring her daughter?” Bryan continued his questioning.
“This gets more surprising by the minute. I never saw her with anyone. She kept to herself, attended a few classes when she showed up. She would always get a smoothie and tip the gals, even though it's not required. I figured her as a class act. No clue she had a daughter, or even a husband.”
“It seems Molly kept to herself.”
“Her name is Molly?” Becky asked, though it was more a statement than a question. “We all called her Ms. M.”
“Do you remember the last time she was here?” Bryan knew this was the most pivotal question, as this could turn his investigation around, either way.
“I do because she left here pulling an old piece of luggage behind her. And she was walking. I thought that beyond odd because for the last five years or so, she always drove a Mercedes. A silver one. Again, she was a class act. It was two days ago.”
So she'd taken a taxi to the gym. Why here? Why not a hotel? A spa? Something a woman does when she's pissed at her husband.
If she hadn't met someone here, there had to be another reason. All he had to do was find it. For some strange reason, he felt it was his special duty to bring this woman home, safe and sound. Not that he didn't feel this way about all the citizens he'd sworn to serve and protect, but there was something that nagged him about this case, and right now he couldn't put a finger on it, but he would.
“Becky, this is going to sound insulting, and I want to apologize before I ask this question. This is a super cool place, and if I didn't have a home gym, I'd join in a heartbeat, but I do, so let me just spit it out. Why would Molly, Ms. M., come here if she were trying to escape or get away? Why not a hotel or a spa? A friend's house? You're a woman, so help me get inside her head.”
“If I had to wage a guess, I would say she came here to empty her locker.”
Bingo!
“Excellent. I had no clue gyms provided lockers other than the usual kind where you bring your own lock and just find what's empty or convenient, and switch out every time you go to the gym. Is that what we're talking about here?”
“No. We have permanent lockers. You want to see?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
He followed her through a maze of fitness equipment, past the smoothie bar, then to another room. Becky had a ring of keys around her arm, one of those rubbery bracelet styles that could double as jewelry. “First, you have to have a key to get into the room.” She unlocked the door. “For a monthly fee, you can have a permanent locker, and while we have a few clients that choose this method, Ms. M., Molly, was the only member who has had a locker from the very beginning of her membership. We use keys, not combination locks. A bit more secure.”
Here comes the hard part
, he thought, but he was a police officer, it was his duty. “Can you open her locker? Or would you require a court order? I know it's an invasion of the client's privacy, but this could be serious. As in life-or-death serious.”
Becky took a few seconds to consider his request. “I don't need a court order. I'll open it for you, but I don't think you'll find anything inside. She emptied the locker when she left.”
“You saw her do it?”
“Not exactly. I couldn't swear that she emptied out everything, but I saw her coming in, and I saw her leave. Given the fact that she's missing, I'm just assuming she came here to remove something important. Just a guess, though.”
“Let's have a look inside,” he said.
“I'll have to check her locker number in the office. Give me a minute.” Becky whirled out of the room, returning a couple of minutes later.
“It's 524.”
Again, she fingered through her keys, and when she found what she was searching for, she slid the master key into locker number 524.
The door opened without any resistance.
“Can I?” he asked. “Just in case there is evidence.” She nodded and stepped away from the locker. Bryan peered inside the locker, which was much larger than one would normally expect. There were two hooks, but nothing was hanging from them. He felt around, and there was nothing there.
“The top shelf,” Becky said.
Bryan stretched to see what she was referring to. There was a small metal shelf, its depth about five inches. Enough to store a handbag, or something else. He reached in and was stunned when his hand felt something. He hadn't really expected to find anything since Molly had made a special trip here just to remove the contents from this locker, or that's where his thoughts were leading him. He pulled a brown paper bag from the shelf, careful to use the tips of his fingers just in case this had to go to the print lab.
He set the brown bag on the long bench in front of the lockers. He took his cell phone from his pocket and took pictures from every angle before returning it to his pocket.
“That's a super old bag,” Becky said, and they both laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“No, tell me.”
Without touching the bag, she pointed to a faded logo that read
LOU'S DINER. “
They're still in business, but I know for a fact these bags aren't what they use now. They're located in Cambridge, near Harvard. Believe it or not, I actually attended college there. Studied medicine, but dropped out in my second year. Too gory for me. My father is a doctor. It was expected,” she offered as a way of explanation. “Their take-out bags are plastic now. I've been there a few times since. They have the best corned-beef hash in the state.”
Bryan took his phone out again and used the flashlight app in order to read the logo more clearly. “I think you're right, Becky. It does say
LOU'S DINER,
but it's faded. I'm going to have to take this with me. Evidence. Do you have a garbage bag? I need to keep this as secure as I can.”
“Sure, you want a giant one or kitchen-sized?”
“A kitchen-sized bag should work if you don't mind getting me one.”
Again, she made fast work of getting him the bag. He carefully placed the Lou's Diner bag inside. Something was in the paper bag, and it was a bit heavy, not deadweight heavy, but something more spread out. Fabric, maybe. As soon as he secured the bag, he took a few more pictures, then took several of the locker, both inside and out.
