The Woman Hidden

by Lucas Mattias

  “He was good-looking,” Georgia coldly replied, ignoring the man’s current state. “Here says that they found multiple lacerations…”

  “He was attacked, probably a struggle for survival.”

  Georgia turned the picture in a different angle, her face moving a little far from the page while, still down, she tried to see better the picture hovering above her head.

  “He seems to be tall, strong…”

  “You have a crush on the corpse.”

  “He wouldn’t leave a warning note behind,” she replied in a smile, “But I would say that, to bring such a man down and leave him so bruised, it would take a big person… not a missing girl.”

  Anthon lifted his brows in a partial agreeance.

  He couldn’t suppose anything until he had all the facts, but he wouldn’t take the hypothesis for granted. He was still knees-deep into the reports from the first responders to the crime scene he didn’t want to lose his focus with Georgia’s comments, although they were productive at times. For that matter, he preferred to ignore the light joke about leaving a note. He had left one to her, when he needed to urgently go for the trip in a hurry, writing on a crumpled piece of paper removed from a useless file: “I had to go, cya soon”. Cold, but right to the point and he had little to no time to write it.

  “What I still can’t quite understand,” she took a beat while trying to bring herself up and looking for some specific information on the papers around her body. “It’s the death of this woman.”

  Anthon raised his head and looked for the picture Georgia showed him of a lady who looked peaceful and like someone who had much more past to talk about than the man in the previous photo.

  “Mrs. Allembert. Nobody could, actually.”

  One of Georgia’s eyebrows lifted and she moved back down, facing more files from above her head.

  “The woman was found by passers-by, massive heart-attack.”

  “Sudden death?”

  “Possibly. Do you wanna know what’s really creepy in this death?” Anthon, supporting himself with his right elbow, turned to Georgia, placing the report he had in hands on the floor. “They said she was running away from her husband on the night she died.”

  Georgia barely blinked. He felt frustrated when she didn’t understand the mood he was trying to set when leaving the message incomplete.

  “Her husband’s been dead for years.”

  Now he had her attention. Although slightly distant, she was interested.

  “Ghosts in the mountains?”

  “Seems so. And that’s not the only report.” Anthon sighed, laughing at himself at the same time. “The more I go through this case, the more absurd it seems.”

  “Do not go too deep into it or you can end up locked in a hotel, haunted to madness and chased by a rabid dog.”

  “You lost me on the references.”

  “King,” she chuckled. “Stephen King.”

  Anthon felt his stomach swirl and it took him a few seconds to realize it was not any of his organs, but his phone, which rested nearby. It was not a text message, but a precinct call and not a call from any random department. That was a call from the IT department. Before he could ask Georgia for some privacy, she stood up, ignoring the fact she had been wearing nothing but a badly buttoned shirt and disappeared across the room.

  “Raphael?” Anthon answered it, sitting down so he could sound better and, due some unfounded logic, so that he could hear better.

  “Detective Gilles, I hope I’m not interrupting your retreat.”

  “No, you’re not, I’m busy with a case. But I have to say I’m confused by your call.”

  “A few weeks ago you asked me to analyze your mobile phone?”

  “Oh, yes, the unauthorized access.”

  “Yup. And I told you there were no signs of any unauthorized accesses.”

  Anthon already knew it and couldn’t understand the reason for the boy calling him just to talk him through the same procedures he had already confirmed before.

  “Listen, I’m not…”

  “One of the interns passed the information forwards and he passed it wrong, detective. That’s the reason of my call.”

  Georgia reappeared, this time with two glasses of whiskey in hands. Oh, the whiskey. She walked to him and gave him one of them, the one that had a little more liquor in it.

  “And the correct information is…?”

  “The intern, Travis, was misled. He was looking for signs of unauthorized accesses, only, ignoring other factors. So, there I was, all happy and revising some analysis when I stumbled upon one of the reports related to your case, so I decided to check it again, you know, just to make my--”

  “Raphael.”

  “There was no unauthorized access because the deletion of the documents was done by you.”

  Anthon rolled his eyes, grunting.

  “If I had deleted the files myself I would…”

  “Look, I get it, okay? But that’s what I got from the system. On the date you requested the analysis, the device was unlocked by you and used by you, who caused the deletion right afterwards.”

  Anthon still couldn’t comprehend. As far as he could remember, he was not a sleepwalker, let alone crazy enough to forget having done something so serious as…

  He took a sip from his whiskey and, as he did it, he captured Georgia from above the edge of the glass, calmly sitting down and absent-minded, trying to read and understand the information she had around herself in all those papers.

  “Can you tell me the exact time it happened?”

  The call fell in silence for a few instants, until the reply came:

  “A quarter past eleven at night.”

  Anthon froze. From above his glass he kept on staring at her, trying to recall that night in which he had almost lost his entire career. Would it be too stupid to consider it was all just a coincidence that everything had happened right after he met her and that it all had happened in the same night they first slept together? She was the only person in that room, wasn’t she?

  “Detective?” The voice called him back, his attention returning to the present.

