Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)(55)

“Seriously? Sure you don’t want to wait on that?”

“Positive. She’ll be numb. In shock. Not quite sure which way is up. In my experience, people can be very forthcoming when they’ve been knocked off-balance.”

“And people call me, the Puppetmaster. Go easy on her, Rye.”

“Worry not, my friend. I can be quite a comforting presence when the occasion demands it. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Rye cut the connection.

Lynch could be something of an enigma, he thought. Considering his background, he hadn’t expected him to caution him about hurting that woman. He usually displayed no emotion and just got the job done. It just went to show that it was a vast world filled with multifaceted people. Which, except for his books, made it the only thing bearable.

Together with the unique puzzles that occasionally were brought for him to solve. He must not forget that spur, and Lynch was adept at furnishing him with that particular stimulation.

He would have to be very clever and innovative and give Lynch something for his trouble …

*

“MAY I HELP YOU?”

The sixtyish woman stood in the front doorway of a charming flat on Monmouth Street. She was attractive, well dressed, and didn’t seem to have a care in the world aside from the stranger on her front stoop.

Rye studied her face. Her eyes weren’t red, and the mascara wasn’t running. This wasn’t right.

“Madeleine Shaw?”

“Yes.”

“Wife of Dr. Porter Shaw?”

“Yes.”

She appeared almost … chipper.

Had she not been notified yet? Awkward.

He hesitated. “Has someone … spoken to you this morning?”

“About what?”

Oh, Lord. He was going to be stuck with giving her the news.

“My husband?” she offered.

“Yes. You received some notification this morning?”

For the first time, a bit of stress lined her face. But only a bit. “Yes. He passed away.”

“Were you told of the circumstances?”

“I was.” Her expression still wasn’t troubled. Curious, but not troubled. “And may I ask what business it is of yours?”

“My name is Ryan Malone. I’m working with the American authorities on the case. Two of your husband’s colleagues were also in California. They’ve gone missing. I know it’s a devastating time for you, but I wondered if I might—”

“Of course. Come in.” The chipper voice and attitude were back. She opened the door wide for him to enter. “I was just having tea. Would you like some?”

“Thank you.”

So much for not knowing which way was up.

He followed her through the narrow but tastefully decorated home back to a sunroom. She gestured for him to sit in one of the two white, wooden chairs. She had already started pouring his tea by the time he was seated.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said. “You and your husband made a beautiful home for yourselves.”

“He had nothing to do with it. I think he liked our home well enough, when he cared to notice. But it’s certainly nothing he ever cared to weigh in on.”

“I see.” This was going down a far-too-static path. Time to stir it up a little. “Pardon me for saying so, but you seem to be taking your husband’s demise incredibly well.”

She picked up her teacup and gazed at the garden outside. “I can see it does seem that way.” She shrugged. “He left me a long time ago in spirit. It’s the old cliché, I suppose. The man whose passion was his work.”

“Really? And how long has it been that way?”

“Always, if I’m honest with myself. Even when we met, it’s what attracted me to him. I thought it would be enough if just a little bit of that fire and intensity was thrown in my direction. It never was, not really.” She looked up. “I’m sorry. You’re not really interested in all this. It’s been a confusing morning. I guess I’m still in shock. I haven’t even told anyone yet. He has a sister in Leeds who really needs to know, but I’m still … processing.”

“I understand.”

“So how can I help you?”

Rye leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me why your husband was in the United States.”

“Work. He was always traveling someplace. And even when he was here, he wasn’t here, if you know what I mean.”

“Was there anything unusual about this particular trip?”

She nodded. “Actually, yes. For one thing, he’d told me he was going to Chicago. He never mentioned California.”

“Odd. Are you certain?”

“Positive. I didn’t know he was there until this morning, when I was told that he was dead. But there was something even stranger … He left his phone here.”

“He forgot it?”

“I thought so at first. But he never went anywhere without it, not even the corner store.” She shook her head. “Who does in this day and age? We all live with our phones. He called twice in the three weeks he was gone, each time from a different disposable phone he’d purchased. I offered to send him his own phone, but he didn’t want it. He was very specific. He didn’t want me to power it on or even charge it.”