Have You Seen Me?

by Kate White

  “Yes, wine,” I say. We order two glasses of red and as soon as the waitress moves off, I glance back at Williams.

  “But what would he be doing in a park up there—at nine o’clock at night?” I ask. “When I spoke to him, he said he had an appointment.”

  Williams cups a hand over his mouth and then pulls it away. “Okay, I’m going to be perfectly blunt,” he says. “His car was found in a spot known for anonymous gay sex. He might have been targeted by a predator. Or there’s even a chance it was a hate crime.”

  “Kurt was gay?”

  Williams shrugs. “Maybe bisexual. He certainly wasn’t out, and I know he was married to a woman briefly in his thirties. He told me a few months ago that he was struggling with something and at the time I thought he was referring to depression. I tried to encourage him to open up, but I didn’t have any luck. Now I’m wondering if he was trying to work out his sexuality.”

  It’s not making any sense to me.

  “But if he was gay and looking for casual sex, there are easier ways to do it. Why not go on an app like Grindr, instead of traveling to a deserted site miles out of town?”

  “If he was feeling as conflicted as I think, the internet might not have felt anonymous enough for him,” he says. “This is a spot for someone who is really on the down low. There are married guys who pull up there in their SUVs on their way back to the burbs at the end of the workday. And Jay would have been familiar with it from a job he did a year or two ago. The wife thought the husband was seeing a woman at work, but Kurt tailed him to several parking lots north of the city and discovered he was hooking up with other men.”

  “Why bother telling me he had an appointment? He didn’t owe me an explanation.”

  “Maybe he was covering up for himself as much as for you.”

  I glance off, mulling over his words. For some reason my mind keeps resisting the story.

  “Look, I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this, too,” Williams says, as if reading my thoughts. “He did the same with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He left a message on my cell saying he had an appointment related to your case.”

  “My case? He didn’t say that when we spoke.”

  “So maybe it wasn’t true.”

  I feel a stab of fear, and instinctively I reach out and grasp Williams’s forearm.

  “Do you think there’s any chance Kurt was murdered because of me? Because of something he discovered?”

  “Ms. Linden, there’s no reason to go there. Like I said earlier, maybe Kurt needed to tell himself he had a different plan than trolling for anonymous sex.”

  “But I was pushed into the street last night at an intersection. Kurt wondered if I might have witnessed something I shouldn’t have.”

  “He ran that idea up the flagpole with me, too, but none of the video he obtained of you showed you in any kind of dangerous situation. Of course, there are still blocks of time unaccounted for.”

  The waitress returns with our drinks. I take a long sip of my wine and then a second. Williams has assured me there’s no reason to panic and all I can do is take him at his word. Still . . .

  “I’m sorry to make this all about me,” I say, setting the glass down. “This is a big loss for you. I take it you guys were friends as well as partners.”

  “We were.” He briefly presses a knuckle to his mouth. “This is tough, coming out of nowhere.”

  “Did Kurt have any family?”

  “A brother he hadn’t heard from in years, but he had a bunch of buddies, some still on the police force. I’m going to do my best to get ahold of people.”

  I nod.

  “I don’t want you to worry about this,” he adds, picking up the distress I’m unable to tamp down. “And don’t be concerned about the progress of your investigation, either. The cops took Kurt’s computer, but we have a shared server and I’ll start going through your file later tonight.”

  I feel grateful, which in turn triggers a flash of guilt. It pains me to think of Mulroney dead, but at the same time, I’m relieved not to lose any ground.

  A couple in the booth behind us slide across the vinyl seats, preparing to leave. I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been gone longer than the couple of hours I promised Hugh. I explain the situation to Williams, and he says he has to hustle, too.

  After paying the check, we step out onto Broadway, and Williams hands me his own business card, promising to check in tomorrow. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper so I say a rushed good-bye and hurry to the subway station three blocks south, where I can pick up the 1 train. I walk and text at the same time, telling Hugh I’m delayed but on my way.

  I live only a few stops south, but this is my first time back on the subway since coming unglued, and as I descend the steps, my dread builds. Once I’m on the platform, I hug the wall, pressing my back tightly against the filthy tiles. The train roars into the station, and though there’s an empty seat, I choose to stand instead, gripping the metal pole with both hands. I force myself to focus on the ads, repeating the words in my head.

  Mercifully the entire trip takes barely ten minutes and in five minutes more I’m unlocking the door to the apartment and letting myself in. I’m halfway into the great room when Hugh pads toward me from the bedroom hallway, barefoot, hair wet, and a large white towel wrapped around his waist. I’m surprised—he rarely showers in the evening, except on weekends, after a late tennis game or bike ride.

  “What’s going on, Ally?” he asks. I hear a tiny note of irritation entwined with his concern.

  “Something awful happened.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to me,” I say. “The detective I was using—the private eye. He was murdered last night.”

  “My god.”

  I unload the details, catching my breath a few times as I race through the story.

  “That’s horrible,” Hugh says.

  “It is. He was a nice guy. He seemed to want to help me.”

  And in that moment, I can hear Mulroney again in my head. His husky voice, the way he chuckled about me paying him the big bucks.

