One Day Gone Read online

  He sounded like a nice, easy-going guy who had enough experience to get the job done.

  “I can’t guarantee you won’t find things depressing around here,” I said. “After all, this is Washington, and you’ll be dealing with politicians most of the time.”

  He let out a short laugh. “I get that, and I know it won’t be much fun hanging around with a bunch of Washington Redskins fans when I’m a Chiefs fan, but I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.”

  Yeah, it sounded like Charles Hayes might work out just fine.

  Of course, he was no Leslie Irving, but he was a Chiefs fan.

  Chapter 5

  It was almost eight o’clock in the evening before I left Columbia Regional Airport in my rental car and headed for the downtown area of the city, recently designated The District by the Chamber of Commerce.

  When I was on the road conducting an investigation for the senator, I preferred to drive a nondescript sedan, but Toni McCaffrey, Lockett’s secretary, had reserved a luxury SUV for me.

  Although I tried to argue with the rental clerk about it, she pointed out Toni’s name was on the paperwork, so I signed the agreement and took the keys without any further argument.

  Toni had also made a hotel reservation for me at the Broadway Hilton, the only five-star hotel in Columbia. It was located in The District, less than a mile from the MU campus and near Lizzie’s apartment, so I guess that made sense.

  Ordinarily, I didn’t stay in five-star hotels and drive luxury vehicles when I was running an investigation for the senator.

  In those instances, I did my best to fly under the radar.

  Jenna usually took care of my travel arrangements, while Toni was in charge of the senator’s travel. I was guessing my upgrades had something to do with that arrangement, although I wasn’t sure Lockett would be happy with Toni when he saw my expense report.

  According to Lizzie’s resume, the apartment she shared with her roommate, Savannah, was south of the campus in an apartment complex appropriately named The Campus View Apartments.

  I headed there once I left the airport.

  After merging onto US 63 north of the airport, I gave Lockett a call to see if there’d been any news about Lizzie since I’d left Washington.

  “No, there’s been nothing new,” Lockett said. “As a courtesy to the senator, the police searched her apartment complex, the area around her apartment, and also the campus, but since her car hasn’t turned up yet, and there’s no evidence she’s met with foul play, they’ve urged the senator to wait a few more hours to see if she shows up.”

  “Are the police still at her apartment?”

  “No, when I called Savannah about two hours ago, she said they’d just left. I told her you’d like to speak with her when you arrive this evening.”

  “I’m headed there now. What about Gus Montgomery?”

  “Who?”

  “Gus Montgomery, her boyfriend. Have the police spoken with him?”

  “Oh, yeah, her boyfriend. Savannah said he was at the apartment when the police arrived, but he told them he hadn’t seen Lizzie since the day before yesterday.”

  My conversation with Lockett was briefly interrupted when I began receiving instructions from the SUV’s navigation system.

  After taking the Grindstone Boulevard exit off US 63 as instructed, I told Lockett about Charlie Hayes calling me.

  “He gave me a call too,” Lockett said. “What’s your take on him?”

  “He sounds like a nice guy. When I quizzed him about his background, he said he was a graduate of Rutgers. Evidently, he majored in criminal justice, so I guess the senator’s right; he’s definitely qualified for the position.”

  “I suppose he told you he’s been working in the homicide division at the St. Louis PD. Those guys have to deal with a lot of different people. His experience could be useful to you.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “I hear you. I’m just as apprehensive about him as you are.”

  “I have no idea what you mean. I’m really looking forward to working with the guy.”

  “I’ll remember you said that.”

  * * * *

  Before I hung up, I told Lockett I wouldn’t be contacting him until the following day, unless I had something new on Lizzie’s disappearance.

  He was agreeable with that.

  Setting parameters was something I’d learned to do with Lockett a few months after coming to work for the senator.

  I’d learned that lesson the hard way after flying down to Raleigh, North Carolina, to run a preliminary check on a judge who’d been nominated for a seat on the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District.

  After leaving Washington, I hadn’t called Lockett for two days.

  He hadn’t liked that one bit.

  Since then, I’d always made an effort to let him know when he should expect to hear from me.

  Expectations, both meeting them and having them, were an integral part of Lockett’s personality. He set high standards for himself, and he expected others to do the same.

  I admit I was a little more lackadaisical about what I expected from myself or for that matter, what I expected from others.

  Not that I didn’t set standards for myself—I did.

  Specifically, I tried to do a good job and honor my commitments. Aside from that, I pretty much went with the flow, made decisions based on the situation, and looked out for myself.

  That philosophy had served me pretty well for the past twenty years.

  Financially, I was set for life. Professionally, I was doing something I loved. Physically, I was in excellent shape.

  On a personal level, though, things weren’t all that great.

  For one thing, I didn’t have any close friends. My education and career had always been more important to me than making friends—even in high school—and while my lack of close friendships had never bothered me all that much, I’d been thinking about it a lot lately.

