Part 1: Lost
“What do you mean, ‘She hasn’t called in.’?” Remington demanded. He’d perfectly timed his arrival at the agency just a short twenty minutes before lunchtime
“That’s just it, Boss. I haven’t heard from her since we left yesterday.” Mildred wrinkled her forehead with concern. “I'm worried she’s taken ill or something. She’s not answering at home.”
Annoyed that his plans for a mid-day lunch followed by a dessert of cajoling Miss Holt into attending the Bette Davis film festival were thwarted, he crossed his arms. “No calls at all,” he stated with irritation.
“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “She missed an appointment this morning on the Carrollton case too.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Now that was a cause for concern. Laura might antagonize him by skipping out of the workplace today--knowing well his penchant for mid-afternoon movies on Wednesdays--but she would never miss a client meeting.
“Cancel any other appointments. I’m going to find her.”
*****
Outside her loft, Remington saw the missing lock and rapped twice to get Laura’s attention. After the third round, he raked his hand through his hair and shoved at the door, frowning when it slid open.
“Laura?” He pitched his voice to carry through the small space.
The silence unnerved him. Uncomfortable at intruding on his partner’s privacy, especially in light of their bumpy relationship that lurched along with all the grace of a lumbering elephant, he only scanned her living space. Her purse sat in its usual spot on her desk with the Rabbit’s keys poking out of the top. Relieved at finding evidence she hadn’t left, Remington settled in on her sofa to wait for her to return. He spent his time polishing the pointed remarks he intended to make about her unannounced absence.
An hour later, he paced her loft with his hands stuffed in his pockets, growing angry at her continued absence. He began a seemingly idle search of her loft, noting the smallest out-of-place items.
It was in the bathroom that he drew his brows together in real concern. Feeling invasive, he picked up the packet of birth control pills lying on the bathroom counter. The inside had a white label plastered to it--and by all indications it was a new prescription, begun only the prior week. Firmly, he staunched the immediate grin. For all he knew, she had only renewed a standing prescription. He started to close the case when the days caught his attention. The entire previous week's pills, plus Sunday and Monday, were missing from the pack. But Tuesday’s pill still remained.
That’s not right. No phone call to the agency, her purse still on the desk, an open door and a pill that wasn’t missing. He crossed his arms again. Laura frequently accused him of jumping to conclusions too quickly. It was her way of reminding him that she was senior detective of the partnership. But Remington scratched his chin for a moment, then plunged in and began searching her place for clues as to her whereabouts anyway--knowing she would have words with him if she discovered his intrusion.
By mid-afternoon though, he had sunk down on her sofa in defeat. He punched in the office number. “Mildred, has Miss Holt called in?”
“No, Chief. No sign of her?”
“None.”
“This isn’t like her, Mr. Steele.”
He shook his head. “I know.”
A dark frisson made its way from his throat to the pit of his
stomach.
Remington stayed that night on her sofa, fraught with increasing anxiety. He didn’t sleep, opting instead to pace alternately with clicking through the television channels. In the middle of the night, he made a dash to his own flat on the off chance she might have gone there for some reason--but she hadn’t.
At eight in the morning, he made the uncomfortable call to Laura’s mother and sister to see if they knew of her whereabouts. Neither had any idea--and then he had two hysterical women to calm afterward.
He and Mildred canvassed the neighbors looking for clues and came up empty-handed. In equal parts fury and fright, Remington lashed out to the older woman. “Miss Holt is always so damned concerned about the agency’s reputation; how in the bloody hell does she think we’ll look if we can’t find a missing associate?”
Mildred put her hands on her hips. “Chief, you’ve got to get hold of yourself. It’s time to start looking harder. She might be in a jail, or a hospital or--” She pressed her lips together, putting the back of a hand to her mouth.
Remington blanched. “A morgue,” he finished unsteadily. “You take the hospitals; I’ll check the ... other … and talk with the police.”
The morgue turned up empty, thank God, of anyone bearing Laura’s description. After speaking with an officer, Remington declined to file a missing persons report. If his associate appeared in the next day or so, she’d be furious--citing lack of trust or some other nonsense in her ire.
He picked apart her loft again, looking for any hint of what might have happened. Over a hasty meal of takeout Chinese in his flat, he recounted to Mildred the few clues he'd found. “No sign of struggle in the loft. It appears she vanished sometime Tuesday evening. She either went with someone voluntarily or was kidnapped rather cleanly, Ms. Krebs. But she left her purse and passport, so I think the latter is more likely,” he speculated.
“Then why haven’t we received a ransom note?” Mildred asked.
Thinking about some of the more nefarious persons he’d known in his previous life, he shook his head. “Not every kidnapping is about money. Someone might have wanted revenge for a past case--although that seems unlikely as I’m usually the target for that sort of thing.”
“What else could it be?”
Remington steepled his fingers on his temples. “The other side of kidnapping is someone becoming obsessed with her and wanting to keep her … rather like that Wally fellow some time ago.”
“But she hasn’t mentioned anyone stalking her or acting strange,” Mildred commented.
“No,” he agreed. The deep pit opened wide in his stomach as he came to the realization that something awful indeed had happened to his partner. And he, for one, had no idea what to do next.
The following day, Remington filed that missing persons report with the police. Without any more clues, Remington and Mildred took the case to the media, hoping someone somewhere had seen anything that might give them a lead. He cringed as he gave the details in a short press conference. Laura would flay him for this. Imagine a private investigation firm needing to go to the media to find a missing associate. With practiced ease, he spun the story to downplay the lack of clues and highlight the need for speedy recovery.
While Mildred handled the firestorm of calls to the agency--mostly from concerned clients and reporters wanting interviews with Mr. Steele--Remington began sifting through every underworld connection he had made through the years. Bribes slid across tables and snitches across Los Angeles began milking their network of contacts for information. Steele, always known for his generosity when it came to good leads, would pay out a handsome sum for this one.
But by Sunday night, with no clues--not a hint as to why Laura had disappeared--Remington cradled his head in his hands in despair. She’d been missing for five days. The thought that she’d walked out of her--his--life was inconceivable. In the short weeks after their visit to the Friedlich Spa, the pair of them had taken real, if tentative, steps toward becoming partners in a whole different sense.
It had started with a simple conversation. Laura had asked him to tell her one thing about his childhood before Daniel had appeared. And he’d answered--honestly and in detail--knowing that a simple prank or con wouldn’t fulfill her request. He’d given her a short narrative about one muggy summer spent on the London docks. Her pale face had reflected her genuine revulsion for his plight at that young age, yet she could smile at the occasional brazen exploit that he and his mates pulled off with aplomb.
His reward had been a kiss that made his knees weak. As his hands had skimmed across the denim of her well-fitted jeans, she’d muttered something under her breath about “five more days.” He’d assumed it was the wrong time of the month, and perhaps it was, but given the little pill pack he’d discovered in her bathroom, the words took on a whole new meaning. Work had interfered, of course; such was the nature of their business. Even Laura had expressed her frustrations while on their last stakeout. She’d looked so miserable he hadn’t the heart to tease her about their latest missed opportunity.
Given all that, he couldn’t imagine Laura would have vanished for any legitimate reason--which left kidnapping or blackmail. Mildred had spent the past few days combing through the client base looking for ones with a grudge. But none had any reason to target Laura over himself.
That left someone who had a particular obsession with Miss Holt.
As he began a mental list of possibilities, the phone rang.
To Part 2
9 January 2010
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