just make sure."
He trundled off obediently to the family room while I did a quick search of the house. I ran up to our bedroom, checked the bathroom, Ethan's bedroom. Then I was back to the main floor and down the steps into our unfinished basement. It didn't take more than a second to realize she wasn't there. The only place left to check was the garage.
There was a connecting door between the kitchen and the garage, and as I put my hand on it I hesitated.
Jan's Jetta had been in the driveway when we'd pulled in. So her car was not in the garage.
So at least she couldn't have--
Open the damn door, I told myself. I turned the knob and stepped into the one-car garage. It was as messy and disorganized as always.
And there was no one in it.
There were two large plastic Rubbermaid garbage containers in the corner. It had never occurred to me before that they were each large enough to hold a person, but my mind was going places it had never gone before. I approached the cans, put my hand on the lid of the first one, held it there a moment, and then lifted it off.
Inside was a bag of garbage.
The second can was empty.
Back in the kitchen, I found our laptop, folded shut, beside the phone, half buried in mail from the last couple of days and a handful of flyers.
I took it over to the kitchen table, hit the on button, and drummed my fingers waiting for it to do its thing. Once it was up and running, I opened the photo program. We had gone to Chicago last fall, and it was the last time I'd moved pictures from the digital camera into the computer.
I looked through the photos. Jan and Ethan standing under the passenger jet at the Museum of Science and Industry. Another one of them in front of the Burlington Zephyr streamlined passenger train. The two of them wandering through Millennium Park, eating cheese corn from Garrett's, their fingers and mouths orange with cheese powder.
Most of the pictures were of Jan and Ethan, since I was the one who usually took the pictures. But there was one shot of Ethan and me together, down by the water, sailboats in the background, him sitting on my lap.
I zeroed in on two shots that were particularly good of Jan. Her black hair, longer last fall than now, partly covered the left side of her face, but not enough to obscure her features. Her brown eyes, soft cheekbones, small nose, the almost imperceptible L-shaped scar on the left side of her chin, the one she got falling off a bike when she was in her teens. At her throat, a slender necklace with a small pendant designed to look like a cupcake, with diamondlike frosting and cake of gold, something Jan had had since she was a child.
I dug Detective Duckworth's card from my pocket and sent the picture to the email address that was embossed on it. I added two more pictures--not quite as good, but from different angles--to the email, just to be sure he had enough.
I added a note to the last one. "I think the first shot shows her best, but I added a couple more. I'm going to look for more and will send them to you. Please call if you hear anything." I also printed out a couple dozen copies of that first shot.
I reached over for the phone and set it on the kitchen table. I didn't want to wait for Duckworth to check his emails. I wanted him to know he had the photos now, so I dialed his cell.
"Duckworth," he said.
"It's David Harwood," I said. "I just sent you the pictures."
"You're home?"
"Yes."
"Any sign of her? Phone message, anything?"
There'd been no flashing light, and there were no new email messages. "Nothing," I said.
"Okay, well, we'll get those pictures of your wife out right away."
"I'll talk to the Standard," I said, thinking that my next call would be to the city desk. There was still time to get Jan's picture in the Sunday edition.
"Why don't you let us handle that," Duckworth said. "I think it might be better if any releases about this are funneled through a single source, you know?"
"But--"
"Mr. Harwood, it's only
He trundled off obediently to the family room while I did a quick search of the house. I ran up to our bedroom, checked the bathroom, Ethan's bedroom. Then I was back to the main floor and down the steps into our unfinished basement. It didn't take more than a second to realize she wasn't there. The only place left to check was the garage.
There was a connecting door between the kitchen and the garage, and as I put my hand on it I hesitated.
Jan's Jetta had been in the driveway when we'd pulled in. So her car was not in the garage.
So at least she couldn't have--
Open the damn door, I told myself. I turned the knob and stepped into the one-car garage. It was as messy and disorganized as always.
And there was no one in it.
There were two large plastic Rubbermaid garbage containers in the corner. It had never occurred to me before that they were each large enough to hold a person, but my mind was going places it had never gone before. I approached the cans, put my hand on the lid of the first one, held it there a moment, and then lifted it off.
Inside was a bag of garbage.
The second can was empty.
Back in the kitchen, I found our laptop, folded shut, beside the phone, half buried in mail from the last couple of days and a handful of flyers.
I took it over to the kitchen table, hit the on button, and drummed my fingers waiting for it to do its thing. Once it was up and running, I opened the photo program. We had gone to Chicago last fall, and it was the last time I'd moved pictures from the digital camera into the computer.
I looked through the photos. Jan and Ethan standing under the passenger jet at the Museum of Science and Industry. Another one of them in front of the Burlington Zephyr streamlined passenger train. The two of them wandering through Millennium Park, eating cheese corn from Garrett's, their fingers and mouths orange with cheese powder.
Most of the pictures were of Jan and Ethan, since I was the one who usually took the pictures. But there was one shot of Ethan and me together, down by the water, sailboats in the background, him sitting on my lap.
I zeroed in on two shots that were particularly good of Jan. Her black hair, longer last fall than now, partly covered the left side of her face, but not enough to obscure her features. Her brown eyes, soft cheekbones, small nose, the almost imperceptible L-shaped scar on the left side of her chin, the one she got falling off a bike when she was in her teens. At her throat, a slender necklace with a small pendant designed to look like a cupcake, with diamondlike frosting and cake of gold, something Jan had had since she was a child.
I dug Detective Duckworth's card from my pocket and sent the picture to the email address that was embossed on it. I added two more pictures--not quite as good, but from different angles--to the email, just to be sure he had enough.
I added a note to the last one. "I think the first shot shows her best, but I added a couple more. I'm going to look for more and will send them to you. Please call if you hear anything." I also printed out a couple dozen copies of that first shot.
I reached over for the phone and set it on the kitchen table. I didn't want to wait for Duckworth to check his emails. I wanted him to know he had the photos now, so I dialed his cell.
"Duckworth," he said.
"It's David Harwood," I said. "I just sent you the pictures."
"You're home?"
"Yes."
"Any sign of her? Phone message, anything?"
There'd been no flashing light, and there were no new email messages. "Nothing," I said.
"Okay, well, we'll get those pictures of your wife out right away."
"I'll talk to the Standard," I said, thinking that my next call would be to the city desk. There was still time to get Jan's picture in the Sunday edition.
"Why don't you let us handle that," Duckworth said. "I think it might be better if any releases about this are funneled through a single source, you know?"
"But--"
"Mr. Harwood, it's only
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