44. Emmy

44

"He's not here," Carole-Ann Murray said as she tried to wrestle a box containing a flat-packed rocking chair out of the back of a Ford Taurus. "I haven't seen Anton in six months, but he pays the rent on time, and that's the only thing I care about."

And that rent wasn't cheap. The house in La Loma Park had to be worth two mil, although if Dan's theory about the ownership was correct, he wasn't paying any rent at all. A company owned the property—Omnia Inc., according to property records one of Blackwood's interns had just checked at the clerk-recorder's office—and Julia No-Surname had probably been the shareholder at some point. Her identity might be obfuscated by layers of legalese, but one thing was certain—she hadn't been short of a few bob.

The rocking chair slipped, and Slater leapt forward to help.

"Let me take that, ma'am."

"Oh, I, uh…"

"Where do you want me to put it?"

"It's for the conservatory, but you don't have to?—"

"Just point me in the right direction."

Carole-Ann was a willowy brunette with features that were cute rather than beautiful. Dimples. A ski-jump nose. Round amber eyes. A boy watched us from the doorway ten yards away, one fist curled around the doorjamb.

"Mom, can you help with my Legos?"

"Not now, okay?"

"Could you show me where the conservatory is, buddy? How about we build your mom a chair?"

Nice. I'd brought Slater with the intention that he might charm Carole-Ann, but if someone had to occupy the kid, rather him than me. Plus if he could field strip and reassemble an AR-15 in under thirty seconds—twenty-nine and a half was his record—then he could build a bloody rocking chair.

"I don't know if that's—" Carole-Ann started.

"Let's have a chat."

The front hallway was bright and airy, double height with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I spotted a living room to the left and steered her in that direction. The place was homier than it looked from the outside, with overstuffed couches and a wide coffee table filled with kids' books and a half-built Lego spaceship.

"You can't just walk in here and?—"

"If it's not us, it's going to be the police." That shut her up. "Your choice."

"What did he do, steal your stuff? I'm sorry you had a bad breakup—believe me, I've been there—but I can't help you. Like I said, he pays our rent."

And she didn't want to risk him kicking her out. She'd also read Brianna's email if she thought I was Hebert's ex.

"There was no breakup. In fact, I've never even met Anton. I'm a private investigator from Virginia, and I'm looking for the woman he abducted four days ago in Las Vegas."

Carole-Ann gasped. "Are you crazy? Anton would never do that. I mean, we've had our ups and downs, but he isn't a criminal."

"We don't believe he had any ill intent, but he isn't well."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She already knew he wasn't well.

"How long ago did he stop taking his meds?"

Silence.

"We want to help him as well as the missing woman."

"He wouldn't hurt anyone, I swear. He's sort of… Well, he always thinks he knows best, but he isn't cruel or anything."

This time, it was my turn to stay quiet, and as I hoped, that made her uncomfortable enough to fill the gap.

"He made up stories, and I thought that's all it was: stories. Like role playing?" Carole-Ann blushed, and I wondered if he'd called her Cleopatra in the bedroom. "But the Army said he wasn't right in the head. Dissociative personality disorder, they called it. And they tried to fire him, but he appealed and they let him keep his benefits. All that legal stuff really upset him."

"How long were the two of you together?"

"A little over three years. Three and a half? Look, I can't help you. I don't know where he is."

"We're fairly sure he has another place somewhere. Not his apartment in Vegas. Did he ever mention a second property to you?"

She shook her head. Then, "Do you think he might come here?"

"Honestly? No, we think he's holed up elsewhere, but we can't rule anything out." Fuck, I was shit at this touchy-feely stuff. Dan did it better. "Can you tell me more about him? We just want to get everyone home safe."

Carole-Ann gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "Tell you about Anton? I never really knew him that well. We met when he was on leave, the condom broke, and he tried to do the right thing. But he wasn't an easy man to live with."

"I'm surprised you never married. Being a military wife is easier than being a military girlfriend. Support network, benefits, that kind of thing."

Her cheeks went a shade redder. "I was already married, and my husband was messing me around with the divorce."

"Soon-to-be exes have a habit of doing that."

Carole-Ann sank onto the sofa and began fiddling with Lego bricks. "I sure do pick 'em. Anyhow, we fought a lot, Anton and me. Always over stupid stuff—there was never enough money, and I was trying to be a mom, and work, and keep the house nice while he was away doing Army stuff. I guess I resented his freedom. And then he lost his job."

