Page 9 of She Didn’t See It Coming
Jayne does the planned press statement and public appeal for information at nine. There is a lot of interest from the press, as is typical in these missing persons cases.
Sam is expecting her—she’d called ahead to tell him she was on her way.
As he lets her into the apartment, she notes how drawn he looks—he clearly hasn’t slept.
He hasn’t showered either. He’s in old jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and his hands shake when he brings her coffee.
None of this is extraordinary. It’s just what you’d expect in a man whose wife is missing.
It’s also what you might expect in a man who’d gotten rid of her.
She sits in the armchair while he sits across the coffee table from her on the sofa. The apartment is noticeably quiet. No sounds of a child, and the sister isn’t here either. They appear to be alone. “Are Lizzie and Clara not here?”
He shakes his head. “She has to pick up her parents at the airport later and she offered to take Clara—to distract her. To give me a break. She wanted to get her place ready for them first.” He sighs heavily.
“Clara was crying for her mother off and on all night. Christ,” he mutters and slumps on the sofa, the picture of exhaustion and misery.
“How are you holding up, Sam?” Jayne asks sympathetically.
He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head.
“I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s all right?” she says quietly. He nods. “I assume you were at work yesterday?”
“Yes. I’m a portfolio manager at Kleinberg Wealth.”
“And where is that?”
“On Broadway, downtown.”
“I see. And you were there all day?”
He looks at her, and she can tell that something is wrong. There’s something he doesn’t want to tell her. She waits.
“Not all day. I stepped out for lunch.”
She nods. “And when was that?”
“I don’t know exactly—around noon?”
She writes it down. “Where did you go for lunch?”
Now his face is flushed, and she watches him with interest.
“I picked up something and went to the park.”
“Were you with anyone?”
“No.”
“And where did you pick up lunch, and which park?”
“At Gino’s. It’s a food truck, near Washington Park. That’s where I went.”
She nods. “And what time did you return to work?”
“At about two.”
She writes it down. Then she looks up at him. “We’ve been looking into your wife’s financial records and her phone records, and one thing stood out.”
She has his attention now. “What?”
“Her banking is all very regular, except for one day, several weeks ago, when she appears to have withdrawn twenty-seven hundred dollars in cash from her bank account. Do you know what that’s about?”
He looks blank for a moment and then he nods. “Oh right. She had a minor car accident a few weeks ago. Hit a guy’s Tesla at a red light. We decided not to put it through on insurance. She paid the guy cash. It was twenty-seven hundred dollars to repair his car.”
“I see.” Nothing of interest there. “That would explain it.” She thinks about it.
They exchanged information. She’s quiet for a moment, considering.
It’s worth checking out. They haven’t found any sign of anyone else coming into Bryden’s life or crossing paths with her recently.
Just her usual friends, the people she works with, the other moms she knows casually.
There was nothing else out of the ordinary.
They have this person’s contact information in Bryden’s phone.
Derek Gardner. She will pay him a visit.
Jayne lets her eyes move around the living room again, wondering if she’s missing something.
Then she studies Sam, leans forward with her elbows on her knees.
“Sam, I know this is difficult, but if there’s anything we should know about Bryden, anything you’ve been holding back, you should tell me now.
” She notes the flicker of anger in his eyes. Or perhaps it’s fear?
“I’m not holding anything back,” he says. “I don’t know what’s happened to her. We had no secrets between us. We were very happy. I just want you to find her.” He looks anguished.
She smiles kindly at him and nods. “Of course. We all want to find her. We’re doing our best.” She wonders if he realizes that he just slipped into using the past tense in reference to his wife.