  “Ally, what is it?”

  I press my hands hard against my eye sockets, still thinking it through.

  “I can’t stop worrying that his death has something to do with my case. He told his partner he was working on it last night.”

  “But what about your situation could make someone want to kill him?”

  “What if I was witness to a crime during that time, and Mulroney was close to figuring it out?”

  “That seems like an awful stretch.”

  “Remember the bloody tissues in my pocket?”

  “You said those could have been from a nosebleed.”

  “But it wasn’t my blood type.”

  “Right. But I just don’t see how—”

  “Why do you keep dismissing everything I say, Hugh?” I’m practically shouting now. “I feel like I’m sitting on the wrong side of one of your depositions.”

  “I’m not dismissing your ideas, Ally. I’m just playing devil’s advocate, as I’m sure you’d do if our roles were reversed.”

  “Right, but I also need you to hear my concerns.”

  He steps closer, as if he’s about to hug me, but as he does, his towel loosens. Using both hands, he rolls the top of the towel over a couple of times to keep it from sliding. “We can talk more about this after I’m dressed, okay?” he says. “I ordered Japanese takeout. It should be here any minute.”

  Is that the best my husband can do on the comforting front tonight? Call out for sushi?

  “Sure,” I say testily. “Why did you need to take a shower tonight anyway?”

  “Just feeling grungy. I ended up working in the library at the office and it’s dusty in there.”

  “The dust got in your hair, too?”

  “Probably.”

  He turns, and I follow him down the corridor. As he slips into the bath
room, shutting the door behind him, I check my phone. There’s a text from Sasha, sounding borderline annoyed and asking when we can review next week’s material.

  And another, oddly enough, from Damien. How are you? is all he writes. Is he really concerned—or trying to control the narrative about Greenbacks? I don’t respond. Best to shut down contact with him going forward.

  Before I can set my phone on my desk, it pings with yet another text, this one from Gabby.

  I think I may live, she says.

  r u really better? I respond.

  Marginally. Soup eaten. Head now raised.

  Can I do anything for u?

  No, but thanks for all your texts. Sorry not to be there for u.

  Now’s not the time to fill her in. dn’t worry about it. miss u! I reply.

  I strip off my sweat-soaked blouse and swap it for a long-sleeved tee. As I’m wiggling into jeans, my eyes roam the bedroom. I’ve always loved all the white in here—walls, curtains, bedspread, the antique whitewashed dresser—and the space has always felt like a kind of sanctuary for me, and for us as a couple. But at this moment it seems stark and uninviting.

  My gaze settles on Hugh’s bedside table. His phone is lying there, nestled beside his keys, his money clip, and a crinkled receipt. I approach, nearly on tiptoe, and pluck the receipt from the pile. It’s from a liquor store, for two bottles of wine, and my stomach clenches until I recall the plastic bag I spotted earlier on the top of the island.

  I tuck the receipt back under the phone and listen. From the bathroom comes the sound of Hugh’s electric toothbrush. With my eye trained on the bathroom door, I reach now for the phone and quickly type in the password. I go to recent calls and scroll down.

  It takes a few seconds before I see a call to Ashley Budd. I nearly gasp at the sight of her name. The call was made two and a half weeks ago. And there are two more a week before that.

  The whirring sound from the bathroom ceases. I set the phone back down and flip it over, so Hugh won’t notice the screen’s lit. I’ve barely withdrawn my hand when the door swings open. Dressed now, he quickly grabs his phone from the table and stuffs it in his back pocket.

  “Food not here yet?”

  “No.” Although maybe the concierge rang and I didn’t hear it because of the blood pulsing hard between my ears. Hugh lied to me. He’s been in touch with this Ashley, Sasha’s good buddy. He’s called her more than once, meaning he might be meeting with her, or even hooking up. Was he with her tonight? For the very first time, I seriously consider the fact that my husband could be having an affair.

  But then why no recent calls? Maybe he’s put things on hold because of my problems. Or he’s bought a burner phone solely for contact with her.

  “Are you thinking about your detective? I’m sorry I didn’t sound more sympathetic.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I picked up some wine. Would you like a glass?” The buzzer rings from the other side of the apartment. “I’ll get that.”

  My stomach’s roiling. I don’t even know how I can eat tonight or carry on a normal conversation with him. Though honestly, when was the last time I had a conversation with Hugh that felt the least bit normal?

  My phone rings, jarring me again. It’s Jay Williams.

  “Have you got a minute?” he asks when I answer.

  “Of course.” It takes all my mental energy to force my attention on the call.

  “I looked through the notes on your case to see if there were any red flags.”

  “And were there?”

  “None obvious to me. But can you get me up to speed on a few things? When you spoke to Kurt last night, I assume he filled you in on where he was in the investigation?”

  I explain how Mulroney told me I spent all Tuesday night at my WorkSpace office, possibly sleeping, and even more time than previously noted in the East Village on Wednesday. I describe finding my purse and learning about my trip to the restaurant Pairings.

  “It looks like Kurt also spoke to a waitress who saw you the first morning you went missing.”

