“Yes.”
“Wife of Dr. Porter Shaw?”
“Yes.”
She appeared almost… chipper.
Had she not been notified yet? Awkward.
He hesitated. “Has someone… spoken to you this morning?”
“About what?”
Oh, Lord. He was going to be stuck with giving her the news.
“My husband?” she offered.
“Yes. You received some notification this morning?”
For the first time, a bit of stress lined her face. But only a bit. “Yes. He passed away.”
“Were you told of the circumstances?”
“I was.” Her expression still wasn’t troubled. Curious, but not troubled. “And may I ask what business it is of yours?”
“My name is Ryan Malone. I’m working with the American authorities on the case. Two of your husband’s colleagues were also in California. They’ve gone missing. I know it’s a devastating time for you, but I wondered if I might-”
“Of course. Come in.” The chipper voice and attitude were back. She opened the door wide for him to enter. “I was just having tea. Would you like some?”
“Thank you.”
So much for not knowing which way was up.
He followed her through the narrow but tastefully decorated home back to a sunroom. She gestured for him to sit in one of the two white, wooden chairs. She had already started pouring his tea by the time he was seated.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said. “You and your husband made a beautiful home for yourselves.”
“He had nothing to do with it. I think he liked our home well enough, when he cared to notice. But it’s certainly nothing he ever cared to weigh in on.”
“I see.” This was going down a far-too-static path. Time to stir it up a little. “Pardon me for saying so, but you seem to be taking your husband’s demise incredibly well.”
She picked up her teacup and gazed at the garden outside. “I can see it does seem that way.” She shrugged. “He left me a long time ago in spirit. It’s the old cliché, I suppose. The man whose passion was his work.”
“Really? And how long has it been that way?”
“Always, if I’m honest with myself. Even when we met, it’s what attracted me to him. I thought it would be enough if just a little bit of that fire and intensity was thrown in my direction. It never was, not really.” She looked up. “I’m sorry. You’re not really interested in all this. It’s been a confusing morning. I guess I’m still in shock. I haven’t even told anyone yet. He has a sister in Leeds who really needs to know, but I’m still… processing.”
“I understand.”
“So how can I help you?”
Rye leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me why your husband was in the United States.”
“Work. He was always traveling someplace. And even when he was here, he wasn’t here, if you know what I mean.”
“Was there anything unusual about this particular trip?”
She nodded. “Actually, yes. For one thing, he’d told me he was going to Chicago. He never mentioned California.”
“Odd. Are you certain?”
“Positive. I didn’t know he was there until this morning, when I was told that he was dead. But there was something even stranger… He left his phone here.”
“He forgot it?”
“I thought so at first. But he never went anywhere without it, not even the corner store.” She shook her head. “Who does in this day and age? We all live with our phones. He called twice in the three weeks he was gone, each time from a different disposable phone he’d purchased. I offered to send him his own phone, but he didn’t want it. He was very specific. He didn’t want me to power it on or even charge it.”
“Interesting.”
“I handle all the finances, and I can tell you he didn’t use a credit card or cash-machine card since he’s been gone. He withdrew several thousand pounds before he left, and I suppose he’d been getting by on that.” She grimaced. “Which also kept me from knowing where he was.”
“And kept anyone else from knowing,” Rye said. “Tell me, what exactly was your husband working on?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. He wasn’t very forthcoming. He’d been very excited, but his mood had soured in the past couple of months.” She shook her head. “And heaven forbid he explain himself to me. I was only his wife.”
“In what way had his mood soured?”
“In almost every way you can imagine. Sometimes depressed, sometimes angry, sometimes frustrated. Not an unusual range of emotions for a researcher struggling to solve a problem, but this has been worse. Much worse.”
“Hmm. Can you tell me anything about his colleagues? People he might have been working with in the last months of his life?”
“Well, there was Charles Waldridge. Porter worshipped him. He thought the man was a genius. I should probably try to contact him.”
Rye hesitated, wondering if he should tell her about Waldridge’s disappearance. He decided against it. “Anyone else?”
Her lips twisted. “No one he ever discussed with me.”
“Did you ever visit his lab?”
“Heavens, no. It was in the Docklands near the fish market, I think.”
“Near Canary Wharf?”
“Yes.”
“I was just there. It’s a vacant lot.”
“What?”
“No lab. Just an empty lot. It’s been that way for quite some time. Could there have been someplace else?”
Her face was frozen in utter bewilderment. She shook her head.
“Did he drive to work?”
She nodded.
“I wonder if you might let me look in his car. Is it here?”
She motioned out the sunroom windows toward a freestanding garage on the other side of the small backyard. “It’s in there. It hasn’t been driven since he left.”
“Would you mind? It could be very helpful.”
She didn’t speak for a moment. “Isn’t it silly? I think I’m dreading looking at it. I’m used to thinking of him in this house. It will be different with the car, perhaps a bit jarring…” She finally put down her teacup. “Certainly. I’ll get the keys.”
After a few moments rustling through an overstuffed kitchen drawer, Madeleine found her husband’s spare keys and led Rye out to the detached garage, where a silver Mercedes SL shared space with an MG Mini.
“The Mercedes is his. Was his.” She paused. Her voice was the slightest bit unsteady as she added, “Still doesn’t feel right to say it that way. I guess I’ll get better at it.”
He held out his hand for the key. “May I?”
She used the key’s remote button to unlock the car, then she handed it to him.
Rye slid behind the wheel and surveyed the vehicle’s interior. Immaculate.
He started the car. The engine roared to life, and the touch screen lit up the dark interior. Rye tapped the screen and cycled through the GPS map screens until he found the navigation app’s driving history.
The passenger door opened, and Madeleine leaned in. “Any luck?”
“Maybe.” He pointed toward the screen. “Do you recognize this address? It’s on Scarbrook Road in Croyden. Looks like he went there almost every day.”
Madeleine’s eyes narrowed on the screen. “Croyden? No. Not at all. It’s not a place he ever mentioned going.”
Rye took a photo of the screen with his phone. “I don’t like to ask this, especially in light what’s happened today…” There was no delicate way to ask this question. “But I can’t help but wonder, since your husband was regularly going someplace without your knowledge, if perhaps…”
“You want to know if my husband was having an affair,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“The answer is no.” She swallowed hard and looked away from him. “Among other reasons, I honestly don’t think he would’ve made that kind of time for it. Believe me, this was about his work.”
“I do believe you.” He avoided looking at her as he cycled through several more destinations on the touch screen. He snapped photos of a few of the other recurring entries, but none appeared with anything near the frequency of the Croyden address.