“No, thanks. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d like to pay now so I can never think about you again.”
Cap nodded and handed her the invoice. She pulled out a checkbook and a pen and scribbled the numbers and words, ripped the check out, and held it out for Cap to take, the paper shaking in her hand. Cap took it from her, and Mrs. Svetich stood up to leave, so Cap did too.
He tried to think of something else he could say.
“Don’t worry,” said Mrs. Svetich. “There’s nothing you can say.”
She laughed again, but oh, her eyes. He could see drops hanging off the lower lids. One blink would make them roll. He walked with her to the door.
“Thanks, Mr. Caplan,” she said in a strange high voice. She didn’t blink and didn’t look at him as she left.
Cap shut the door, rolled his shoulders back, and made a sound like “Gah.” He checked his watch, 12:15. Really too early for a beer. He sat back in his chair and scrolled through his emails.
He clicked on one with the subject line “Inquiry” from an address he didn’t recognize:
Mr. Caplan,
I am interested in retaining your services. Please write me back at this address and let me know your availability for a conversation.
Thanks,
A. Vega
New business is good, he thought. What had just happened with Mrs. Svetich was the hardest part of the job. Everything else: tracking down people who weren’t candidates for Mensa to begin with, filling out paperwork for the retail outfits that hired him, making his own hours, leaving his old Sig in a MicroVault in the closet, not waking up with his jaw locked from tension—this was all the good part.
So he wrote back:
Hello,
I am available to speak now until 2:30 p.m. this afternoon or otherwise after 7 p.m. tonight. Also I am free tomorrow between 9 a.m. and noon. If those windows don’t work for you, please let me know what times might.
Thanks for your interest,
Max Caplan
He hit Send and leaned back. Sipped his cold coffee and opened the folder for the skip. He flipped through the pages: the driver’s license photo of Brandon Haas, last known street address. Trouble finding this one. Didn’t want to pay child support for his two-year-old twin boys, so he moved out of his apartment and ditched his cell. Only after he’d insisted on a paternity test because he told the mother of his children, “Can’t be mine, they look colored.” The mother had said to Cap that Brandon was full of shit because he knows she would never sleep with a black guy. Good, good people.
And now he heard the doorbell from the front of the house and figured it was UPS. He found himself feeling relieved that he could step out of Brandon Haas’s life for a moment as he went through the door that led to the rest of the house. Through the hallway and living room and to the front door. He glanced through the window and saw a woman there, no one he recognized. He opened the door and there she was. She was slender but not small, big eyes taking up most of her round doll-like face, little makeup, brown hair pulled back. Pretty in an unadorned way.
“Max Caplan?” she said.
“Yes?”
“I’m Alice Vega. You just sent me an email.”
Cap looked around.
“You got here pretty quickly.”
“I was close by.”
Cap tried to read her. Clothes were a giveaway for the type. Mrs. Svetich’s blouse with the boat neckline and khaki pants showed that she had dressed up, that she had maybe once held a job where she wore these clothes, even if she was a stay-at-home mom now. The mother of Brandon Haas’s children, Hayley, wore stained jeans and an extra-small T-shirt.
Then there was the face and body: eyes, lips, hands. That will tell you the state of mind. Mrs. Svetich was all tight neck muscles and pleading eyes—desperate, sad, tense. Hayley Haas twitched and ran her words together and screwed her lips up into crazy angles—angry, unpredictable, drunk.
Alice Vega wore black, all black. Black pants, black blouse, black boots, black canvas jacket. Her face had no discernible expression, but there was emotion there; Cap just couldn’t make it out.
“Is this still a good time for you?” she said.
“Yeah. It is. Let’s go around to my office.”
She nodded and smiled politely. Cap turned the lock on the doorknob and closed the front door, walked across the parched lawn to the driveway.
“You from around here?” he said over his shoulder.
“No,” she answered, and that was all.
Okay, Cap thought. Not a talker.
They walked up the concrete path alongside the house, Vega still behind him a step. Cap opened the door to his office and held it open.
“Where are you in from?” he said.
She stepped inside. He watched her eyes cover the room like headlights, and he suddenly felt embarrassed about the space. The IKEA furniture seemed old and shabby; the stained wood floor did not seem part of the house’s old-school charm; it just looked cheap.
“California,” she said.
“Wow, long way,” he said. “Would you like coffee?” he asked, pointing to the Krups in the corner.
“No, thanks.”
“Please sit.”
She sat on the edge of the chair, like she was ready to leave suddenly. Cap sat behind his desk and realized how messy it was, covered in folders.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Vega?” he said.
“I’ve been hired by the Brandt family. I understand you used to be a detective with the Denville Police. I need your help.”
Cap’s professional smile disappeared.
“Are you a PI?” he asked.
“I find missing persons.”
Cap nodded.
“I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“I met with Greg Hollows this morning.”
Cap moved the Brandon Haas folder on his desk an inch to the left.
“And how is he?”
“Reluctant. He doesn’t want my help. Says he doesn’t need it.”
“I doubt that.”
“So do I,” said Vega. “It’s easier if I do this with the police. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yeah,” said Cap. “Easier, cheaper, quicker. I’m still not sure how I fit in here. You know I’m no longer with the police.”
“I do. Most information I can get. I have a guy who can get it for me. I don’t need to know how to find the girls’ father, or get video feeds—I have the full cooperation of Jamie Brandt and her family as of now. But there’s a piece I can’t get to.”
“Witness statements,” said Cap.
“Yes. I could get employees from local businesses, but the people in the parking lot, passersby; there’s no way I could get them all.”
She paused. Cap watched her eyes travel quickly to the corner of the room as she thought.
“I could get them. It would just take time.”
“Which you don’t have,” said Cap.
“Which I don’t have,” said Vega.
Cap smiled and tried to look casual. He sipped his cold coffee casually, to show Vega how much he didn’t care about the Brandt girls or the police department.
“Okay,” he said. “You seem like a resourceful person who’s done her homework. So you know all about me, right?”
“Some.”
“So you know that I ended my relationship with the Denville PD two and a half years ago, and it was not exactly what you’d call an amicable breakup.”