  “Oh, right. And I apparently told her I needed to get down to Forty-Second Street, though I have no clue why. At this point in time, Tuesday afternoon is still a total blank. But that’s when my phone went missing and when I think something must have happened to me.”

  “Okay, give me a minute while I skim the notes again.”

  In my mind’s eye I see him leaning forward, squinting at his computer screen. Suddenly I’m aware of noises coming from the rest of apartment—the murmur of Hugh’s voice as he pays the delivery guy, the crinkle of a paper bag. My stomach knots as I’m torn back to my ugly discovery from five minutes ago. What am I going to do about Hugh?

  Williams has asked me another question.

  “Sorry, can you repeat that?” I say.

  “Did Kurt mention the letters G.C. to you? Do you know someone with these initials?”

  “G.C.? No, why?”

  “He added them with a question mark toward the end of his notes.”

  “Um, my best friend’s name is Gabby Kane, but she spells it with a K, not a C.”

  “Okay, if anything comes to you, will you let me know right away?”

  “Of course. Is that the last thing in his notes?”

  “Yes, from yesterday afternoon. He apparently didn’t have a chance to update the file any further before he went out.”

  There’s a pause. I sense him hesitating.

  “One more thing before I let you go.” His tone seems ever more sober now. “I’d left messages for a few buddies of Kurt’s, and one of them called me back a minute ago. He said he spoke to Kurt right around the same time you did, and they agreed to meet up later for beers.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “He said Kurt told him he was on a job and couldn’t meet him until after nine.”

  “Which is basically what he told us. That he was working.”

  “Yeah. Like I said earlier, maybe he just needed to hear himself say it, but there’s a chance he really was working and went to that park for another reason besides sex. I’m sharing everything I know with the cops, and I’m going to go up there tomorrow and have a look around.”

  “You think he met with someone who ended up killing him?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Something related to my investigation? I’ve never even heard of that park before.”

  “Look, we have a bunch of cases going at the moment, which means Kurt was sometimes dealing with more than one during a single time frame. He could have been meeting someone in regard to another case but making calls on the drive about yours. That said, I think it pays for you to be careful.”

  “How?” I ask, my panic ballooning. “How do I be careful?”

  “I’d keep a low profile for now. If you do have to go out, travel by cab. Don’t go anyplace unfamiliar. And get your husband to accompany you if you can.”

  My husband, the man I don’t seem to know anymore.

  I thank Williams for his advice, and after we hang up, I stand motionless in the middle of the bedroom. From a distance I hear a paper bag tear open and containers being plunked down on the counter. Then the pop of a cork from a wine bottle.

  I’m not sure what terrifies me more: the idea that I’m possibly responsible for Mulroney’s death and the killer is after me as well. Or that my husband might be involved with another woman.

  But there’s one thing I do know for sure. I have to get out of here. This apartment. And the city, too.

  27

  SESSION WITH DR. ERLING

  Can you see me okay, Ally?” Dr. Erling asks. We’ve just begun our Saturday Skype session and I’m looking at her from my laptop. She’s sitting at a desk, and from the carved wood bookcase behind her, I can tell she’s in her home office in Larchmont.

  “Yup.”

  “This isn’t an ideal way to meet, I know, but it’s good we’re able to connect this weekend.”

  I nod, agreeing. It’
s definitely not the best way—she seems almost two-dimensional—but I really needed the session. I notice that my heart’s already starting to race a little. Maybe it’s because of how much I have to unload—in less than an hour.

  “Are you Skyping from your apartment?” she asks.

  In a rush, I tell her no, I’m not there. That I took an Uber to New Jersey this morning, and I’m currently sitting in the den/library of my brother Roger’s house.

  “My sister-in-law is on some kind of girls’ trip to Florida this weekend,” I explain, “but she comes back on Monday and then I don’t know. I mean, I really don’t have a clue where I’m going to be after that.”

  Erling’s brow knits slightly in confusion. “Why don’t you have a clue where you’ll be?”

  “I’m not sure what my options are. I don’t want to be in my apartment right now—even in the city. God, I don’t know where to start. . . . I’m pretty sure Hugh’s cheating on me. I kept thinking that the reason he seemed so detached lately was because he was worried about me and also because of this colossal case he’s in the middle of, but I started to hear these warning bells. So I checked his phone.” Before she can react, I continue. “I’ve always been respectful of Hugh’s privacy, I really have, but I had to know—and it turns out he’s been in touch with this woman named Ashley from law school who he told me he barely knew.”

  “Did you ask Hugh to explain why he’d been in contact with her?”

  “No, and I know that makes me seem like a total wuss. But I don’t want to confront him yet, not until I have proof beyond something I found snooping. Right now, all I have to go on are the calls.”

  She does the pregnant pause thing, studying me but not speaking, as if encouraging me to fill the void.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” I say. “That maybe she simply wanted to network or pick his brain about her career. But Hugh knows I’m not the superjealous type, and if he’d told me he’d run into her and they met for a drink so he could help with her job search, I’d be fine with that, I really would. But the fact that he said they weren’t in contact means something, I’m sure.”

  “This must be very distressing for you, Ally.”