  “Thank you.”

  And he turned it off, putting it by his side and still observing his inspiring muse as he tried to recollect everything he knew about her.

  Georgia Meade. Lawyer. Newly unemployed. Looking for a new adventure, an experience beyond her frivolous and basic life. A predator. A woman who met him by chance in a random street and who had much more attitude in showing out that sudden attraction than he did.

  No. What was stupid, in fact, was believing she could be giving him all those headaches. Georgia could even be frequently too mysterious and absent in mind, but she didn’t possess a bad aura. Not wanting to consider himself a bad detective, but fully aware of his abilities, he knew he would be able to point out all the characteristics that would lead him to believe she had second or even forth intentions regarding their proximity. And those characteristics weren’t there. She didn’t have an escapist behavior, nor she seemed to compulsively lie about herself or her past. Even though she could evade some questions when they revealed to be too intimate, it didn’t stop her from having conversations of from keeping herself solid both in her words and in her voice. It all pointed her to be a person called normal.

  Nonetheless, he thought, that could also indicate some extreme level of psychopathy.

  Or maybe just a superficial thought from an overloaded and kind of neurotic mind. Anthon took a longer gulp from the drink while his though zigzagged through his brains, increasing his anxieties even more.

  “What happened?” She asked when noticing his eyes stuck in her.

  “Precinct updates.”

  “You seem worried.”

  She blinked a few times, her eyes like emeralds shining behind her long and masked lashes. Not even her dark bangs could dim that spark.

  “No, I…” Anthon noticed that if he talked, he would get lost. “I’m just think
ing, that’s all.”

  “Gee,” she exhaled suddenly, jumping afoot. “It’s almost five.”

  Shit. Anthon punched the floor underneath his body and pulled himself up too, looking around in a search for his clothes.

  The date with Monica. Ever since he travelled, they hadn’t talked to each other, but she seemed engaged to force that moment, probably trying to discuss divorce. And Anthon knew he was not ready for that talk. He was aware of what he was doing and of everything happening in his life, but he didn’t know if he was ready to deal with an official separation. He didn’t even know if he wanted to get rid of her, actually. Their relationship was cold and distant, but she was still the woman to whom he had promised spending the rest of his life beside.

  He felt his blood pressure fail when he stood up, taking some time until he felt stable enough to find strengths to put himself into some clothes.

  “Are you leaving, too?” He asked when he saw Georgia also getting dressed.

  “I need to talk to an old friend, but I should be back soon. You?”

  “Monica.”

  She didn’t even seem affected by the news when she threw her coat above her own shoulders and searched the bed for her handbag. Though Anthon was comfortable enough in having Georgia as nothing more than a close intimate friend for fun moments and long conversations and nothing else, sometimes that distance she put between them bothered him. And now, suspecting her to be sabotaging his investigation, it all became more complicated.

  “Do you think you’re ready to see her?” Georgia asked, swinging in her hands an object she had found: his wallet.

  “I have no options,” He replied while grabbing his wallet back. “We need to work our thing soon.”

  “Good luck.”

  Georgia smiled and grabbed her bag at last, already putting her shows on. As agile and hyperactive as she could be, there was still some cadence, some magic on observing her to get dressed and ready to leave, as if she followed a set of steps and routines that allowed her to find everything in its place and leaving everything behind in perfect conditions. And man, she was stunning, although hidden beneath layers of coats and her hair all messed up and dark, just like Anthon’s mind in that moment. It was not possibly true that Georgia was a criminal, much less someone trying to fuck him over. She was just… Georgia.

  Not long after she left he did the same, speeding his car through the avenues, trying to avoid a much longer delay. He considered using his siren, but he knew that would be a crime and he didn’t want to abuse his authority, mostly while on a leave from his duties.

  Monica had texted him during his trip, requesting a meeting at the restaurant they used to go quite often, downtown, nothing so pompous or flaunting, just a simple restaurant he believed to be a strategy of hers. That was the same restaurant in which he had proposed to her, the place where they had decided their future together, stage of so many good moments from the past. Now he just had to arrive as less late as possible to discuss another future, a future torn between leaving some convictions so that they could go on together or throwing it all up just to see what he could end up with.

  When he parked near the restaurant, Anthon felt the vertigo once more, a little stronger than before and he blamed it on the alcohol. He had taken a few drinks before on an empty stomach and now, with a little help from Georgia and her unsurmountable energy, he feared another collapse.

  Anthon climbed out of his car and tossed the keys to the valet, already heading to the main entrance. Through the restaurant’s window he saw her, sitting at the same usual table, her always stiff and focus posture in a black tight dress and her auburn hair pulled up in an elaborate bun, which had probably cost her hours and a significant amount of money.

  He didn’t need introductions to the hostess, she already knew him and just smiled as she received the usual gentle tip from every time he went there, showing him with a discreet movement the table to which he should follow afterward.

  Anthon straightened his tie and shirt, just to look a little less of a late mess and sat as a child who just arrive at school a few minutes after the bell ringing.

