My Wife Is Missing(8)

“Right,” said Michael who then presented Ouyang with the same photo he had shown the hostess at Crossroads.

“Beautiful family,” Ouyang said, in a way that conveyed the subtext, and I hope you didn’t do anything to them. “Got another with your picture on it?”

So you can run me through some database, thought Michael. Use facial recognition software to see what you might dredge up on me.

He couldn’t deny the request, however, so he ended up AirDropping two pictures to Ouyang’s cell phone, one of which was a photo of the four Hart family members a kind stranger took at a rest stop on the drive to New York. Ouyang forwarded the pictures on to somewhere.

“What now?” Michael asked.

Now, the phone rang. Dan’s phone, to be precise.

“It’s security calling,” Dan said briskly. “There’s some footage we need to see. They’re emailing me a link.”

A short while later, Dan did some mouse clicking on a desktop computer, while Michael kept his eyes locked on Teddy. It was far easier to focus his attention on the stuffed bear than try to make small talk with the detective. Michael nervously drummed his fingers against the desk, tapping loudly enough to get Ouyang’s attention.

“Sorry, nervous habit,” Michael said, pulling his hand back onto his lap. “My wife hates it when I do that.”

My wife. It hurt even to say the words.

Dan spun his computer monitor around so everyone could have a good view.

“I had our security team use the photograph Mr. Hart provided, and they’ve been looking at our camera footage from around the time the Hart family checked in. Obviously we don’t have cameras in the rooms, but we do have a state-of-the-art system with coverage in the halls and front desk and such. But my team said this is the footage we’ll want to see first.”

The video playback showed the outside of the hotel, looking toward the main entrance from the other side of the carport. Thanks to the camera’s high vantage point, maybe the height of a basketball hoop, Michael could see the entirety of two single glass doors bracketing a revolving door. His gaze flickered to the date and time stamp in the lower left corner where a digital readout counted the hours, minutes, and seconds. Michael did some calculations of his own. He had been out getting pizza when this footage was taken.

In the foreground, cars and vans came and went with no discernible pattern. People who weren’t his family did the same. Then, in an utterly surreal moment, they appeared in the frame—Natalie, Bryce, and Addison. He couldn’t see them clearly, not their faces or their expressions, no way to infer a story in their eyes, but he knew their shapes so well that he recognized them even from a distance. They were leaving the hotel, carrying their luggage.

Michael searched the area behind his family for the man in the army jacket and the baseball hat—the one from his mind-movie, the kidnapper with a gun—but no one accompanied them. Natalie had two suitcases in her possession, one in each hand. Addie wheeled one bag, her own, a pink hard-shell case decorated with white polka dots. She pulled Bryce along with her free hand.

Michael had a flashback to their arrival, how the kids had struggled with the revolving door (who doesn’t, with luggage?) He figured his children would want to go out the “moving door,” as Bryce called it, probably after taking a couple extra spins around. But he could see this departure wasn’t any fun. Natalie propped open a side door with her back, motioning urgently for Addie and Bryce to pass that way.

Why that door? Michael asked himself. Because she’s in a hurry, that’s why. She has someplace she has to be. But where? He couldn’t say, but as her head swiveled toward the camera, he could see there was tension on her face. What about?

Then it came to him: she was concerned he’d come back with pizza in time to see them all leaving.

Every second seemed to matter. There were a lot of bodies and luggage to maneuver, but Natalie did so in a calm and purposeful way. She did everything with intention. To Michael she looked clearheaded, not the least bit frazzled. It appeared to be, in a word, rehearsed.

Outside, in the carport, Michael could see his family more clearly. He didn’t see fear in his children’s eyes, though they did seem somewhat bewildered. They were looking about cautiously, taking in their surroundings. Or maybe they were searching for someone … perhaps even their father.

Whatever was going through Bryce’s mind, he didn’t seem to be aware that Teddy wasn’t with him.

There was a black sedan parked curbside. The burly driver jumped out when he saw Natalie approach, and immediately set to work putting the suitcases into the open trunk. Their brief exchange wasn’t without significance, Michael realized. The driver would have had no idea Natalie was his passenger unless it was prearranged.

Addison opened the rear door and climbed into the backseat, dragging Bryce inside with her. Natalie said something to the driver that the video didn’t capture, and then calmly, purposefully, got into the rear with the kids. She closed her own door. The driver clambered back into the front seat.

A second later, they were gone.

Dan hit pause on the playback. Michael sat with it, processing what he’d just seen. It was Detective Ouyang who eventually broke the silence.

“Well, that sure was enlightening,” she said. “I’d say, based on clear video evidence, that your wife is of sound mind and body. Looks to me, Michael, like she left this hotel willingly, of her own accord. Left you the same way.”