Page 99 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“Madam Mayor, they’re still preparing to board,” the chief said. “I promise you that finding Dr. Dunn is their top priority.”

Ten minutes later, he took the squad car off-road and navigated along a winding bike path, the woods lush with trees on one side, a vast panoramic view of the Hudson on the other. Lizzie and I were in the back seat, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, my hands wrapped in hers, the squawk of the radio assailing us nonstop.

“Up ahead,” the chief said, spotting a lone boat anchored in a secluded sun-drenched cove, one of many sheltered inlets along the riverbank. “State Police Marine Patrol boat.”

He stopped the car, and we got out as a state trooper strode toward us.

“Madam Mayor, I’m Sergeant Dennis Collins. We found your husband’s boat,” he said, pointing to theDunn Dealabout a hundred yards offshore.

“Is my husband all right?”

“He’s not on board, ma’am.”

“What do you mean he’s not on board? How did the boat get there?”

“I can’t say, ma’am. We searched the vessel. We found a wallet with Dr. Dunn’s ID on the captain’s chair, along with his hospital badge hanging from the throttle.”

“He’s a creature of habit. That’s where he always puts it.”

“We also found a key fob to a Lexus and a cell phone, but we’re waiting for Crime Scene before we touch it. Would you mind calling your husband’s mobile number?”

I took out my cell, but my hands were trembling so violently that I hit the wrong name on my favorites list. “Shit, shit, shit,” I bellowed. “I dialed Dad.” I hung up.

“I’ll do it,” Lizzie said. She took out her phone and carefully tapped Alex’s speed dial.

Seconds later the sergeant’s radio came alive. “Subject’s cell is ringing,” the voice said. “Caller ID says Lizzie.”

The sergeant gestured for Lizzie to hang up. “Mrs. Dunn,” he said, “was your husband in the habit of taking the boat out for early-morning sails?”

“No. It was mostly a weekend thing. He was too busy during the week.”

“When did you speak to him last?”

“He called me around seven last night and said he was slammed at work. When he wasn’t at home this morning, I assumed he’d slept there. But his assistant said he didn’t.”

“Do you know what he wore to work yesterday?”

“What he wore?” I closed my eyes and pictured kissing Alex goodbye a day ago. “He had on a blue suit, white shirt... I think the tie was also blue with thin green stripes, and black leather shoes—Cole Haan.”

“Madam Mayor, this is not always easy, but I have to ask. Was your husband depressed, or under any severe emotional strain or stress recently?”

“Emotional strain? He runs a major hospital. It’s practically in his job description, for God’s sake. Who isn’t under stress these days?”

“I understand, but I’m talking about an unusual amount of mental duress.”

“Sergeant, I’m a former prosecutor, so I know exactly what you’re talking about. I’m quite familiar with the horrible places you have to go when you conduct your investigations, but let me stop you right now. My husband is not like that. He would never consider hurting himself because he knows how much it would hurt his family. He loves us. He’s not going to suddenly choose to leave us.”

“I completely understand, and please be assured that we are treating this as a search and rescue. The governor herself has authorized another two dozen troopers to join the investigation, and we have offers of help from agencies up and down the state. We are determined to find him.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Collins.”

“But I do have to ask you one more question,” he said.

“Anything,” I said.

“Can you think of any reason why at some time between last night and early this morning, instead of going home, your husband would go to the boat, pull away from the dock, leave his wallet and other identification neatly arranged in plain view, and then disappear completely dressed in a suit, tie, and good leather shoes?”

My lips began to quiver, and the tears welled up. I had no answers. And then I heard the helicopter approaching.