“Becky, I appreciate your cooperation. And because of this I have a buddy I'm going to send your way.” He grinned. “He's a cop, and he's got more muscles than Popeye. We call him by his last name, Craig. You'll know him when you see him. And I will make sure he stops by. He may have a few questions for you.” He nodded, then made his way to the front of the gym.
Becky trailed behind. “Tell him the first thirty days are free. You don't like, you don't buy.” She was smiling.
“I'll tell him. Thanks again,” he said. He put the bag in the trunk of his unmarked car and looked around. Where would a woman pulling a suitcase behind her go? At least from the gym. He walked down the street, heading south. He thought this was the most obvious direction, since north led into the business district.
What had she been wearing? “You're kidding,” he said to himself and hoofed it back to the gym. Becky was talking to a woman at the smoothie bar. She smiled when she saw him.
“I forgot to ask the most obvious question. What was she wearing when she left? Do you happen to remember?”
“She always dressed classy. Nice jeans, a pretty blouse. Her hair was always in a French braid or a neat ponytail. She wasn't one of those gym pigs. That's what we call folks who come in their gym clothes and leave in their gym clothes. Ms. M. always showered before she left, and this last time, she showered and dried her hair, which she always does. She really stood out when she left, and I could tell she was trying to make sure no one saw her. She wore her hair up under a Boston Red Sox cap, and she had a pair of faded Levi's on. Men's, because I saw the red tag, and a black T-shirt. I didn't see what kind of shoes she wore, but I assume she had on sneakers.”
“If you ever want a job, the police department could use someone like you. You have a good memory and an eye for detail. You're great, Becky, but now I have to get my ass off to work.”
She waved, and for the second time, he headed south. He walked four blocks when he spied the bus stop. He needed an afternoon bus schedule, which he had back at the station. Running now, he was out of breath by the time he returned to his car. Inside, he took a few minutes to make notes, then he headed toward the station.
Holden had been absolutely right about his stepmother. He wondered if everything else he said was true as well. Though he'd been stoned, he knew what he was saying; Bryan would bet on it.
On his way back to the station, he called Vikki. He replayed his visit with Holden.
“I don't know if the DA will fall for it, no pun intended, but I can put a bug in his ear.”
“It can't hurt. Thanks, Vik, I'll keep you posted.” Back at the station, he took the bag from the gym and did all the paperwork required to record it as evidence.
As soon as he was at his desk, he called Boston PD. His ex-wife's brother was a detective, and they were still friends. He called his cell number, yawning as he waited for him to pick up. Bryan hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. The day was catching up with him. And the night.
“Bry, my friend, what the hell is up?” Thomas finally answered as he was about to hang up.
“I need a favor,” Bryan said.
Thomas laughed, the sound deep and throaty. “You's always needs a favor. What now?” He spoke with a heavy Boston accent. Bryan thought some of it was for show, but now wasn't the time to rag him about it. “There's a diner by the college. Lou's. You heard of it?”
“Hey, everybody's heard of Lou's. It's a freaking institution around Harvard. Why? You hungry?” Thomas laughed, and Bryan did, too.
“Ever the comic, I see. Nothing's changed. Actually, it's about a case I'm working on.” For the next ten minutes, he filled him in on as many details as possible.
“I'll send someone over now. As soon as I have any news, I'll call ya, and Bry, don't be a stranger.”
“Same for you,” he said, then clicked off.
Next on his list was the bus schedule. He pulled a copy from his drawer and found three possibilities that worked within the time frame Molly left the gym. He called the supervisorâhe couldn't remember his name, but they had spoken a few times in the past. He explained what he needed.
“That'll be either Ron, Keith, or Stu. I'll call 'em now and get back to you.”
“Thanks,” Bryan said, amazed how cooperative people were. But there was a missing woman, a mother, and if that didn't touch your heart, then as far as he was concerned, you didn't have one.
Bryan stood up, stretched, and yawned. He needed java. In the break room, several of the guys coming on duty poured paper cups of coffee. The room reeked of cheap cologne and masculinity. Any other day, he'd hang out and shoot the breeze, but not today. He waved and hurried back to his desk. Something nagged at him, as usual, something the doctor said the night he'd called to report Molly missing.
He took great pride in his memory, but it failed him now. He raked his hand through his hair. He needed a shower and a shave, but it would have to wait. He sipped the coffee, the bitter brew returning as acid. He took a roll of Tums from his desk, popped two, and chewed them. They were almost as bad as the acid, he thought as he took another sip. The night he'd gone to the McMansion the doctor had rambled, was all over the place. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he would. He always did.
He turned around just in time to see Craig and Rodriguez heading his way.
“I can't believe you drink that toxic stuff,” Craig said. “It's deadly.”
Rodriguez sat on top of his desk. “I spoke to the housekeeper a while ago. Sally. Nice old gal. Said she's worked for the McCanns since the daughter was small; she couldn't recall how long, only that it's been a very long time. Her words.