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“Iknewsomething wasn’t rightas soon as I saw that cell phone lying out here in the street,” said Agnes Kaminsky. “I knocked on her door and she didn’t answer, but the door wasn’t locked. Your motheralwayslocks her door because of all the horror stories you tell her. That’s why I called you.”
With a mounting sense of alarm, Jane examined her mother’s cell phone. There was a photo of Regina on the cell phone case, which left no doubt this was indeed Angela’s phone. She wanted to believe there was a perfectly benign reason for why it had been lying in the street, that perhaps her mother had gone out for a walk and simply dropped it, but that did not explain why she’d left her front door unlocked. When your daughter is a homicide cop, when your boyfriend is a retired cop, and you’ve heard all their stories about predators in the big city, you never fail to lock your door.
“Her house is fine inside,” said Agnes. “Nobody’s robbed it.”
“You’ve already been inside?”
“Well, I had to check. We ladies living alone have to keep an eye on each other.”
Just a few weeks ago, Agnes and Angela weren’t even speaking to each other. Now it seemed they were best buddies. Life moved fast.
“She didn’t make her bed but shedidmake coffee and the pot’s still warm,” said Agnes. “And there are two cups on the kitchen table, so she had a visitor. If that means anything.”
Jane stepped into the house with Agnes tagging along, trailing her usual miasma of cigarette smoke. There on the foyer table, in its regular place, was Angela’s purse and her house keys. Another bad sign. They headed into the kitchen, where the carafe was indeed still warm. And on the table were two empty coffee mugs, just as Agnes had described.
Someone visited this morning. Someone who’d sat down at this table and sipped coffee with Angela.
“You see?” said Agnes. “It’s just like I told you.”
Jane turned to her. “Did you see who was visiting?”
“No. I was busy watching QVC. They’re selling these newfangled vacuum cleaners and I think I might want one.” She pointed to the cell phone. “Don’t you know how to unlock that thing? Maybe she called someone or someone called her. Maybe that’s the vital clue.”
Jane frowned at her mother’s phone. It required a six-digit code to unlock it.She’s my mother. I should know this.She typed in her mother’s birthdate. Wrong code. She typed her own birthdate. Wrong code.
“That’s your little girl, right?” said Agnes.
“What?”
“On the phone case. That’s her picture. Before she started going to preschool, she was here with your mother almost every day. Angie misses her something awful.”
Of course, thought Jane, and she typed in Regina’s birthdate.
The phone magically unlocked and opened to the screen that had last been in use: the camera. She clicked on the most recent image. The photo was the back of a white van, and it was taken two hours ago, at 1:12p.m.
“That’s our street,” said Agnes, leaning in to look at the screen. “It’s right out front.”
Jane went outside to the sidewalk and stood at about the same spot her mother had been standing when the photo was taken. There was no van there now, only an empty curb. She zoomed in on the image and the license number filled the screen. A Massachusetts plate.Why did you take this photo, Mom? Is this why you’ve vanished?
“Oh my god,” said Agnes, staring across the street. “It’s him.”
The mysterious Matthew Green had just stepped out of his house. He walked straight toward them, moving like a man primed for battle, his stride deliberate, his shoulders squared. Mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes and Jane could not read his expression, but she had no trouble spotting the telltale outline of the concealed weapon under his shirt. As he approached, Jane resisted the impulse to reach for her own gun. This was broad daylight, after all, and standing right beside her was a witness, even if it was only Agnes Kaminsky.
“Detective Jane Rizzoli?” he said.
“Yes.”
“I gather you’re searching for your mother.”
“Yes, I am. Do you know where she is, Mr. Green?”
“I’m not entirely certain.” He pulled off his sunglasses and stared straight at her, his face as unreadable as a cyborg’s. “But I think I can help you find her.”
