15th Affair (Women's Murder Club #15)(23)

She said, “There have been reports of a flash in the sky just seconds before the aircraft failed. Because of the direction and altitude of the plane in its last moments, we don’t have a clear angle on the right wing, which was the point of impact. And when the fuel inside the wing exploded, the wing failed upward, which can look from the ground like the contrail of a missile.

“That said, the possibility of a missile strike exists….”

The chairman was interrupted by a tsunami of questions and screams and shoving as photographers jostled for a view of the projected visuals. Anton shouted into her mic, “Chief Vanderleest has additional details. Thank you.”

Anton was barely offstage when Vanderleest took the lectern. He stood like a block of stone until the room was silent again.

Then he spoke. “As the chairman said, the possibility exists that WW 888 was brought down by a missile, but until the flight recorders are found and the remains of the 777 are assembled and analyzed—the reason for the crash of WW 888 is still undetermined. Information on the location of those of the deceased who have been identified is on our website and with Worldwide Airlines, who will give daily briefings.

“Thank you for your attention.”

Conklin called out to me and Cindy over the tidal raging of the crowd, “Stay with me.”

We were in the hallway outside the ad hoc auditorium when an Asian man in jeans and a black jacket body-slammed me. I staggered back into a group of people, somehow getting my balance before I fell. I looked around wildly to see who had assaulted me and for a half second, I got a clear look at his face: wide forehead, thin, white scar across his chin.

Just then, the doors opened at the back of the room and hundreds of people stampeded toward the exit, carrying us along with them.





CHAPTER 36


I WAS OUT of gas when I came through the doorway that night. Martha charged me and I held her back by her shoulders and called out, “Honey,” forgetting that I hadn’t seen Joe in days, or maybe just hoping he would answer.

Mrs. Rose sang out a sweet hello and appeared in the foyer, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Joe isn’t here, but Julie is fine. Are you OK?”

I nodded and tried to block the images of Shirley Chan’s body and the complete devastation of her children’s lives.

Where was Joe?

I wanted my husband. I wanted him to be all right. To be innocent of what felt like betrayal. To spend the night holding me and being held and talking and making love.

“Lindsay, I wasn’t sure when you’d be home.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said to Mrs. Rose. “The day got away from me.”

“Not a problem. I made a roast—”

“I love you,” I blurted.

“I love you, too,” she said. She opened her arms and hugged me and she told me to go see my daughter. “She’s really chatting up a storm.”

She brought a glass of wine into the baby’s room and I rocked Julie and stared out the window and told myself that I was fine, I just needed to sleep.

By nine, Julie and I were alone. She said, “Story,” and it was a demand, not a request. Joe had taught her that word. I took her and Martha into bed with me and told Julie the story of finding Martha at a border collie rescue league.

“We fell in love at first sight, didn’t we, Boo?”

Martha barked and Julie laughed, and I had a few laughs myself. First time in a few days, that’s for sure.

I intended to return Julie to her crib in just a few moments, but she woke me around three with the little distressed cry that usually precedes a meltdown.

“Sweetie, sweetie, Mommy’s here.”

Where was Daddy? Where was Joe?





CHAPTER 37


CLAIRE WAS RAGING as she left Metropolitan Hospital.

It was definite. Dr. Marshall had lost Michael Chan’s body. Her earlier statement, “I’ll call you,” had been amended to “Damned if I know what happened to him,” and a moment later escalated to “I’m starting to wonder if we actually had Mr. Chan, or if we just had his wallet in a plastic bag.”

“So where’s his wallet?” Claire had asked.

“Damned if I know. Look, I haven’t slept in three days.”

It was Saturday morning and Lindsay wasn’t answering her phone, and Claire didn’t want to wake her.

Still.

Claire got into her car and called again, and this time Lindsay picked up.

“What time is it?” Lindsay asked with a scratchy voice.

“Quarter to eleven,” Claire said. “You’re asleep. I’ll make it quick. Michael Chan’s body is still missing and Metropolitan has stopped looking for him. This isn’t over until I have his body in my morgue.”

“Never mind,” Lindsay said to her. “They tried.”

“They tried? What’s wrong with you, Lindsay?” Claire said.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” Lindsay told her.

“Joe? He’s come home?”

“Nope. He’ll turn up.”

Claire said, “OK,” hung up, and started her car. It was time to do something about this weird and unhealthy state of affairs. She called Cindy and Yuki, and by the time she arrived at Lindsay’s address, both of them were waiting for her in Cindy’s car.