The Stranger
Page 38

It was a bluff, but a pretty good one.
“You know how fast a news cycle is nowadays?” Gush countered. “We can ride it out.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Adam said.
“Why not?”
“Because for now, we have decided to make our case impersonal and corporate. But our next move will be to take it a step further.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that we will reveal that the mayor, who is working so hard to throw an old couple out of their home, may have a personal grudge against an honest cop who once arrested him, even though he let him go.”
Silence. Then: “I was a teenager.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that will play well in the press.”
“You don’t know who you’re messing with, pal.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Adam said. “Gush?”
“What?”
“Build your new village around the house. It’s doable. Oh, and have a nice day.”
• • •
Everyone had cleared out of the Rinskys’ house.
Adam heard the clacking of a keyboard in the breakfast nook off the kitchen. When he entered the room, he was taken aback by the sheer amount of technology that surrounded him. There were two big-screen computers and a laser printer sitting on the Formica desk. One wall was entirely corked. Photographs, clippings from newspapers, and articles printed off the Internet were hung on it with pushpins.
Rinsky had reading glasses low on his nose. The reflection of the screen made the blue in his eyes deepen.
“What’s all this?” Adam asked.
“Just keeping busy.” He leaned back and took off the glasses. “It’s a hobby.”
“Surfing the web?”
“Not exactly.” He pointed behind him. “See this photograph?”
It was a picture of a girl with her eyes closed who Adam guessed was probably between eighteen and twenty. “Is she dead?”
“Since 1984,” Rinsky said. “Her body was found in Madison, Wisconsin.”
“A student?”
“Doubt it,” he said. “You’d think a student would be easy to identify. No one ever has.”
“She’s a Jane Doe?”
“Right. So you see, me and some fellas online, we crowdsource the problem. Share information.”
“You’re solving cold cases?”
“Well, we try.” He gave Adam his “aw shucks” smile. “Like I said, it’s a hobby. Keeps an old cop busy.”
“Hey, I have a quick question for you.”
Rinsky gestured for Adam to go ahead.
“I have a witness I need to reach. I’m a firm believer in doing it in person.”
“Always better,” Rinsky agreed.
“Right, but I’m not sure if she’s home or not, and I don’t want to warn her or ask her to meet me.”
“You want to surprise her?”
“Right.”
“What’s her name?”
“Suzanne Hope,” Adam said.
“You have her phone number?”
“Yeah, Andy found it for me online.”
“Okay. How far away does she live?”
“Probably a twenty-minute drive.”
“Give me the number.” Rinksy stuck out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’ll show you a clever little cop technique you can use, but I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”
Adam handed him the phone. Rinsky lowered his reading glasses back down his nose, picked up the kind of black telephone Adam hadn’t seen since his childhood, and dialed the number. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got a block on my caller ID.” Two rings later, a woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“Suzanne Hope?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I work for the Acme Chimney Cleaning Service—”
“Not interested, take me off your list.”
Click.
Rinsky shrugged and smiled. “She’s home.”
Chapter 23
The drive took exactly twenty minutes.
Adam pulled up to one of those sad garden apartment complexes of monotonous brick that catered to young couples saving up to buy a first home and divorced dads who were broke and/or wanted to stay near the kids. He found apartment 9B and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
It was a woman’s voice. She hadn’t opened the door.
“Suzanne Hope?”
“What do you want?”
He actually hadn’t planned for this. For some strange reason, he had figured that she’d open the door and invite him in and then he could explain his reason for coming here, even though he still wasn’t sure what that reason was. Suzanne Hope was a potential thin thread, a tenuous connection to what had led Corinne to run off. Maybe he could gently pull on the thread and, to mix metaphors, learn something.
“My name is Adam Price,” he said to the closed door. “My wife is Corinne.”
Silence.
“Do you remember her? Corinne Price?”
“She’s not here,” the voice he assumed was Suzanne Hope’s said.
“I didn’t think she was,” he replied, though now that he thought about it, perhaps he had held out the smallest unspoken hope that finding Corinne would be that easy.
“What do you want?”
“Can we talk a second?”
“What about?”
“About Corinne.”
“This isn’t my business.”
Shouting through a door felt distant, of course, but Suzanne Hope was clearly not yet comfortable opening it. He didn’t want to push it and lose her completely. “What’s not your business?” he asked.
“You and Corinne. Whatever troubles you’re having.”
“What makes you think we’re having troubles?”
“Why else would you be here?”
Why indeed. Score one for Suzanne Hope. “Do you know where Corinne is?”
Down the concrete path and to the right, a postal worker eyed Adam with suspicion. Not surprising. He had thought about the divorced dads who show up here, but of course there were divorced moms too. Adam tried to nod at the postal worker to show him that he meant no harm, but that didn’t seem to help.
“Why would I know?” the voice asked.
“She’s missing,” Adam said. “I’m trying to find her.”
Several seconds passed. Adam took a step back and kept his hands at his sides, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Eventually, the door opened a crack. The chain was still in place, but now he could see a sliver of Suzanne Hope’s face. He still wanted to come inside and sit down, talk to her face-to-face, engage, disarm, distract, whatever it would take. But if a chain made Suzanne Hope feel safe, then so be it.