  I suspected it was on my mind because of my recent breakup with Paige Howard, my long-time girlfriend.

  I’d met Paige after Mac’s death when I’d hired her financial consulting firm to manage my windfall.

  After taking her out to dinner a few times, we’d started seeing each other on a regular basis.

  We were just friends at first.

  We hadn’t become romantically involved until almost a year later.

  When Christmas rolled around that year, I took her to Columbia to meet my parents, and after that, she started dropping hints about the two of us getting married. When she became persistent about it, we had a big fight, and although we broke up for six months, we eventually got back together.

  However, it wasn’t long before the question of marriage came up again, but then, I managed to put her off for a year when she found out her mother had cancer and would have to undergo intensive chemotherapy.

  During that time, I forced myself to examine why I was so reluctant to marry her.

  I finally concluded it wasn’t that I didn’t like Paige or that I didn’t enjoy her company.

  I did like her, and I did enjoy her company—most of the time.

  I just didn’t love her.

  But, last Christmas, despite my misgivings, I finally relented and proposed. She accepted my proposal immediately—no surprises there—and we started planning an August wedding. A month later, around the first of February, I knew I’d made a mistake.

  At the time, I was just starting to investigate three different judges, potential nominees for a vacancy on the Supreme Court, and I decided to put off telling Paige I couldn’t go through with the wedding until after the process was complete.

  Four months later, I was still wrestling with my emotions.

  I didn’t realize the toll it was taking on me until one morning in July when I was in Lockett’s office discussing the report I was about to deliver to the senator.

  “What’s wrong?” Lockett asked.

  “Nothing’s wro
ng. I think the senator will be—”

  “No, I’m not talking about the judges. I’m talking about you. What’s wrong with you? Did you break up with Paige?”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  Lockett looked stunned by my response.

  Before I could backtrack on my comment, he said, “Sounds like you’re having second thoughts about marrying her.”

  “No, of course not. Paige and I’ve been together forever. It’s time we got married.”

  “That’s not exactly a reason to get married, you know.”

  Up until this point, Lockett and I had always had a strictly professional relationship. I’d never discussed any personal issues with him.

  Truth be told, I didn’t share my personal life with anyone.

  The closest I came to talking things over with another person was calling my brother Curtis occasionally, but that was because he always seemed to be interested in what I was doing, and he had an ability to pull things out of me I wouldn’t ordinarily tell anyone else.

  Curtis was the pastor of a church in Columbia, so I figured this personal probing stuff was instinctive with him. Whenever we talked, I usually shared private stuff with him, including my love life.

  Not so with Lockett.

  Nevertheless, I surprised myself that day by saying, “You’re right, Nathan. Longevity in a relationship is a weak argument for proposing to someone. You could make a similar case for the person who made the proposal.”

  “I know you’re not a weak person, Mylas.”

  “Well, when it comes to Paige, I am. After I proposed to her last December, I knew I’d made a mistake. I never should have done it.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t love her.”

  I paused a second. “I like Paige—well, most of the time I like her—but I can’t say I’m in love with her.”

  Lockett nodded but didn’t say anything.

  I said, “After all this time, I still can’t say I love her.”

  “That’s not good, Mylas. Even after being married to Diana for over thirty years, I can truthfully say I’m still madly in love with her.” He gestured over at a photo of his wife he kept on his desk. “I really love that woman.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. I can’t say that about Paige.”

  “Then you shouldn’t marry her, and you need to tell her sooner rather than later. Otherwise, you’ll both end up being miserable.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

  Lockett also kept quiet.

  Finally, I said, “You’re right. I need to break it off immediately.”

  “There you go.”

  “I guess I just needed to hear somebody else say it.”

  “That’s why you need friends, Mylas. They’ll tell you stuff no one else will tell you.”

  I steered the conversation away from me and back to my report on the judges, but when I finished giving him my update and was about to walk out of his office, Lockett came around from behind his desk and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “I know it won’t be easy breaking up with Paige, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to pray with you about it.”

  His offer took me by surprise.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t know he was a man of faith. Lockett often alluded to his Christian beliefs. Besides that, he kept a well-worn Bible on his desk and occasionally quoted from it to make a point.

  Still, he’d never offered to pray with me before, so it made me wonder what made him decide to do it this time.

  I realized it could have been my sudden openness with him, but for whatever reason, his offer sounded appealing to me, and I quickly responded by saying, “No, I don’t mind at all. Please do.”

  I was deeply moved when I heard Lockett pray for me, and whether it was his prayer or not, I suddenly found the courage to do what I should have done months ago.

  The first thing I did after leaving Lockett’s office was to call Paige and invite her to come to dinner that evening.

  Then, I called Mrs. Higbee and asked her to fix Paige’s favorite meal.

  Carolyn Higbee was my housekeeper.