"That can't have been easy."

"We'd settled in South Carolina by then, but he decided he wanted to move to Vegas."

"And you didn't?"

"I hated the idea. All those tourists?" She shuddered. "I'd found a job as a teaching assistant, and I liked it. So he left. He promised to send money, but of course he never did."

I got the impression that money had been a big bone of contention between them. Perhaps the biggest. It couldn't have been easy trying to do everything herself, and when the dishonourable discharge came, that was the end.

"But then he found this place?"

"Nobody was more surprised than me when he offered to pay the rent. He said someone left him money, and he wanted to use it for Marcus. I figured it was the woman he used to live with. Julia? He said she stepped in when his mom couldn't, so I guess she thought of him as a son."

"We believe so. Do you know Julia's surname?"

"I don't remember him ever telling me that. She was just Julia."

"Did you meet her?"

Carole-Ann shook her head again. "No, but sometimes he used to go visit."

"Where did she live?"

"I'm not sure. When we lived in South Carolina, they met in New York, but I think she was just on vacation, or maybe there on business? One time, he talked about meeting her for dinner at the Ritz-Carlton, and I'm sure he mentioned she was staying there."

"Do you remember when that was?"

"No, I'm sorry. Seven or eight years ago?"

Then the records were probably gone. In New York, a business only had to keep records for three years after they filed a tax return.

"So Anton just showed up one day and offered you a house?"

"No, not like that. He called out of the blue and swore he wanted to make things up to the two of us, said he'd always felt bad when he couldn't provide. I'd split from my boyfriend the month before, so I wanted to get out of town, and Anton told me he had a buddy that would do him a great deal on the rent here. It's real nice. Way better than my old apartment."

"Does he visit often?"

"Every few months. And the last time… That was when I said to myself, ‘Carole-Ann, he's stopped taking his medication.'"

"What made you think that?"

"He had this weird obsession with Egyptian stuff, but he only really talked about it when he was sick. When he started calling me Fulvia, I figured he'd quit his pills."

"Did you try encouraging him to take them again?"

"What was the point? Like I said, Anton always knew best, and he hated the side effects. The medication made his mouth real dry, plus he put on weight." She folded her arms. "But I'm telling you, he won't have hurt anyone. Whatever happened, it's just a misunderstanding."

"Do you have any way to contact Anton?"

"No," she said, but she answered too fast, and she wouldn't meet my gaze either. Carole-Ann Murray was lying. And not only was she lying, I had a horrible feeling that when we left, she might try to warn Hebert that we were getting closer. She said she only cared about the rent money, but she'd been with the guy for three years, and now that the money worries had melted away, there were still other feelings lurking beneath the surface.

"This is the only other address we have for Anton, so I'll leave my associate outside in case he shows up."

"He won't come here."

"Even so, we can't take the chance."

"So he's just going to sit out there? On the street?"

"He won't leave the engine running. Environmental concerns and all that."

"My neighbours will call the cops. People don't wait on the street around here."

"Oh dear. That's…unfortunate." Sad face. "We were hoping to handle this a little more sensitively than the police probably would."

As I hoped, Carole-Ann took the bait. "I guess it would be okay if he parked on the driveway."

"We'd really appreciate that. Truly. I'll make sure he finishes assembling that furniture before he heads out."

"There's no need for?—"

"It's the least we can do." Thirty minutes, and Slater would charm her the way he charmed every woman with a pulse. "I'm going to leave you my number. If you hear from Anton, would you let me know?"

"Uh, sure. I guess."

Slater understood the brief, and when I got outside, I called Tulsa while I waited for a car to pick me up. The pool car we'd borrowed earlier would have to stay here.

"Any luck?" I asked.

"No. You?"

"The ex claims she doesn't know anything, but for sure she doesn't hate him as much as we were led to believe. Or rather, she likes the money he inherited."

"Is she telling the truth?"

"I don't reckon she knows where he lives, but five bucks says she has a number for him. I think she'll try to call. Slater's gonna stay here to keep an eye on her."

"An eye?"

"Possibly his hands too. She's pretty in a girl-next-door way. Anyway, Carole-Ann says Hebert has dissociative personality disorder, and he's been off his meds for at least three months."

"We already thought that."

"Well, now we know for sure. Keep me updated, okay?"