A Matter of Trust

Chapter 18





Charlie was a fast walker. Fast enough that Mia, who thought of herself as quick, was having a hard time keeping up. Although her pumps had sturdy two-inch heels, Mia found herself wishing she were wearing flats. Thinking of her shoes made her think of her feet, and Anne’s rule. Mia’s feet were on James Street. But where was her heart? Or maybe Anne’s rule didn’t apply, since the sidewalk was neither home nor work, but a place in between.

Most of the people around them also did not seem to be heeding Anne’s advice. Aside from Mia and Charlie, no one seemed to be really present on this sidewalk in Seattle, underneath these maples turning scarlet, walking past these people with all shades of skin, including colors made by tattoo ink.

The other people on this crowded city sidewalk seemed to be embracing distraction, as if they wanted to forget exactly where they were. A number were listening to music through white headphone wires. Some blundered forward blindly as they checked smart-phones. Most of the rest were talking animatedly on cell phones. Mia heard snatches of conversation ranging from “She said what?” to “It was ginormous” to “Tell me if he hits you again,” which made both her and Charlie do a double take. Not noticing their stares, the young man who had said it kept walking. Charlie and Mia looked at each other, then Charlie shrugged and they continued on.

At the police station they passed through the metal detector and then went upstairs to Charlie’s office. It wasn’t really an office, just a cubicle in a large room filled with two dozen cubicles separated by tan chest-high walls. The air was filled with the buzz of conversations, the clack of computer keys, the ringing of cell phones and landlines—so much sound it was like white noise.

“Looks like they turned up Stan’s murder book,” Charlie said.

The fat binder sat in the middle of his desk. There were also two tall stacks of printouts bound by rubber bands, which Mia figured were from Colleen’s computer. Otherwise, the space was surprisingly neat. Mia had half expected to see a jumbled desk covered with discarded takeout wrappers and teetering stacks of paper.

Charlie flipped open the murder book. As was standard, the first page was a color photograph in a plastic sleeve, a reminder that the victim had been a living, breathing person. It showed Stan in a maroon tie and a short-sleeved white tattersall shirt. Mia thought it might be an enlargement from his employee badge photo. He had gold wire-framed glasses, a bristly mustache, and brown closecropped hair that stood straight up like fur.

The next page showed Stan dead, sprawled next to a small desk. The contrast was almost painful. Charlie flipped it closed. “I’ll take this home tonight and read it.” Pushing one of the stacks of paper on his desk toward her, he said, “Now let’s see what was up with Colleen’s love life.”

Mia sat in Charlie’s visitor’s chair, which was crammed in between the side of his desk and cubicle wall, and undid the rubber band. The first page was Colleen’s eHeartMatch profile. In her profile photo Colleen’s hair was a different shade of red than Mia was currently familiar with. Her face was thinner and her complexion creamy, without the flush that had marked her skin in the last few years. Only the bright blue eyes were the same.

Mia looked up and met Charlie’s eyes. “How old do you think that photo is?” he asked.

“I can remember when Colleen looked like this. You probably can too. But it was awhile ago.” A long while.

Next to the photo was a list of stats. Colleen had taken years off her age and pounds off her frame, while at the same time adding two inches to her height. Remembering Violet’s words, Mia felt her face heat up. If Colleen were still alive, she would have been mortified to know that friends, co-workers, and even strangers were poring over the hidden sides of her life. In pursuing Colleen’s killer, Mia and Charlie could end up exposing everything she had wanted to keep secret. All in the name of justice.

Colleen’s profile read:

I’m a redhead, with the temperament to match. I’m passionate about my job, Italian food, and movies and books that make you think—or leave you gasping in surprise. I believe sarcasm is a spice of life, so if you have a sarcastic sense of humor, bring it on. I’m looking for someone who says what he means and means what he says. Someone who already has a life he likes, but who would also like someone to share it with.

Mia glanced up and met Charlie’s gaze. If he felt pity or disgust, she couldn’t see it. Just sadness.

“A long time ago Colleen told me she had tried online dating,” she said, “but she gave up when she realized she was competing with women who were twenty years younger. I guess she decided to become one herself.”