  I’d hired her shortly after moving into Mac’s house. Although her official title was housekeeper, she was also my cook, my dog sitter, and my substitute mother—the latter being a role she took on whenever she thought I needed advice, which happened far too often for my liking.

  After dinner, I told Paige we needed to talk about the wedding, and we went into the formal living room and sat down on the sofa.

  Although I’d prepared a rather lengthy speech, I ended up using a couple of succinct paragraphs to tell her I was breaking off our engagement. Afterward, I sat there in silence as she ran through a whole gamut of emotions.

  It started with tears, morphed into anger, and ended with deadly calm. The ordeal was finally over when she removed the large diamond engagement ring—the one she’d picked out for herself—and placed it on the glass-topped coffee table in front of her.

  “To be perfectly truthful, Mylas, you haven’t been worth the effort I’ve put into this.”

  After making her parting statement, she walked out my front door, got in her BMW, and drove off.

  The next day, I made an appointment with a new financial consultant.

  * * * *

  Now, as I drove into the parking lot of The Campus View Apartments, I found myself thinking about Paige.

  Perhaps it was because I saw a slim, blond-haired woman getting into a red BMW just as I was pulling into a visitor parking spot in front of Building F.

  But then, my thoughts suddenly drifted to Leslie, and once again, I had to remind myself I was going through an emotionally vulnerable time, and the best thing for me to do would be to concentrate on finding the senator’s daughter.

  My starting point was The Campus View Apartments, specifically, Building F.

  Each red-brick building in the complex was identified with a letter and contained four apartments, two on the top floor and two on the bottom.

  The four apartments in the buildings were numbered 101-104, and Lizzie and Savannah lived in 102-F, a bottom-floor apartment in Building F.

  I sat in my car in front of Building F for several minutes observing the activity in the complex.

  During that time, I saw at least six students entering and leaving Buildings D, E, and F and just as many students getting into or out of cars parked in front of the buildings.

  If the vehicles they were driving were any indication, the students who lived at The Campus View Apartments were in the higher-income bracket, or at least their parents were.

  I knew for certain Lizzie Allen had no worries when it came to money.

  As I was walking up to Building F, I suddenly felt like an old man in comparison to the youthful, athletic-looking students passing me on the sidewalk, although I was certainly no senior citizen.

  If they gave me any thought at all, I figured they must have thought I was a parent coming to check on my child.

  Seconds after ringing the doorbell to 102-F, I was greeted by a dark-haired, petite girl with a mug of coffee in her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Savannah,” she said, motioning me inside. “You must be Mylas Grey. Mr. Lockett told me you’d be dropping by this evening.”

  “Hi, Savannah,” I said, entering the apartment.

  She stood there in the doorway staring at me for a moment without saying anything.

  “Would you like to see some ID?” I asked.

  “Oh, no,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her free hand,” that’s not necessary. I mean, who else could you be? The cops have already come and gone. And besides, you don’t look like a cop.” She giggled. “Actually, you look more like a movie star.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, “at least the part about not looking like a cop. But, if you don’t mind some advice, if I were you, I would always ask to see some identification when a stranger shows up at my door.”

&
nbsp; She laughed a little nervously. “You sound like my dad. He’s always telling me I trust people too much.”

  She gestured toward a leather sofa in front of a wide-screen television set mounted on the wall. “Have a seat, Mr. Grey.”

  “I doubt if I’m old enough to be your dad, so please call me Mylas.”

  “Okay, Mylas. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? A soda?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  “Coming right up,” she said, heading toward the kitchen. “Do you take anything in it?”

  “Just black.”

  Besides the television set and the expensive leather sofa, there was a leather recliner, a couple of end tables, and a fancy steamer trunk that served as a coffee table.

  A long granite countertop separated the kitchen from the living room, and there were three metal barstools underneath it.

  Savannah pointed to one of them as she entered the kitchen. “I’ve changed my mind. Why don’t you have a seat here so we can talk?”

  As I got up from the sofa and moved over to the kitchen area, I said, “This is a great apartment. It’s a lot nicer than anything I lived in when I was in college.”

  She smiled. “It’s a lot nicer than the house I grew up in.”

  “Do you and Lizzie live here alone?”

  She nodded and inserted a coffee pod in a Keurig coffeemaker.

  “It’s a three-bedroom unit, but Lizzie pays two-thirds of the rent, so she took the third bedroom as her office.”

  She placed a mug underneath the spout and said, “Here, I’ll show you around while this is brewing.”

  Savannah took me down a hallway next to the living room and showed me her bedroom.

  As we walked inside, she seemed embarrassed. “As you can see, I’m not the neatest person in the world.”

  She was right.

  The bed was unmade; there were clothes everywhere, and a desk in a corner of the room was cluttered with books and papers.

  When we returned to the kitchen, she pointed down a hallway on the opposite side of the living room.

  “Lizzie’s bedroom and her office are this way.”

  “When was the last time you saw Lizzie?” I asked.