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“The neighbor,” Isabel had said. “Someone without a personal reason for wanting to give Mom some good news.” The detective, without getting into details, had said a former neighbor of Brie’s had reported seeing someone who looked like her.
“We have to find that person,” Albert said.
So Albert and Isabel had driven to Mulberry Street and found Max, who confirmed he was the one who’d called Detective Hardy about what he’d witnessed. (Norman had felt that they could handle this mission without him, and went home to check on their son and daughter, both in their mid-teens.)
Albert had asked Max whether he’d be willing to accompany them to the hospital and tell their mother what he’d seen. He’d be a more credible witness, Albert and Isabel argued. Not only would he have no reason to lie to Elizabeth, he’d gotten a much closer look at this woman than Albert and Isabel had from the hospital window.
With some reluctance, he agreed.
And now he was standing next to Elizabeth’s bed, but it was Albert who set the stage for the story he was about to tell.
“Mother,” said Albert, “there’s been something of a development today with regard to Brie.”
Elizabeth sat up in bed, surprisingly quickly, considering her health. Her face was a plane crash, every fold in her aging skin diving in anticipation of bad news.
“Oh God,” she said. “They found her.” And by her expression, it was obvious Elizabeth feared it was her daughter’s body that had been found.
Isabel jumped in. “No, Mom, it’s not like that. Just wait. Listen to what Max has to say, and then … then Albert and I have something to tell you as well.”
Albert turned to Max. “Over to you.”
Max told his tale. Elizabeth listened carefully and without interruption. When Max was done, she nodded thoughtfully.
“I see,” she said. “I have a few questions.”
“Of course,” Max said.
“How much distance was there between you and this woman?”
“I would guess maybe thirty, forty feet.”
“Do you drink?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you drink, Max? Had you been drinking the night before?”
“A couple of beers, maybe.”
“If, hypothetically, my daughter were to call you on the phone, out of the blue, would you recognize her voice?”
“Uh, well—”
Albert felt a need to step in. “You’ll have to excuse my mother, Max. Her background’s in journalism and fact-checking and always getting it right.”
Elizabeth shot her son a look. “Don’t apologize on my behalf.” She focused on Max again. “Would you know her voice?”
“I don’t suppose I would. But this woman didn’t not sound like Brie, if you know what I mean.”
Elizabeth’s expression turned sour. “Did you get a look at the license plate on the car?”
“No.”
“Did she call you by name, like she knew you?”
“No.”
Elizabeth found the strength to lift her hands six inches off the bed and wave them dismissively. “Thank you, Max.”