Charlie was paging ahead. “Well, it looks like the time-capsule photo worked. She got tons of responses. The way eHeartMatch works is that there’s a dedicated website where members read and respond to e-mails. That probably gives the company a little bit of cover in case one of their clients turns out to be a complete nutcase.”

Mia looked at her own copies. Some were e-mails from men who offered to take Colleen to coffee, to dinner, to the movies. Others were from men who had sent back cruder offers along with self-portraits snapped in their bathroom mirrors with cell phones. The parade of headless torsos in various degrees of muscularity and hirsuteness made her queasy.

“Ugh. I don’t remember Colleen saying this was what she was looking for,” she said, tapping on one photo of a shirtless guy with a hairy chest and beer gut. “She wanted a relationship, not some guy who was advertising himself like a hunk of meat.”

Charlie exhaled through his nose. “I guess I’m old-fashioned. I like to know someone in person before I ask them out on a date. Plus, I’ve been in this line of work long enough to know that most people on these sites are probably lying about something—their weight, their height, their age . . .”

Mia completed the thought. “Or all three.”

“Or all three. You meet somebody online and you’d better leave room for surprises.”

“Maybe Colleen figured that made it okay for her to fudge things a little.” Mia turned back to the photo of her old friend before time had knocked some of the shine off her. “Maybe she figured she would just be trading lies with someone.” Did lies cancel each other out?

“You ever see that New Yorker cartoon?” Charlie asked. “It shows a dog sitting on a chair in front of a computer with its paw on the keyboard. And it’s telling another dog that’s sitting on the floor, ‘On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.’”

Heat rose in Mia face. “Colleen was hardly a dog.”

Charlie sighed in exasperation. “I’m not insulting her, Mia. I’m just saying that you can’t trust people.”

“You mean strangers.”

Charlie thought about it. “No, I’m pretty sure I mean people. Now dogs, dogs you probably could trust. They’re not very good liars.”

Together Mia and Charlie continued to read through the pages. Even though dozens of men had responded to Colleen’s ad, it seemed like she had only gone out with a handful of them. And then after one or two dates, one of them would come up with an excuse for the other as to why it wasn’t working. Mia wondered how many were really covers for Colleen or the guy—or both—being disappointed by reality.

But one man kept turning up over and over again: Vincent. Mia paged back to his photo and profile, which was labeled Tall, Dark, and Handsome. He was in his midthirties, with dark straight hair, strong black brows, high cheekbones, and a wide smile. If Colleen had still been the same woman she had been in her photo, they would have made a beautiful couple.

Colleen and Vincent had shared hundreds of messages, some as short as a sentence, some that went on for several pages. The e-mails were flirty, funny, serious, and romantic. Mia’s eyes picked out random phrases.

Do you realize we’ve been e-mailing for an hour?

What are you wearing?

You are one fine-looking woman.

You have got a wicked sense of humor.

I can’t wait to get my hands on you.

“Look at this.” Charlie stabbed at the printouts with his index finger. “They were e-mailing each other just an hour before Colleen was killed.”

Mia found the same page.

The surprise was that it seemed to have been Colleen who wanted to meet and Vincent who had demurred.

Colleen: You’re married, aren’t you?

Vincent: I’m not, I swear. It’s just that I think I would be a disappointment to you.

Colleen: Don’t I already know you, Vincent? If there’s something you’re not telling me, let’s just try being honest with each other.

Vincent: I like you, Colleen, I really do. But I don’t know if I can give you the kind of relationship you want. Give me awhile. Let me think about it.

Colleen: I don’t know if I can. I want you so much. And I’m tired of waiting. I want to make this real.

The pages ended there. That was the last thing either of them had written.

“Maybe Vincent is married,” Mia said. “Maybe he was worried his wife would find out and figured he had to nip it in the bud.”

“Or maybe he found out that the woman he was having an online relationship with was nearly old enough to be his mother,” Charlie said. “I’ll subpoena eHeartMatch for his full name and address. They should give it up pretty easily. They don’t want to get a reputation for being a great place for serial killers to meet their next victims.”

Mia paged back and took another long look at Vincent’s open, handsome face. Had he snapped when he realized that Colleen was not what she had pretended to be? Or had he acted to protect his own secrets?