“Um, okay, black suede jacket, white shirt. I think he was wearing jeans—good jeans. But I wouldn’t have worn them to the restaurant. He was midthirties, dark hair...tanned face. Yeah, he had a tan. And he was using an iPhone.”
“Midthirties, dark hair,” Mark said. “Long hair, short hair?”
“Kind of like mine. Not too short, but not long.”
“Thank you,” Colleen told him. “And thank you for saying you’ll come in. We appreciate any help we can get.”
Mark forced a smile. “We’ll let you get back to your buffing.”
“Yeah. I’m done. Time to shower and get going. The doctors told Dierdre’s folks they’ll be able to see her, but it’s a little harder for me because we’re not officially related, so Dierdre’s folks will bring me in with them. Weird, that cops have talked to her, but we can’t yet.”
“Law enforcement can get about two minutes with a patient,” Colleen explained. “Families want to stay, and it can be emotional and draining when doctors are trying to make sure a patient is okay.”
“Yeah, I get it. I guess. No, I don’t. Family would be reassuring, and cops are creepy—sorry. But you’re not cops anyway, right? Special agents.”
“Yep. Special agents.”
“Well, we’re grateful,” Gary said. “Very grateful. We’re amazed you found her alive.”
“So are we,” Colleen assured him. “And we don’t want it to happen to anyone else, so anything you can give us is deeply appreciated.”
“Of course,” Gary said.
“Anyway, thank you again. And we’ll look forward to seeing you at the office,” Mark said.
He gave a wave as he and Colleen turned and headed back to the car.
When he was behind the driver’s seat and revving the engine, he asked Colleen, “Well?”
“I don’t much care for him.”
Mark chuckled. “You don’t really know him. Buffing the car may be the thing that is keeping him sane.” He shook his head. “But you’re right, I’d have been there. At the hospital. I’d have haunted people.”
“And police or security might have had you removed.”
He shook his head. “No, I’d have just been in a waiting room. If I loved someone...but it’s not just that. His language was strange.”
“He said, ‘we’re grateful.’ Aligning himself with the parents,” Colleen added.
He smiled and nodded. “I worked with a psychologist who worked with language as a specialty on a case a few years ago. It’s amazing what you can pick out from the way someone is speaking. Most liars take care with a lie. The reason being, we all tend to forget a lie or the details of it. A lie needs to be kept simple.”
“He was detailed about the restaurant.”
“Everything he said about the restaurant was probably the truth.”
“And it was probably the truth there was a man in the restaurant who paid his bill when they did—and was standing outside watching Dierdre?”
“Possibly. Several people might have paid their checks at the same time. And there might have been several people on the street.”
“So, if he lied, it was just about going back to work?”
“Yes—simple. A lie to remember.”
“Interesting. How can we prove he was lying?”
“That, I don’t know. But the way someone speaks can tell us a great deal. There’s the social introduction. When someone speaks or writes about someone else, if a relationship is good, they’ll say ‘my boyfriend, Gary,’ or something like ‘my brother, Patrick.’ When a relationship is not so good, they’ll just use one or the other. That isn’t every single time—just something that often proves to be true. A young woman was lying once about an attack outside a restaurant. She said a man in a hoodie had attacked her and she barely escaped.”
“A man in a hoodie,” Colleen commented.
He smiled. “The thing of it is, criminals do often wear hoodies. Some know how to wear a hoodie and to keep their heads down by any surveillance cameras.”
“Okay, what really happened?” Colleen asked.
“She and her boyfriend had just had a fight, but she didn’t want anyone to know he’d given her a black eye. She loved him even if he was an abusive prick.”
“She stayed with him?”
He nodded grimly. “And our psychologists tried to get her to bring charges against him, and she wouldn’t. Instead, she was charged for filing a false report.”
“I’ve never understood that way of...feeling,” Colleen said. “But you’re right. I was a kid with great parents, and while my siblings and I sometimes fought, we’d stand up for one another against anyone who dared taunt one of us. And we were taught personal responsibility. I’m sorry for that poor girl.”
“I wonder if she’s still alive,” Mark said, shaking his head.
“That’s tough stuff—getting people out of an abusive relationship,” Colleen said, and sighed. “At least Gary Boynton doesn’t appear to be abusive.”
“No, but I still didn’t care much for him. But who knows? Maybe he’s just a privileged boy turned into a privileged man, and he’s just fine. And maybe Sally’s boyfriend is a wonderful writer, and they just had a spat about location, work, and his leaving—and her staying. Maybe someone else entirely is out there.” He hesitated. “But I do believe this—if we don’t figure it out soon, there will be another woman in a coffin, and you might not hear her, and Red might not find her.”
Red whined softly, having heard his name.
Colleen nodded thoughtfully. “Right,” she said. “So, where are we heading now?”
He grinned. “Lunch.”
“Oh, good. It’s three o’clock. I was beginning to think you never ate, and God forbid a rookie suggest food. Anyway, I know a pizza place that’s up ahead—”
“Well, another time.”
“Oh?”
“Cafeteria food,” he told her.
“Ah. We’re headed back to the hospital.”