Page 3 of She Didn’t See It Coming

Detective Jayne Salter, of the Albany Police Department, is at dinner at home in her apartment near Washington Park when the call comes in.

She picks her cell phone up off the table, glances apologetically over the flickering candle at the man across from her, swallows her mouthful down, and says, “Jayne Salter.”

“Sorry to bother you at home, Detective, but we’ve just had a report of a woman going missing. Failed to pick her child up from day care. The husband called it in. Uniforms are on the way to the home now.”

And then she thinks, but should it? Should she be more worried about his disappointment than about finding this missing woman? She realizes that she feels defensive already, because she can tell that he’s not happy about it. Well, he knew when he met her what she did for a living.

She rises from the table. He stands too. “I’m really sorry about this, Michael, you know I am. But a woman is missing, a woman with a child.”

He nods, resigned. He kisses her goodbye.

She gathers her coat and bag. “You eat, I’ll warm mine up when I get back.” She adds, “I’ll try not to be late.”

“Sure,” he says, with a rueful smile. “I’ll eat in front of the TV. I’m sure there’s something good on Netflix.”

···

Jayne arrives in less than ten minutes. A police cruiser is parked on the street outside the luxury condo building, and she pulls up behind it.

The condo is a large, sandstone-colored building of about ten to twelve stories.

It looks like most units have balconies.

There’s a curved drive leading into it from the street.

The front entrance is rather grand, with an arch with 100 Constitution Drive emblazoned on it.

It’s an attractive building, in a good neighborhood.

Jayne enters through the glass doors, quickly taking in the concierge desk to the left; the bored-looking young man sitting behind it doesn’t even lift his head.

The floors are glossy and the interior appears to be well maintained.

The bank of elevators is on the right. She makes her way to the desk and holds up her badge. “Is the building manager here?”

He looks at her badge with alarm and says, “No.”

“Get him here urgently, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s reaching for the telephone as she turns from the desk, walks across the lobby, and takes the elevator to the eighth floor.

She glances up for cameras but doesn’t see any.

The elevator pings as she arrives. The doors slide open and she walks down the corridor, the soft carpet deadening her footsteps.

She greets a female uniformed officer standing outside unit 804, then opens the door and enters the foyer.

At first glance, she can see that the apartment is spacious and decorated in light, neutral tones.

She can see beyond the foyer and short hall into the living room, which is carpeted in a tasteful beige.

A man and a woman are sitting side by side on a large, plush sofa and look up quickly as she enters.

She’s met by Officer Hernandez, who steps away from the couple and speaks to her quietly.

“We just got here. The husband’s pretty upset,” he tells her. “The missing woman’s sister is here too.”

Jayne makes her way into the living room and sits down.

Officer Hernandez stands beside her. “I’m Detective Jayne Salter,” she says.

She studies the man sitting across from her, his knees apart, hands clasped tightly.

The husband. She knows that when a woman is missing, it’s often because of the husband, one way or another, but she tries to keep an open mind.

He looks distraught. He’s attractive and well dressed, although a little disheveled; he’s thrown off his suit jacket, loosened his collar, and removed his tie—the jacket and tie are on the arm of the sofa, the tie a splash of red—and he’s obviously been running his hands through his hair.

She notes that his hands are trembling slightly; he clasps them in an attempt to hide it.

The woman beside him is average looking, petite, with medium-brown, chin-length hair. Her blue eyes are alert.

“I’m Sam Frost,” the man says, “Bryden’s husband.”

“I’m her sister, Lizzie Houser,” the woman says.

“We’ll do everything we can to find her,” Jayne says, leaning in. She focuses on Sam. “When did you first realize your wife was missing?”

He swallows nervously and says, “I got a call from the day care. Bryden hadn’t picked up Clara.

That was about five thirty. She usually picks her up at five.

They’d been calling and texting her without any answer.

I tried to reach her then too, but she didn’t answer.

I picked up our daughter and got home at about six thirty.

I left Clara with a neighbor and called the police.

Bryden’s phone is here, on the dining room table.

And her purse is here. I just can’t imagine her leaving home without her purse and phone—”

“What about her car?”

“It’s here, parked in the underground parking lot.”

“Okay. Excuse me a moment,” she says to Sam.

She walks into the kitchen beyond the living room and makes a call to Detective Tom Kilgour, who she knows has already been apprised of the situation and is on his way to the police station.

“I need you to get a team here at 100 Constitution Drive to do a full search of the entire building.”

“Got it,” Kilgour responds.

“It’s a condominium. The missing woman’s car is here, and she’s left her phone and purse behind, so she might still be in the building somewhere. Have them check all the common areas—the exercise room, the storage facilities, the parking garages, the roof, everything.”

