The Case of the Missing Wife

 Edgar Nikephoros Huntinger had an appointment with Canton Heronly, a director for the Miami Telephone Company at 9:00 on Monday morning. He hummed cheerfully as he dressed. Something causal would be right for this meeting, he thought. He went to his wardrobe and chose a quarter sleeved brown striped beige shirt, and brown slacks. He attached his prosthetic foot, donned his white socks, and laced up his sneakers. After a breakfast of cheese omelet and coffee, he went into his office. He put a recorder into his brown leather shoulder bag and left.

 He drove his blue Buick through light traffic and, consequently arrived at the director’s South Beach residence earlier than he had anticipated. He got out of the car and walked briskly up the walkway. He rang the bell. A haggard middle-aged man answered.

               “I’m Edgar Huntinger. I have an appointment with Canton Heronly,” Huntinger said in his well -modulated voice. He then reached into his shirt pocket and produced his identification.

               “Yes, Mr. Huntinger. I’m Canton Heronly. Please come in.” He opened the door wide and preceded the investigator into the house. They walked through a carpeted living room. “The first door to your left is my office,” he said. He motioned him to one of two black vinyl chairs and sat opposite him at his desk. He clasped his hands and said, “My wife is missing.”

               Huntinger took out the recorder from his shoulder bag, placed it on the desk, and turned it on. “I will be recording our conversation, Mr. Heronly.” His pale blue eyes assessed him. “What’s your wife’s name?”

               “Her name is Daria Kathryn Heronly. I call her Kate.”

               “How long has she been missing?”

               “She’s been missing for over a week. The last time I saw her was when she walked out after we had an argument.”

               “Did you report it to the police?”

               “Yes, but they didn’t take it seriously. They considered it a domestic problem. Of course, I didn’t tell them the entire truth of what the fight was about.”

               “What was the fight about?”

               Canton Heronly got up, crossed the room, and took out a decanter from a cabinet. He poured a drink. “Would you like a whiskey, Mr. Huntinger?”

               “Not while I’m working, thank you, Mr. Heronly.”

               Heronly sat down and sipped his drink.

               “I almost killed her that day she told me of her betrayal.” He paused and sipped again. “She stood there in this room and told me she and my best friend had been lovers, almost since they’d met. Her threat, Mr. Huntinger, was she would reveal to my associates, that once I’d made my living in drugs.”

               “What’s your best friend’s name?

               “His name is James Gator.”

               “Does he know of your past?”

               “He was with me in those days. I’d introduced him to my wife when we’d gotten engaged. My wife told me that he told her everything after they’d begun their affair.” His hand shook slightly as he took another sip of his drink. His voice shook. “I need you to help me. She’s disappeared. I need her back so that I can cope with my loneliness and my fears. I’ll go crazy if I don’t at least try to find her.”

               “You think she’s gone off with Gator?”

               Heronly averted his eyes, and mumbled, “I think she has.”

               “Mr. Heronly, I can’t take the case if you intend to harm your wife or the man who’s possibly taken her from you.”

               “If you take my case, I’ll leave everything in your hands. I can start you off with five thousand.”

               “If I agree to take your case, and I find her, do you agree to communicate with her by telephone, for your safety as well as hers?”

               Heronly hesitated. “Why would you think I’d be in any danger?”

               “You might be harmed through an emotional encounter with your wife. A telephone conversation would protect you both.”

               “You’ll take my case?”

               “After I call you, and if I’ve decided to take your case, I’ll require written receipts, and other written communication that she’s left behind, besides any additional information you think of that will help to advance the case.” Huntinger clicked the recorder and put it in his shoulder bag. He stood up.

Heronly stood up, and they shook hands.

               “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Huntinger,” said Canton Heronly. He accompanied the investigator to the door. “Have a good day, Mr. Huntinger. I’ll be waiting for your call.” He closed the door as the investigator walked to his car.

               Later that day, Huntinger listened to the conversation he’d recorded. There’s something about Heronly I don’t trust, he brooded. He wasn’t telling the truth about something. To instill a deeper trend of thought, he took out a piece of paper and wrote a poem:

               In the lonely house of the lonely man

               A heart beating, his skin tanned

               From laughter and wine

               On an island green

               And the ocean,

               It roars and it roars, and it sprays.

