The Disappearing Act(34)
It can’t hurt to speak to someone, can it? All I’d need to do is register a concern.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
Nick looks at me seriously for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Do. And let me know what happens.”
15
Missing Person
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 12
The LAPD website offers hotline numbers for almost every conceivable criminal activity. Back at the apartment I scan through the list to find a number that fits but I’m not exactly sure what it is that I’m supposed to be reporting.
I can’t report an abandoned vehicle anymore because there isn’t one. And the stranger last night collecting Emily’s things definitely wasn’t a robbery. I click on the non-emergency hotline and take a slug of hot coffee.
I’ve seen enough BBC dramas to feel like I might know how this goes. If I’m reporting a missing person I know they’ll need: her surname, her last known location, her vehicle registration number, and her home address. So I keep her car rental document close at hand in case I need it. I take a deep breath and carefully dial. As the phone rings I reassure myself that, if it comes to it, the police can check who exactly came to my apartment last night from the building’s CCTV footage.
* * *
—
After hanging up, I pace the living room. I wasn’t expecting the call to go that way at all. I try to slow my heart rate but it’s a losing battle, there’s too much caffeine and adrenaline coursing through my system. Trying to relax is not going to cut it.
I head to the kitchen, chug back a tall glass of tap water in an attempt to rid myself of a suddenly intensely dry mouth, then stand there frozen thinking over what was just said, the police officer’s words fresh in my head.
I need to talk to someone about what just happened. I check the time on my phone. It’s after seven, Nick should be finished at work. He might even be home by now. I realize I still know nothing about Nick, what he does, where he lives, even if he’s single. Though if he’s not then I’d have serious concerns. And he doesn’t wear a wedding ring. I bring up his number and pause. Who else am I going to tell? I’m absolutely certain Souki would not like this.
The call tone pulses for a few beats before Nick’s face fills the screen. The image is dark for a second before he reaches overhead and clicks on his car’s interior light, his face thrown into relief by the shadows. I make out the multistory car park in the background behind him. He looks distracted, like I’ve caught him in the middle of something.
“Hey! Sorry to keep calling,” I say quickly, my tone businesslike. “I just wanted to let you know that I spoke to the police. The LAPD.” His focus sharpens at my words so I continue. “It was a bit daunting, but I think…I think I did the right thing?” It’s a question, not necessarily for either of us to answer, but a question nonetheless.
“Oh right! Okay. And what happened, what did they say?”
“I told them about paying her meter, and her disappearing, and I told them I’d had her things and I was worried something might have happened to her because she didn’t show up. They basically weren’t interested, they said it’s not a crime to be missing and unless I had evidence that an actual crime has taken place, blah, blah, blah. So I told them about the woman who pretended to be Emily. And then they suddenly got really interested.”
“I’ll bet they did. And?”
I hesitate for a second, part ashamed, part fearful of the series of events I’ve set in motion. “They said I should go to a local station and physically file a missing persons report. And they said they’re going over to Emily’s house. Now.”
“Seriously? Now? They told you that?”
“Yeah, they said they were sending a car over to check the address. They said if someone stole her wallet and keys, then it’s a valid cause for concern.” I shudder at the thought of Emily answering her apartment door completely oblivious to any of this, wondering who the hell called the police on her.
“Anyway,” I continue, “they said they’d go over and if anyone’s there then they’ll ID them and ask about the wallet. They said they’d let me know one way or another if there’s an issue.”
Nick is silent for a moment, the seriousness of the situation sinking in. “Wow. Well, fingers crossed you’re wrong, I guess.”
“Yeah. I really hope she’s home and fine, you know. Even if they tell her some crazy British woman called the police on her. I just want to know she’s safe. I’d want someone to do the same for me, if it was the other way around.”
Nick gives me a rallying smile. “Me too. She’s lucky she met you. Not many people would have bothered to do this. I doubt she would have expected you to either. Don’t worry, you definitely did the right thing.”
I feel a flush rising up my neck and realize that’s all I really wanted to hear. I’ve done my bit and now I really can drop it. I wander, phone in hand, away from the harsh kitchen lights toward the twinkle of LA beyond the glass. The glittering city lights fill the screen behind me.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say, genuinely grateful for his help. A horn honk sounds from his audio, and my attention turns to his situation. “Are you on your way home?” I ask.