The Night Before(59)

“We assumed he would tell you. He didn’t mention you were out. Where were you?” Conway asked.

Rosie tried, but she couldn’t steady herself. Nothing was making sense anymore.

“I was driving around, looking for my sister,” she lied. Gabe shot her a look, but she ignored it. She was doing exactly that—driving and searching for Laura. They didn’t ask where. “What did you find? On her phone…”

“The last few calls were from a number registered to a business. A financial investment firm in New York,” Pearson answered.

“Can you get the name of the employee? Jesus—don’t you see the connection? The apartment is leased under an LLC. The phone is registered to a business in New York. This guy does not want to be traced. He doesn’t want to be found!”

“We’re now looking into both companies. Trying to find the right people to give us that information.”

“Don’t tell me—you have to wait until Monday, right? No need to bother anyone on the weekend. After all, it’s only been a day and a half. She’s probably just run off with him for the weekend, right? Too afraid to tell her crazy sister?”

Gabe was the one who answered. “Rosie—that’s not true. These things take time to track down.”

“What about other numbers on her phone?”

Pearson took out her phone again and pulled up the scanned record.

“Here—you tell us,” Pearson said, handing her the phone.

Rosie grabbed it and started to scan the numbers. She mumbled her thoughts as she began to recognize them. 917–28 … that’s her old work cell phone … 212–23 … that’s the firm’s landline … Scrolling more, reading with bleary eyes … 203–35 …

She stopped suddenly, staring at that last number. Then she began counting. Scrolling and counting the number of times she saw those digits—203–35 …

“Can you get the text messages that were written?” she asked.

“We should have them later this morning. Is there a number you recognize?” Conway asked.

All heads turned when a door opened. It was 2M, right beside Edward Rittle’s.

A middle-aged woman with a small dog emerged, stopping short when she saw the police officers.

“What’s going on out here?” she asked.

Conway smiled politely. “Everything’s fine. Do you know the tenants in 2L?” he asked.

“Eddie? Yeah. I know him,” she said, rolling her eyes. But then her face grew concerned. “Why? Is he in trouble?” she asked.

“No. We’re just trying to find someone he might know.”

“A woman, right?”

Rosie was about to spring into action, but Gabe held her back, grabbing both shoulders.

“Thursday night?” The woman seemed to know the routine.

Pearson looked at Conway, but he was focused on the neighbor now.

“Yes. It would have been Thursday night. Did you see anyone?”

“See? No. I didn’t see them. But I heard them. I hear them every Thursday.” She said this with amusement. “If you’re looking for him, though, he’s not here. He’s never here on the weekends. Something about his job—I think he works here but lives somewhere else. Comes and goes during the week. I have a key—I bring up his mail from the box downstairs. It’s mostly junk, but it fills up fast in those small boxes and then the manager gets pissed off.”

Rosie shuddered—this was him! It had to be. Thursday nights. Women.

“Can you open it?” Rosie asked.

Conway jumped in before the woman could answer. “That won’t be necessary.…”

But the woman was already walking toward 2L, looking through the keys on her chain.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “He’s not home. It’s Saturday.”

Now Gabe, finally, coming to the rescue. “It’s okay if we go in,” he said to the officers. “He gave consent by giving his key. We’re not the police.…”

Rosie broke free of his hold and rushed to stand behind the neighbor as she slid the key into the lock.

Pearson and Conway didn’t move. There was nothing they could do to stop her, or Gabe, from entering that apartment.

The door opened. The neighbor walked in, bent down to pick up a few fliers that had been slid under the door.

But Rosie was already in front of her. Calling her sister’s name. “Laura!”

Gabe was there now. “Can we look around a little?” he asked the neighbor.

Rosie could sense that the neighbor was starting to question her decision to let them in—starting to see that this was not about finding a friend of her neighbor.

“Just a little—and quickly, okay?” she said. She sounded nervous.

“Laura!” Rosie raced into the living room, spinning around in a circle. Then to the bedroom, the bathroom, the closets, opening doors, calling out the name.

“Laura!”

Gabe stood quietly in the foyer with the neighbor and her dog. Rosie stared at them as the information settled into her bones. This had been everything—finding the women who knew this man. Finding out where he lived. And now, here she was—in the place where her sister must have been, and maybe just hours before. But there was nothing. No signs of her sister. No signs of a struggle. Not even a glass in the sink.