“No obligation, but it is routine.”
“Go ahead.”
Using his phone, Menza took several photographs.
“With your permission,” Menza said when he finished, “would you allow me to take a walk-through of your house and property outside?”
Overwhelmed by the lack of sleep and worry pulsing through him, Greg was on the brink of snapping. Why search the house? That’s an epic waste of time. She’s not here! But he needed to cooperate.
“There’s no obligation,” Menza said, “but it helps.”
“Go ahead. Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, I’ll take a quick walk around. I’ll start upstairs.”
Alone in the kitchen, Greg’s hands were shaking. He got more coffee. Listening to the sound of a state trooper walking around upstairs like an intruder in their bedroom, in Jake’s room, then throughout the main floor and the basement, hammered home the reality.
My wife is missing.
Menza appeared again with Greg nodding the way to the garage. Menza passed through it on his way outside to walk around the house, the side yards, and the back, the deck...
What’s he looking for?
Greg dragged both hands through his hair.
He checked his phone for any word from Jenn.
Nothing.
Again, he called and texted her.
Again, it was futile.
Menza returned through the garage.
“Okay, Mr. Griffin. I’ll be submitting a report and I’ll email you a copy.”
“So what’s next?”
“We’ll put out an appeal online, requesting the public help locate your wife. You might get media calls.”
“Media?”
“Sometimes it can help resolve a case like this. Then, depending on how this goes, our detectives will assume the lead in this case.”
“Detectives?”
“That’s the next possible step. And it’s likely our search people and volunteer groups will be involved, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Greg swallowed and nodded.
“Sir, would you like me to call anyone to be with you? It can be comforting at a time like this.”
“No, my sister and dad are on their way.”
“Good, sir. Everything that can be done to locate your wife is in motion. Thank you for your help.” Menza touched the brim of his Stetson and left.
Alone at the window, Greg felt the tightening in his gut spread to his chest as he watched the trooper return to his patrol car.
Then Greg clenched his eyes.
I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell him everything. But I did not lie.
Five
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove
Minutes after state trooper Menza pulled away, a familiar purple Jeep Wrangler whipped into Greg’s driveway, brakes squeaking as it parked next to his pickup.
Stepping from it was his sister Katrina. Everyone called her “Kat.” She was wearing a Bills hoodie, jeans, and sunglasses perched atop her head. She was with their father, Vince. He was dressed in a plaid L.L. Bean shirt, jeans, and his worn ballcap. They came straight into the house.
Kat put her hands on Greg’s shoulders and looked into his eyes.
“We’re going to find out what happened to her, all right?”
Greg’s jaw clenched and he nodded.
Kat gave him a crushing hug then went to the kitchen.
Vince clasped his son’s forearm. At sixty-six, the retired bricklayer had a firm grip.
“This isn’t like Jenn at all,” Vince said. “I don’t get it.”
“I know, Dad.”
A rush of water issued from the kitchen sink. Kat had removed her hoodie. Under it, she wore a faded Rolling Stones T-shirt. She was dumping coffee, rinsing the carafe.
“This stuff is awful.” She nodded to the two cupboard doors she’d opened. “Where’s the coffee I brought back from Jamaica that you like?”
“I don’t know where Jenn put it.”
Kat was taking charge like she always did, Greg thought, watching her look through cupboards.
Vince cast a glance around. “Is Jake home?”
“No, he’s still at his friend’s house.”
“Does he know?” Kat asked, poking in a lower cupboard behind a stack of plastic containers.
“Not yet.”
“You’re going to have to tell him,” Vince said.
“I know.”
“Got it,” Kat said, pulling out the barely used bag of Blue Mountain. “Sit down, Greg.”
She got a fresh pot going then joined Greg and Vince at the table and said: “Now, tell us what happened.”
Greg retold the history of Jenn’s disappearance and his all-night search, the same story he’d given to the trooper. At one point, Greg rubbed his fingers and winced, then he explained about the traffic cone. As he continued, Kat and Vince listened, nodding and frowning, saying little, occasionally asking questions. When he’d finished, Vince shook his head.
“And what did the police say?” Vince said.
“Not much. The trooper took down all kinds of information and asked me for pictures for alerts. He said detectives could get involved.”
“What do you think happened?” Vince asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe she was carjacked? I don’t know.”
“Want to know what I think?” Kat said. “I think maybe she’s—” Kat stopped herself.
“What?” Greg said.
“No, I don’t know.” Kat shook her head. “Could be a carjacking, but God, I hope not.”
Greg looked at her because he thought something had flickered on Kat’s face, something subtle. Or was he wrong, being punchy from lack of sleep? Or was it a nearly imperceptible manifestation of something—of knowing?
“What? What were you going to say, Kat? You think maybe she’s what?”
“Maybe a carjacking, like you said. Stop staring like that. I don’t know what to think.”
Greg didn’t know either. He wasn’t sure about anything because he was drained. Shifting matters, Kat reached for her phone.
“Send me the photos of her and her car that you gave to the police,” she said.