The House Guest - Mark Edwards Page 0,25

me. I could feel it, beneath my flesh, in my bones. Something was very wrong; something beyond Ruth getting drunk and being fired. Firstly, there was the question of where she was and why she wasn’t answering her phone or letting me know where she was. That was out of character. But what was really making me sick with worry was this whole question of who Eden really was.

She was a liar. A stranger. And we had let her into our lives.

Chapter 12

Detective Dennis Krugman was younger than I expected, in his late thirties. He was tall, around six-five, and stood in the Cunninghams’ living room like Gulliver freshly arrived in Lilliput, speaking in a rumbling tone. Bear’s breath, my mum would say. Jack and Mona hung around the edges of the room while I told the detective everything I knew, up to and including what I’d just learned from Cara.

‘Hmm,’ Krugman said.

I waited for him to elaborate.

‘So she called the theatre to say she was sick? Hungover, you think?’

‘She didn’t call. Someone else did. Eden, I expect. Whoever she is really.’

‘Yes. Eden. The problem we have here is that all indications are that Ms Armstrong left of her own accord. She’s an adult, she’s not a vulnerable person. You said she’s not on any medication that you know of . . .’

‘She’s not on any medication.’

‘And she has no history of attempting to harm herself?’

‘No.’

‘Hmmmm.’

I wished he’d stop doing that. Although, apart from the hmm-ing, I liked him. The way he spoke was soothing, the bass frequency of his voice helping to calm me down. I could imagine he’d be the kind of person you’d want to rely on in a crisis. The fact he looked like he could crush a man’s head with his bare hands was a bonus.

‘I can register her as a missing person, but I have to warn you, this is not going to be high-priority. You know how many people go missing in this country every month?’

‘How many?’

He smiled. ‘A lot.’

Later, I looked it up. There were almost 100,000 active missing-persons cases in the US at any given time.

He wrote something in the tiny notepad he cradled in his massive hand. ‘What was Ms Armstrong’s visa situation?’

‘She has a working visa.’

‘Hmm. And she’s been fired from her job. I’m guessing Immigration Services would be interested to hear about that.’

‘Wait, you’re going to report her to Immigration?’

He tilted his head. ‘If you want me to file an official report – which you’d have to come to the station house to do – then Immigration Services will need to be informed.’

‘Uh-oh,’ said Jack.

Krugman smiled without opening his mouth. ‘What about her folks? Her friends? Have you spoken to any of them?’

‘She doesn’t have any family. And she doesn’t really have any close friends either. She’s been so focused on her career . . .’

‘Hmm. I assume you’ve checked her social media?’

‘Yes. She’s not on Twitter but I’ve checked Facebook and Instagram. She hasn’t updated either of them since I saw her.’

‘You said she has an iPhone. Does she have the Find My iPhone app? Not that I’m suggesting you should log in to her account . . .’

‘I’ve already thought of that. I don’t know her new password and her MacBook is missing.’ Ruth had changed her iCloud password after her phone was stolen.

‘I see.’ He paused. ‘What about your relationship? Had you had an argument? Any reason why she might not want to contact you?’

‘No.’

‘Not that he can remember, anyway,’ said Jack.

I shot him an irritated look. He really wasn’t helping. Mona looked annoyed with him too. She seemed to be the only other person who was taking Ruth’s disappearance seriously.

‘You have to understand that this is all completely out of character,’ I said. ‘Firstly, not contacting me. We usually text each other all the time.’

I didn’t want to admit that, recently, she hadn’t texted me as often as I did her. She was too busy.

‘More importantly, I can’t see her risking her part in the play like that. She’s reliable. Almost pathologically so. She’s never late for anything.’

‘But she did drink a lot on Friday night?’ Krugman said. ‘About a third of a bottle of tequila? Maybe half? From your description, her body weight is about half mine and I’d struggle to get out of bed after that.’

‘I know, but . . .’

I trailed off. This was intensely frustrating. I didn’t think Ruth would be a high priority for the police. I didn’t, however,