‘You said she was supposed to be back here on the twenty-sixth of last month, still you only reported her missing two days ago – the thirty-first. Why did you wait five days?’
‘I just got back from Europe on the thirty-first. I was in a bodybuilding competition.’
‘When did you leave for Europe?’ Garcia asked.
‘Two days after Vicky left.’ He stared down at his trembling hands. ‘I should’ve tried calling her when I was in Europe; we spoke on the day she was supposed to go to Canada,’ he murmured in a sad tone.
‘Why would you call her? She’s just an employee, right?’ Hunter pushed him.
Joe Bowman looked uncomfortable. He tried giving Hunter a pale smile but failed.
Hunter pulled his chair closer to his desk and leaned forward, resting both elbows on it. ‘C’mon Joe, it’s time to come clean now, she was more than just an employee, right?’
Silence.
‘Look Mr Bowman, we’re not the marriage police. We’re not here to question you about your relationship with your wife,’ he pointed to the framed picture over the desk. ‘But Victoria Baker might be in some serious trouble and all we wanna do is help, but for that we need your cooperation. Whatever you tell us, will stay between us. If she means anything to you, please help us.’ Hunter gave him a confident smile.
Bowman hesitated for a moment, staring at his wife’s picture. ‘We are in love,’ he finally gave in.
Hunter kept his eyes on Bowman, waiting for him to carry on.
‘We’re thinking about moving in together.’
Garcia’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘How about your marriage?’ he asked.
Bowman massaged his eyes with his right hand taking his time to answer. ‘My marriage died a couple of years ago.’ His eyes were back on the picture over the desk. ‘The love is gone . . . the conversation is gone . . . it’s like we’re total strangers to each other. We tried patching things up a year ago, but there’s nothing there to patch up.’ His tone was firm with a hint of sadness.
‘When did you and Vicki start seeing each other?’
‘About eight months ago. She has this thing about her, this contagious happiness . . . she made me happy again. So a couple of months ago I decided I would ask my wife for a divorce and do what makes me happy, and that is being with Vicki.’
‘Did Vicki know? Did you tell her about your plans?’
‘Yes, that’s why she was going back to Canada.’
Hunter gave him a puzzled look.
‘She wanted to let her parents know that she was thinking about getting a place together with me. She wanted their blessing.’
Hunter’s confused look didn’t go away.
‘She comes from a very traditional family,’ Bowman explained. ‘She wanted them to accept me.’
‘Accept the idea that their daughter was moving in with a married man?’ Garcia asked intrigued.
‘No,’ Hunter answered first. ‘Accept the idea of their daughter moving in with an African American man,’ he concluded.
‘Black,’ Bowman corrected him. ‘We like to be called black. That’s what we are and black is not an offensive word. This political correctness thing is all bullshit if you ask me, but you’re right. You can say her family would disapprove of our relationship.’
‘And you didn’t keep in touch with her while you were in Europe?’
‘No . . . I should have . . .’ his voice trailed off.
‘Why not?’
‘She wanted it that way. She said she needed time to get the idea through to them. I knew she was supposed to be back here on the thirty-first, so I tried calling her from Europe then, but I never got a reply. There was nothing I could do from where I was. When I got back I panicked when I couldn’t find her, so I called the police.’
‘You said she lives just a few miles from here?’ Hunter asked.
‘Yes, in North Croft Avenue.’
‘Do you have the keys to her apartment?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Bowman’s eyes were unable to meet Hunter’s. ‘But I’ve already been through all this with the other officers.’
‘From the Missing Persons’ Department?’
‘That’s right.’
‘We’re not Missing Persons. We’re Homicide.’
Bowman glared in surprise and fear. ‘Homicide?’
Hunter took out a copy of the sketch Isabella had given them together with the twenty different permutations of it and placed it on Joe’s desk.
‘Have you ever seen this man?’
Bowman picked the sketches up with shaking hands and looked at them attentively.
‘No, I can’t say I have. Who’s he supposed to be?’