“What will they do when they get there and no one’s home?” I asked Matt.
“Except the cookie lady and her open-house guests,” Elaine reminded me.
Matt frowned. Thinking. “Well, in a situation like this, no urgency, I’d call his office. If that didn’t pan out, I’d ask around at the neighbors, see if anyone knows when he’s due home. They won’t have a search warrant, and, remember, technically Phil is not missing unless and until we make a report. So they’re not going to go busting in.”
“And eventually they’ll call … whom?” Elaine asked.
“I gave them this number. By rights, I need to call them now and tell them the briefcase is here.”
“By the time you look up the Berkeley PD number in the phone book—” I began.
“Russell gave me his card.”
“But you still have to find it in your pockets. How much time do we have?”
“For what?” Elaine asked.
“For fiddling,” Matt said, and left the room to make his call. His back was to me, so I couldn’t determine what level of humor, if any, was in his remark.
Elaine brought the briefcase to the living room and set it on the coffee table, pushing aside her bride books in the process. I regretted every derogatory remark I’d made, to myself and others, about the various planning and make-your-day-special volumes. She flipped open the briefcase.
“It wasn’t locked when I opened it the other day, either,” she noted.
We peered in and scanned the beige leather lining, as if it would take more than a fraction of a second to determine that the roughly two-hundred-cubic-inch briefcase was empty.
We each took a turn fiddling with the briefcase. Elaine ran her fingers around the inside edges, trying to pull up a corner. Nothing. Curiously, Dana lifted the case close to her nose and sniffed. She shook her head. A silent Nothing. I manipulated all the metal parts. The hinges, the decorative buckles on the sides, the lock. Still nothing.
Matt might as well have brought the cops with him to pick up the briefcase.
To report or not to report Phil missing?
“What do you think, Matt?” Dana asked.
Matt scratched behind his ear. I knew he’d already given this matter some thought. He took his time giving his opinion.
“Can we talk about Phil for a few minutes? When did we see him last, for example.”
He addressed Dana and Elaine, but for some reason I raised my hand slightly, reminiscent of seeking permission to go to the girls’ room at Abraham Lincoln Elementary School in Revere, circa 1955.
“I had lunch with him on Monday,” I said. A confession, but no one seemed to notice. We’d gathered in Elaine’s living room, our seats in a conversational arrangement I was sure was meant for her book club, not a brainstorming session on the whereabouts of her fiance.
“I talked to him Friday night, after Tanisha … we talked about Tanisha,” Dana said. “That’s it.” She rubbed her hands together, as if she were applying lotion. But I knew there was nothing soothing in the gesture.
“I haven’t talked to him since Monday morning.” Elaine’s voice was controlled and weak.
“And ordinarily, would you talk to him every day?”
“Not me,” Dana said.
“Not every day,” Elaine said. “But he wouldn’t just disappear.”
It was hard to tell whether Elaine was trying to convince us or herself.
Dana stood up abruptly. “Maybe this is a clue,” she said. “Before I left for my interview with the police on Monday, Julia told me to be careful—like, don’t tell them too much, or something. Maybe she was afraid they’d start looking into stuff and find her scam.” She snapped her fingers. “And Tom, too, he said sort of the same thing. Maybe he’s in on it.”
“Don’t forget Robin,” Elaine said. I knew she was speaking from her fear of an involvement between Phil and Robin. “She had that ID.”
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Matt said.
I raised my eyebrows. We are?
“This is just a long shot, but does Phil have any hobbies that might put him in danger? Like—” Matt began.
“Scuba diving? Rock climbing? Hang gliding?” I filled in with some of my top candidates for dangerous pastimes.
Elaine shook her head. “Not unless you think handball is dangerous. And I did call Barry, his gym buddy. And I told you I spoke to his BUL administrator, Penny Thomas, since he checks in with her now and then. And also to Verna Cefalu, his secretary at Dorman. Phil was there for a presentation Monday, but that’s the last she saw of him.”
I had a thought. “Phil’s last words—” Bad choice. “Phil was on his way back to Dorman Industries to give that presentation when he left me after lunch, and he did show up there, evidently. Let’s start from there and see if we can pick up the trail.” The trail? It made me nervous that I slipped into cowboy talk so easily when I was out west.