  Monica said nothing, she just lifted her eyes from the menu to briefly stare at him and twisted her lips into a sneer.

  “Always on time.”

  He raised his shoulders.

  “At least now I’m here.”

  Monica took a deep breath and moved her head up, then to the right and, after feeling the stretch, she did the same to the left. She was tired, probably after a long day of meetings and important arguments, and much more probably she was not that interested in another argument that could easily be avoided.

  “Have you ordered already?” Anthon questioned, opening the menu he had in front of him, trying to read Monica’s signals.

  “I was waiting for you, but I’m not really hungry.”

  He returned the menu to the table, puzzled. He didn’t want to fight. He wouldn’t fight.

  “Well, so we can just talk.”

  Staring at Monica again, he found it difficult to focus on her. She had become a blur of mixed tones, her skin tone blended to the tone of her hair and to the obfuscated glimmering of her diamonds and jewels against his eyes. Something was really wrong. He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale, trying to recover his stability.

  “You don’t look good, Anthon.”

  “I’m… as far as possible. It’s not like I enjoy living in a hotel room.”

  “You should have considered what you enjoy before taking certain decisions.”

  “No decision has been taken yet.”

  “Yet.” She replied, curving her lips in a quick smile. Then she turned to the waiter beside their table. “Gin tonic. And a Cobb salad, please.”

  Anthon gestured he was fine and waited for the boy to go away.

  “There’s no need for being acid.”

  “I need it to be worth of my while, Anthon.”

  He frowned, slowly leaning back in order to absorb and digest that idea. Also to try and calm that trembling of his hands. Out of nowhere his heart seemed to be a little faster, the same way he would feel whenever in a stakeout during an investigation. For a couple of minutes, he turned to the window and faced the busy street outside, just to assure himself there was nobody watching him from distance.

  “I… what do you mean?”

  As the well-trained, high society lady she was, Monica delicately turned and removed a white envelope from her handbag, hanging from the chair by its handle.

  “I requested the divorce papers this morning.”

  She put the envelop in front of him, intertwining her fingers under her chin afterwards.

  “Monica, I figured that…”

  “I haven’t signed them, Anthon.” It was like Monica’s face was the one of a marble Italian statue, where only her mouth moved and the eyes, sometimes, mechanically blinked. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  He opened the envelope and removed the papers from it. It was a stack of some twenty or thirty pages, give it or take it, duly stapled and dripping all the formality that type of document was entitled to. The most ironic on that situation was that, at the end of it all, he wasn’t sure about what he wanted either, although that whole scene had made him a little more inclined on signing the papers. It was unfair of her to present the future plan of their lives in such a public place which offered him no privacy or space to let off the steam or whatever he wanted to put out. Perhaps that was her intention all along.

  “I want you to analyze it, Anthon. I want you to analyze what is going on, to analyze this life you’re living.”

  “You knew about this life I’m living when you accepted getting married to--”

  “I accepted getting married to a man already married to his job. Not to a man who had affairs in cheap hotels.”

  They were not cheap hotels. Actually, it was only one hotel. And it was costing him a lot more he had planned initially.

  “I do not have affairs.”

&
nbsp; “Affair. Whatever, Anthon. Have you got any idea on how humiliating it is to me? Knowing I’m still trying to dedicate myself to this relationship when you are shoving yourself into a random pair of legs?”

  He could feel the anger coming out from her, though she kept her voice low and calm.

  “Monica, that… that was an isolated incident.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  Anthon held the answer back in his throat for a while, the feeling of being observed or stalked kept on poking him. Seamlessly, he looked around, watching every table and clients present at the room, once more taking a glance to the restaurant’s window. Nothing. Maybe it was just one of those impressions, although strong enough to leave his stomach strongly crumpled as if what once had been butterflies had turned into wild cats.

  “Monica, you are worth it to me.”

  She waited. The waiter returned, placing her ordered drink in front of her. The salad, probably, would take a little more to arrive.

  “So convince me, Anthon. Because I’m still not confident about what to do. It is like my mind says it’s right to sign the papers and move on with my life, while my heart says that there’s still…” She held on to her words for a while. As if in an event that’ll happen only every dozen years, Monica was giving herself into the feelings and about to cry. “There’s still something good in you, in us. I don’t want to give up without knowing I tried, Anthon. But I want my life back. I don’t want to keep on being the wife who waits and longs for her husband during the nights or who spends the whole day dwelling on it and suffering, thinking whether her husband is fucking a nubile girl in her own house.”

  “I never…”

  “I’m not finished.” She took a sip from her drink, avoiding direct eye contact with her husband. “I don’t want to spend my day wondering if you’re going to call me or show up, wondering if you still want to be by me or… if you still want me. I don’t want to be the neurotic wife, Anthon, I don’t want to lose if because of you. Because you are making me crazy with all this shit and I can barely focus myself on what I need to focus on.”

  On an impulsive movement, Anthon reached for her hand, which rested at the table by the gin glass. And in an even more surprising movement, Monica didn’t retreat. She simply sighed and held her tears again.