               A thoughtful Huntinger put down his pen. He picked up the phone and dialed Canton Heronly’s number. “Mr. Heronly, I’ve decided to accept your case. Please send me any communication your wife has left behind and include her most recent picture. I’ll also require the address and phone number of James Gator, and his picture if you have one. Include a check for five thousand, for travel and any other additional expenses I may incur. Please remember our agreement to leave everything in my hands. I’ll have that included in the document that I’ll draft and send to you by Priority Mail. You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch.” Huntinger hung up.

               Two days later, Huntinger received a large packet in the mail from Heronly. He took it into his office, sat down and opened it. He assessed each item until he found James Gator’s address on a piece of notebook paper. He went out.

               Huntinger drove to an address in Coral Gables and parked across the street. He took out his binoculars and surveyed the property. He noted the neglected garden and the closed blinds. He got out of the car and went up the path. He’s probably not at home, he thought, but I’ll ring the bell for appearances sake. He rang the bell, lingered, then went back to his car. As he was driving, he noted there was a bar about a mile away. On a hunch that Gator might have visited it sometimes, he went in. He asked the bartender if he knew Gator. The bartender said, “He comes in here sometimes. But he hasn’t been here in a while. I heard some guys saying he was bragging about going to the Caribbean with a fancy lady.” Huntinger ordered a club soda, lingered, and chatted with the man next to him for a half hour. After leaving a tip he left. Heronly was correct in thinking his wife and Gator were together, he thought as he drove back to his South Beach home.

               The next day, Huntinger called his informant who’d helped him in other cases. “Larry, I’d like you to check the neighborhoods in Coral Gable, specifically near 3561 Carrillo Street, and find out where in the Caribbean James Gator and his fancy lady went to. Come to my office with your information this evening, and I’ll have something for you.” Huntinger hung up.

               Later that evening, the informant rang the bell, and Huntinger let him in. “Have you got the information I asked for?” he demanded. The informant said, “I have better than that. James Gator and a lady went to Jamaica a week ago. They’re staying at the Sandals Ochi hotel in Ocho Rios, Jamaica.” Huntinger took out two twenties and a ten. “Here’s fifty, Larry. Excellent work.” The informant thanked him and left.

               The following morning, Huntinger booked a flight to Ocho Rios, Jamaica for that afternoon. He reserved a room at the Sandals Ochi hotel. He packed his suitcase for three days, drove to the airport, and caught his flight on time.

               After he arrived at the hotel, he unpacked, took a shower, and dressed in a short-sleeved white business shirt and beige cotton slacks for dinner. He chose a table where he could observe everyone coming into the dining room. He saw them immediately. Daria Heronly, her black hair cut short and dressed in a white summer dress, was laughing with her companion, a tall man with thinning blond hair that framed a tanned lined face. They didn’t glance at him as they sat at a table across from him. Huntinger was hungry after his long trip. He concentrated on eating a sirloin mignon, baked potato, and crisp green salad. Afterward, he went to his room.

               Later that night, Huntinger went to the hotel’s night club. Daria Heronly and James Gator were sitting at one of the tables. He went over to them. “May I join you?” he asked. They looked at him warily, but Edgar sat down. He produced his identification. “I’m a private investigator in the interest of Canton Heronly. He wants a reconciliation.” Daria Heronly wasn’t looking at him; she was looking over his shoulder, her face ashen and afraid. Huntinger turned. Canton Heronly was standing there with a revolver in his hand.

               “Isn’t this a pretty picture, my best friend and my beautiful wife,” he growled. He pointed the small silver revolver at Gator. He pulled the trigger.

 Huntinger, moved quickly, and kicked the gun out of his hand, narrowly missing a shocked Gator. Heronly wavered and fell. Huntinger retrieved the gun and leaned over him. “You broke our agreement,” he said. He helped him to stand.

               Canton Heronly began to weep. “I had to. You have to understand why I had to,” he choked. He looked at his wife. “I’m sorry for the shame my past caused you. Maybe someday you’ll understand and forgive me.”

               “You didn’t have to go through such drastic measures, Canton. I would have agreed to a meeting with you,” said Daria Heronly, her voice strained.

               “What’s the matter with you, Canton?” Huntinger said. “You agreed to leave everything in my hands.”

               “I’m sorry, Huntinger,” said Canton Heronly miserably. “I couldn’t resist following you, after I’d found out information you’d received in that bar near Gator’s house.” He looked at James Gator with resignation. “Take care of her, Gator,” he said. He turned to Huntinger, “Let me know if I owe you anything.” His shoulders slumped, he walked out of the dining room.