She nodded. “I don’t mind. I’ll have to cancel some clients, but…”
Deflated, he shook his head. “No, I’ll go by myself. I don’t want you to cancel clients and lose money. It’s not fair to you or them.”
“Listen, this is more important.”
“I know, but I can’t let you do it. And besides, I think it would be better as a one-to-one chat. It might be a little intimidating with the two of us standing at his door.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Thanks anyway.”
Karen glanced at her watch and then stood. “Look, I need to get back to work now, so let me know how it goes. And if you need anything, just give me a call.”
Richard stood and led her out of the living room to the front door. “Thanks for everything, Karen. I’ll keep you posted. If he hasn’t beaten me to death first.”
She smiled as she stepped outside. “Good luck. Just stay calm and empathize, put yourself in his place. You’ll be fine.”
“All right. I’ll try.”
He waved to Karen as she crossed the road to her car. When she finally drove off, he closed the door and leaned against the porch wall, exhaling.
What the hell are you about to do, Gardener?
You’re bloody crazy.
Several wrong turns later, Richard managed to locate Riverside Park and the home of Carl Jones. He parked the car a few meters away and sat with the engine off, trying to pluck up the courage to knock on the front door. What in God’s name are you doing? That was the thought resounding continuously in his head. He tried to block out the words but couldn’t. Instead, he was forced to ignore them.
Holding onto the steering wheel tightly, as if hanging frantically off a cliff edge, he thought of Nicky—and if indeed Christina was Carl’s wife—how awful must it be to lose the woman you love. The idea filled him with despair. But that was exactly the emotion he needed to find the motivation to go through with this. Like Karen said, he had to empathize with him. Carl had lost someone very important to him, and Richard had found her. Carl needed to know the truth, no matter how terrible and heart-wrenching. Closure would hopefully end both their miseries. Carl would be able to move on, and Richard would get his life back—and his house.
After almost thirty minutes, he grudgingly climbed out of the car. He marched across the road, toward the semi-detached house, breathing profusely, his heart pounding heavily against his chest, his palms sweaty.
Come on, Rich, you’ve been through worse things than this. Pull it together.
But he hadn’t been through worse things than this. Nothing came close. And shutting out that factor was imperative if he had any hope of speaking to Carl.
As he walked through the small metal gate, past the small front lawn, toward the house, the front door suddenly swung open before Richard even had the chance to knock. Standing in the doorway was a man, late-thirties, slightly overweight, with short brown hair. His face was clearly wrinkled from age and stress; his eyes were dark and reddened. He had obviously been waiting for Richard’s arrival.
“Hi, you must be Carl,” Richard said, apprehensively walking up to him and holding out a hand. “I’m Richard.”
Reluctantly, Carl took his hand and shook it. “So what do you know about Christina?” he asked, defensively and straight-to-the-point.
“I assume that she’s your wife, yes?” Richard asked, trying to disguise the tension that plagued his entire body.
“My girlfriend,” he corrected with a distrustful tone in his voice. “She’s been missing for almost a year.”
Richard nodded. “Oh, right. I wasn’t sure.”