“Maybe she’s fainted somewhere or fallen in one of the stairwells,” Kilgour suggests.

“Maybe. If she doesn’t turn up in any of the common areas, we’ll need to go to every unit, see if anyone saw her. I’ll get you a full description and a photo.”

“I’ll let you know when I arrive with the search team.”

“When you do, I’ll come down and we’ll speak to the property manager. He’s on his way. We’ll want access to all CCTV in and around the building.”

She finishes the call and returns to the living room. She sits back down across from the anxious man on the sofa. “Tell me about your wife, Sam.”

Sam says, “She’s a very good mother, very reliable. She would never just leave; she would never abandon Clara.”

“Does she work outside the home?”

“Yes, she’s an accountant with Rolf and Weiner. She was working from home today.”

“Does your wife have any physical health problems—epilepsy, diabetes, anything like that?” Jayne asks.

“No.”

“Any mental health issues of any kind?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Where might she go, inside the building?” Jayne asks. “Laundry room? The gym?”

“We have laundry facilities inside our apartment. She doesn’t use the gym.

The basement garage, of course. She goes to our neighbor Angela’s a lot, but I already went over there before I called you, and she hadn’t seen her.

” He adds, “Clara is with her now. She’s our daughter. She’s three.” His voice catches.

“What unit is Angela in?” Jayne asks.

“It’s 808.” Then he remembers. “Bryden’s been going to the storage locker lately—she’s been moving stuff down there.”

Jayne nods. “We’ll check it out.” She asks, “Any problems recently that you know of?”

“No,” he says, as his sister-in-law shakes her head in agreement.

“Have you noticed any changes in her mood or behavior recently?”

“No.”

“No financial problems?” she asks.

“No.”

“And you two haven’t had any difficulties lately, in your marriage?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. We’re very happy.” He lurches forward in his seat. “Please, you have to find her. I’m afraid something has happened to her.”

“This is completely unlike her,” Lizzie agrees, a little breathless.

She’s very tense, Jayne observes. They both are. But that’s to be expected. “When was the last time you spoke to your wife, Sam?”

“This morning, when I was leaving for work. At about eight o’clock. I left a bit early because I had a meeting first thing. As I said, she was working from home today, but she would have dropped Clara at day care at about nine.”

“I see. And you didn’t hear from her at all during the day? Not a quick text about anything?”

“No.”

“Do you usually talk or text each other throughout the day?” Jayne asks.

“Sometimes. Most days. But I know she had a lot on her plate today, that’s why she was working from home, and she didn’t want to be disturbed, so I wasn’t surprised I didn’t hear from her.”

She looks at Lizzie. “And you didn’t have any contact with her today?”

“No.”

“Okay. We’ll need a recent photograph of Bryden, and a full description, including what she was wearing when you last saw her this morning. Can you do that for me?”

He nods. “She’s five foot three, about one hundred twenty pounds. Thirty-five years old. Shoulder-length blond hair, green eyes. She was wearing black yoga pants and a gray sweatshirt when I left this morning, and she had her hair in a ponytail.” He’s thumbing through his phone for photos.

Jayne watches as Hernandez takes the details down. “If we don’t find her quickly in the building, we’ll need to take her phone and her computer. Is there anything out of place in the apartment, anything missing?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes. I looked.”

“Was the door locked when you arrived home?”

He looks confused for a moment. “Um, I used my key to get in, like I always do, but I don’t really know if it was locked. I didn’t try it first.”

“Do you mind if I take a look around?” Jayne asks.

“No, not at all.”

As Jayne stands up, she says to Hernandez, “Get the description and photo out to the full team immediately.” She turns back to Sam. “If we don’t find her quickly, we’ll need all her banking information to see if she’s accessed her accounts recently.”

“She hasn’t run away, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Sam says sharply.

She doesn’t answer. She knows that sometimes people do run away.

In fact, they do it all the time. They have enough, and they suddenly snap.

Or they plan it carefully. And she knows nothing about this woman and her family.

It all looks perfectly fine, but that doesn’t mean it is.

You might leave your phone and purse behind if you wanted to walk away and start over.

Or perhaps she has simply fallen somewhere in the building and hit her head.

Or it might be something worse. Perhaps she’s been taken from this apartment against her will.

Or perhaps her husband killed her. It’s possible that this condominium is a crime scene.

She takes Officer Hernandez aside and speaks to him quietly.

“Treat the apartment as a possible crime scene. No unnecessary persons in—clear anyone with me first—and make sure everyone is documented.”