The photographer raises his lens, points through the open car window.
Click click click.
The Audi door shuts. The photographer waits.
Almost seven minutes later, the bald man exits the Audi. This time he holds a large brown envelope in his hand. The photographer clicks again, making sure he captures both the envelope and the Audi license plate.
The bald man climbs back into the driver’s seat of the Toyota Camry.
The photographer clicks. He captures the Camry’s plates as it drives off.
The photographer then hesitates. He can wait until Rittenberg leaves the lot, and follow him. Or he could follow the Camry. The photographer slides down into his seat and out of sight as the Camry passes his parked vehicle. He comes upright, starts his engine, puts his car into gear, and follows the Camry down the dimly lit street.
The Camry leads him all the way to a small strip mall in Burnaby. The Camry enters the mall lot and parks in front of a Laundromat. The bald man exits the Camry and makes for a recessed doorway tucked between the Laundromat and a busy Vietnamese restaurant.
The photographer waits. Patrons come and go from the restaurant. There are two people inside the Laundromat. Time is now 7:52 p.m. The photographer notices a light go on in windows upstairs from the Laundromat. He exits his vehicle and goes up to the recessed door into which the bald man disappeared. A plaque at the side of the door names three businesses located upstairs. One is a ballroom dance studio, another is a cobbler, and the third is Preston Private Investigations.
The photographer smiles. So Jon Rittenberg is working with a private investigator.
He returns to his vehicle, opens his phone, and finds the website for Preston Private Investigations.
Extramarital Affairs, Adultery, Infidelity, Unfaithful Cheating Spouses: These terms cause enormous amounts of stress for those who suspect a spouse’s activities . . .
Does Jon Rittenberg suspect his wife of adultery? Something more sinister?
The photographer waits awhile longer inside his dark vehicle. It begins to rain. No one exits the door. He starts his car and drives home, thinking about Rittenberg.
People can seem so ordinary on the surface, but scratch the veneer and there’s always a secret beneath the gloss.
MAL
November 1, 2019. Friday.
When Mal and Benoit arrive at Rose Cottage in search of Daisy Rittenberg, they see a dark-gray Audi parked in the driveway. They exchange a quick glance as Benoit pulls in behind it. Their headlights illuminate the Audi plate, but it’s so plastered with mud that it’s illegible.
As they are about to exit their vehicle, Mal’s phone rings. It’s Lula.
“Hey, Lu. I’m putting you on speaker. What’ve you got?”
“Okay, no criminal record on file for either Daisy Rittenberg or her husband, Jon, but photographs that we’ve found of the couple match Beulah Brown’s description of the mystery pair who arrived at the Glass House in the Audi. We’re still gathering further information, but something has just come to our attention. The Rittenbergs of Rose Cottage are named as Kit Darling’s clients on the list that Holly’s Help sent us.” Lula pauses, apparently consulting the list. “Darling cleaned Rose Cottage up until October 27. She stopped four days before the incident at the Glass House.”
“The Rittenbergs canceled the contract?” Mal asks.
“No. Holly McGuire says it was Darling who asked to be removed from the Rose Cottage roster due to a sudden ‘scheduling conflict.’ McGuire said the request from Darling was unusual, but she also reiterated that Darling is one of her best employees, and that she’s been consistent over the eight years she’s worked for the service. McGuire’s sense was that something about the Rittenbergs had upset Darling, but Darling declined to offer any additional input when McGuire pressed. McGuire thus ceded to her employee’s request—she wanted to keep Darling happy. She sent another cleaner to Rose Cottage starting Monday, October 28.”
Mal shoots a glance at Benoit. They now have another link between Kit Darling and Daisy Rittenberg. One cleaned for the other. And both were at the Glass House on Halloween night. Both still unaccounted for.
Mal thanks Lula and ends the call. She and Benoit exit the vehicle with renewed purpose. A foghorn sounds in the darkness. Rain continues to drizzle down. They walk slowly past the Audi.
“Mud on the tires as well as the plates,” Benoit says as they make for the house entrance.
Mal knocks on the door.
“Doesn’t look like a cottage to me,” Benoit says.
A light goes on inside. Mal detects movement through the opaque glass panel down the side of the front door. But no one answers.
Mal hammers her fist on the door as Benoit rings the bell repeatedly. “Hello! Police!” she calls. “Anyone home? Open up, please.”
The door finally opens a crack.
A tall, well-built male in his late thirties or early forties peers at them with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Fresh scratches run down his cheek and neck. He wears pajama pants, a dirty sweatshirt. His feet are bare, his hair disheveled, and a strong scent of alcohol radiates off him. He holds the door close to his body. Mal notices a bandage spotted with fresh blood on his hand. He angles his head as if trying to pull them into focus.
“Mr. Rittenberg?” Mal asks.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Sergeant Mallory Van Alst, and this is my partner, Corporal Benoit Salumu. We’d like to ask you and your wife, Daisy, a few questions.”
A panicked look explodes across the man’s face. “What about?”
“Is Daisy Rittenberg in? Are you her husband, Jon Rittenberg?”
He tenses as though he’s going to bolt, and Mal braces in anticipation. She senses Benoit doing the same, repositioning himself slightly more to her right and rear.
“Yeah, I’m Jon.”
“Is your wife home, sir?”
“No.”
“Where can we find her?”
“She’s gone.”
A frisson crackles through Mal. “Gone? Where?”
“I don’t the hell know. She just packed her bags and left, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Can we come in, Mr. Rittenberg?”
“What for?”
“Just to have a look around, see if your wife is here.”
“I told you. She’s gone. What’s this about?”
“How did you hurt your face and hand, sir?” Benoit asks.
He moves his hand behind his back. “None of your business.”
“Do you or your wife know a Vanessa and Haruto North?” Mal asks.
The man pales. A muscle pulses at his jaw. He says nothing. Mal can see him struggling to think clearly through his alcoholic haze.
“Could you answer the question, please, Mr. Rittenberg?” says Benoit.
“What’s it to you?”
Mal says, “We’re investigating a missing person incident on the North Shore. We have reason to believe you and your wife can assist us in that investigation. Do you mind if we come in?”
His eyes narrow. He pulls the door even closer to his body. He seems to be sobering up, tightening, coiling. Walling off. He swallows and says very slowly, “I’m sorry, officers. I am not my wife’s keeper. I don’t know her every move, and I don’t know where she is right now.”