Page 55 of The Shadow Friends

“Excuse me,” Lloyd called out. “Do you speak English?”

The woman said, cautiously, “I do.” She approached them, and as she moved away from that bright window, her features came into view. She was in her forties, with cropped brown hair, dressed in a fitted blazer and dark slacks.

“We’re looking for this man. We think he lives in the neighborhood.” Lloyd held out his cell phone with the man’s photo.

The woman studied the photo with narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking for him?”

“He, um—we think—”

“He’s a witness to an accident at that bus stop,” said Maggie. “It happened right as this photo was taken. We’d like to find him.”

The woman gave Maggie a long, thoughtful look. “He lives upstairs, Apartment 225,” she finally said.

“And his name?”

“Willem Dekker. But he works evenings, so he’s probably sleeping now. You should come back tonight, after he comes home from work.”

“What time would that be?”

“Try him at midnight. I’ll leave a note to let him know to expect you.” The woman turned and headed for the stairs.

“Wait!” said Lloyd. “One more question, if you don’t mind.” Quickly he scrolled to an image of Ingrid, and he handed the phone to the woman. “Have you ever seen her?”

“Who is she?”

“My wife.”

The woman handed the phone back to him. “I am sorry. I have never seen this woman.”

“I hope we didn’t blow our hand by alerting him,” said Maggie.

They had just finished dinner, but Lloyd had hardly touched his meal. In their circle of friends, Lloyd had always been the one with the heartiest appetite, a fact made obvious by his waistline, but tonight he’d only picked at his pork chop and hadn’t even looked at the dessert menu. This was not the Lloyd she knew, the man who was a lifelong member of the clean-plate club. While Maggie had managed to catch a few hours of sleep, Lloyd looked like he had not rested at all. Nor had he shaved, and his chin was rough with gray stubble.

“That was my fault,” said Lloyd. “I know, I know. I should have let you handle it. I just needed to find out.”

“There were other ways to go about it, ways that didn’t call attention to us, but it may not matter, anyway. Ben and Declan haven’t been able to find any information about Willem Dekker, so we don’t know if he’s significant. This could be a dead end.”

“It’s the timing,” he said. “That means something. Ingrid receives the man’s photo, deletes it, and empties the trash folder. Then she packs up and poof, disappears. You have to admit that’s significant.”

“Yes.” Maggie sighed. “I suppose it is.”

“You suppose it is? What happened to assembling the data, interpreting its significance, making predictions? It’s what we do. It’s what I did.”

“But you weren’t out in the field, Lloyd. You didn’t have to deal with the consequences when your predictions turned out wrong.”

“I’m already dealing with the consequences. My wife is missing.”

“She chose to go missing. That’s a completely different set of circumstances.”

“All right, she chose to vanish. But she’s still gone, and I want to know why.”

“I want to know as well. I’m just worried that . . .”

“What?”

“Maybe we won’t like the answer.”

“The answer being what? That she can’t tell us the truth because it’s not pretty? That she’s done something wrong, and can’t bring herself to tell us?”