Daddy's Gone a Hunting

20

Mark Sloane’s curiosity about his neighbor was quickly satisfied the next day when he picked up Friday’s morning newspapers and stopped for coffee and a bagel at the counter of a coffee shop on his way to the office. The burning complex was on the first page of the papers and on the inside pages he saw a picture of Hannah Connelly outside the hospital, being rushed to a taxi by her father. Ironic, he thought. The firm he left and the one where he was now dealt with corporate real estate. He had seen his share of buildings conveniently being burned down when they became a financial liability.

He remembered the time Billy Owens, a restaurant owner in Chicago, had collected on a large insurance policy after a second suspicious fire, and an investigator for the insurance company had sarcastically suggested that the next time Billy needed to unload some property he should try flooding it.

As he bit into a bagel, Mark read that the widow of the dead man, Gus Schmidt, was adamant that Kate Connelly, the daughter of the owner, had been the one to make the predawn appointment at the complex. But according to the papers, Schmidt had been a disgruntled former employee of the firm. Mark’s analytical mind toyed with the idea that Schmidt might have been a logical person to involve if someone wanted to burn the complex down. There was a picture of Kate Connelly in the paper. She was a stunning blond.

In any case, it was an interesting coincidence that the sister lived on the floor below him. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her because of her dark glasses and the way she turned away from him, probably embarrassed to be seen crying. But it was clear that she didn’t resemble her sister at all. The friend who was with her with the blazing red hair and fiercely protective attitude was the one who had made the strongest impression on him.

As he accepted a second cup of coffee from the waitress at the counter, he turned his attention to his own situation. He’d been back and forth from Chicago to the new office enough times in the previous weeks to feel comfortable with his coworkers. So as soon as possible, he intended to attempt to reopen Tracey’s missing person’s file. It’s not just Mom, he thought. Tracey has never been out of my mind, either. When that woman who’d been missing since she was fourteen escaped captivity twelve or fourteen years later, I wondered if maybe Tracey was possibly being held somewhere against her will.

She’d be fifty this month. But she hasn’t aged in my mind, he thought. She’ll always be twenty-two.

He paid his bill and walked out onto the street. At 8 A.M., Greenwich Village was bustling with people heading for the subway. Even though it was cold, there was no feel of rain in the air and Mark was happy to stretch his legs and walk to work. He did not officially start at the new office until Monday, but going there today would give him a chance to settle early. On the way he thought about the detective who his mother had said had worked so hard on Tracey’s case. Nick Greco. Mom said he was in his late thirties then, so he’d be in his sixties now. He’s sure to be retired, he thought. I can always try to Google him.