Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)(56)

“Interesting.”

“I handle all the finances, and I can tell you he didn’t use a credit card or cash-machine card since he’s been gone. He withdrew several thousand pounds before he left, and I suppose he’d been getting by on that.” She grimaced. “Which also kept me from knowing where he was.”

“And kept anyone else from knowing,” Rye said. “Tell me, what exactly was your husband working on?”

“To be honest, I have no idea. He wasn’t very forthcoming. He’d been very excited, but his mood had soured in the past couple of months.” She shook her head. “And heaven forbid he explain himself to me. I was only his wife.”

“In what way had his mood soured?”

“In almost every way you can imagine. Sometimes depressed, sometimes angry, sometimes frustrated. Not an unusual range of emotions for a researcher struggling to solve a problem, but this has been worse. Much worse.”

“Hmm. Can you tell me anything about his colleagues? People he might have been working with in the last months of his life?”

“Well, there was Charles Waldridge. Porter worshipped him. He thought the man was a genius. I should probably try to contact him.”

Rye hesitated, wondering if he should tell her about Waldridge’s disappearance. He decided against it. “Anyone else?”

Her lips twisted. “No one he ever discussed with me.”

“Did you ever visit his lab?”

“Heavens, no. It was in the Docklands near the fish market, I think.”

“Near Canary Wharf?”

“Yes.”

“I was just there. It’s a vacant lot.”

“What?”

“No lab. Just an empty lot. It’s been that way for quite some time. Could there have been someplace else?”

Her face was frozen in utter bewilderment. She shook her head.

“Did he drive to work?”

She nodded.

“I wonder if you might let me look in his car. Is it here?”

She motioned out the sunroom windows toward a freestanding garage on the other side of the small backyard. “It’s in there. It hasn’t been driven since he left.”

“Would you mind? It could be very helpful.”

She didn’t speak for a moment. “Isn’t it silly? I think I’m dreading looking at it. I’m used to thinking of him in this house. It will be different with the car, perhaps a bit jarring…” She finally put down her teacup. “Certainly. I’ll get the keys.”

After a few moments rustling through an overstuffed kitchen drawer, Madeleine found her husband’s spare keys and led Rye out to the detached garage, where a silver Mercedes SL shared space with an MG Mini.

“The Mercedes is his. Was his.” She paused. Her voice was the slightest bit unsteady as she added, “Still doesn’t feel right to say it that way. I guess I’ll get better at it.”

He held out his hand for the key. “May I?”

She used the key’s remote button to unlock the car, then she handed it to him.

Rye slid behind the wheel and surveyed the vehicle’s interior. Immaculate.

He started the car. The engine roared to life, and the touch screen lit up the dark interior. Rye tapped the screen and cycled through the GPS map screens until he found the navigation app’s driving history.

The passenger door opened, and Madeleine leaned in. “Any luck?”

“Maybe.” He pointed toward the screen. “Do you recognize this address? It’s on Scarbrook Road in Croyden. Looks like he went there almost every day.”

Madeleine’s eyes narrowed on the screen. “Croyden? No. Not at all. It’s not a place he ever mentioned going.”

Rye took a photo of the screen with his phone. “I don’t like to ask this, especially in light what’s happened today…” There was no delicate way to ask this question. “But I can’t help but wonder, since your husband was regularly going someplace without your knowledge, if perhaps…”

“You want to know if my husband was having an affair,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“The answer is no.” She swallowed hard and looked away from him. “Among other reasons, I honestly don’t think he would’ve made that kind of time for it. Believe me, this was about his work.”

“I do believe you.” He avoided looking at her as he cycled through several more destinations on the touch screen. He snapped photos of a few of the other recurring entries, but none appeared with anything near the frequency of the Croyden address.

He cut the engine and turned toward Madeleine.

Tears were now running down her cheeks.

The mask was off.

“I’m very sorry,” he whispered.

“So am I.” Her eyes were glittering tears. “I loved him, you know. I wanted to make him happy. All these years of loneliness … I didn’t take my first lover for over fifteen years. I was careful. I didn’t want to hurt Porter.” Her lips twisted. “I didn’t have to worry. He wasn’t interested.” She met his eyes. “But in the end, I realized it’s what I felt, not what he felt. If you truly love someone, then you accept who they are and still want the best for them.” Her voice was low and uneven, but rang with sincerity. “And I wish with my whole heart that Croyden address belonged to a woman who could give him what I couldn’t.”