Margo was undaunted. She dodged, she turned, she side-stepped her way toward the front of the plane. It took less than a minute between the time the doors opened and the time she reached 1B. But the man was gone.
Margo went tearing up one of the airport’s jet ways, clutching her belongings in one hand, her phone in the other. He can’t have gone far, she told herself. He has to go through immigration and customs like everyone else. This was not a huge airport. She would find him.
Several planes had landed at the same time and the immigration area at Gustavo Diaz Ordaz International was alive with people shouting at one another in a variety of languages.
Margo stood on her suitcase to survey the throng. She had memorized every feature of the man’s face but he was not here.
Frustrated, she got in line to present her passport. She consciously tried to slow the pace of her pulse. She didn’t want to get flagged as a potential security risk by appearing anxious.
Margo had been dialling Jack’s phone non-stop since the plane touched down but each time she got the same strange message: the number was not in service. He had said at O’Hare that he intended to disable his phone for the two weeks of their trip. Had he forgotten to turn it back on? Nevertheless, it should be going to voice mail. And when he missed the plane, why didn’t he call her?
Breathe, she told herself once more. She smiled her brightest smile at the immigration officer. He smiled back, stamped her passport, and she was free to enter the customs area. The man from 1B was nowhere to be seen.
She approached one of the exits to the terminal and freedom, praying silently for the green light. Green meant you were free to go. Red light meant you waited. There was no telling how long it would take to get out of this customs hall.
EIGHT
Three hours later Margo was in a corner of the VIP lounge with a cup of hot tea and a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit. She began reassembling her mobile phone, which had been dismantled and painstakingly searched. So had everything else in her possession: her handbag, her carry-on bag, the lining of her coat, her shoes. She was patted down by a customs officer and her supervisor.
They had seemed disappointed to find only bikinis, pareos and some embarrassingly provocative lingerie. Afterwards, they had told her they had received a tip she was carrying drugs.
Margo knew exactly where that tip had come from, the man from 1B. The certain knowledge that her being stopped hadn’t been a random incident did nothing to calm her already disquieted mind.
When finally she was able to get her phone back together, she sent another desperate message to Jack, then hit speed dial and waited. ‘Billy Berlind, please. Tell him it’s Margo.’
In thirty seconds Billy was on the other end of the line. ‘Do you miss me already?’
‘Billy,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Jack’s disappeared.’
There was silence on the other end of the line as Billy morphed into the consummate businessman who ran a multimillion-dollar business.
‘Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.’ Billy didn’t speak again. He barely breathed until Margo had finished.
‘Obviously it was Jack’s raincoat,’ he said.
‘Thank God you agree with me. I was beginning to think I’d lost my mind,’ Margo said.
‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ Billy answered tersely. ‘The real question is did the man take the coat or did Jack give it to him?’
‘Obviously he took it.’ Margo was adamant about that. ‘Why would Jack give it to him?’
Silence on the other end of the line.
‘Billy?’
‘That’s a conversation for another day.’
‘What are you saying? That Jack disappeared on purpose? He would never—’
‘Okay, he would never. Drop it. Did you call the hotel where you were going to stay?’ Billy asked. ‘Maybe he left a message there.’
‘I already checked. Nothing.’
‘Okay, this is what you’re going to do,’ Billy said, taking charge. ‘While we’ve been talking I put my staff to work. Are you in the club lounge, such as it is?’
‘Yes.’
‘In about fifteen minutes you will be paged. Go with whoever it is to General Aviation.’ Billy hardly took a breath. ‘I’ve arranged for a plane to bring you back here. You can land at Midway to go through customs. It takes less time there. You’re not really smuggling drugs, are you?’
‘If I was, they would have been found by now.’
‘We must not lose our sense of humour, my love. Don’t worry. If Jack wants to be found, we’ll find him.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Margo exclaimed.
Billy ignored her. ‘After customs, one of my cars will be waiting outside. I’ll be in it,’ Billy said. ‘In the meantime, I’ll check the apartment and his office, call hospitals, the whole nine yards.’
Margo was silent.
‘We good?’ Billy asked.
‘Expect a black eye when I see you.’
‘I’m not afraid. You hit like a girl,’ he said.
‘So do you,’ she said, fighting tears.
‘So sad, so true.’ His voice was tender. ‘Sleep on the plane, Margo. You need to be at the top of your game when you get back here.’
‘You think something bad has happened, don’t you?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Billy replied in a careful voice.
‘I’ve known you too long. You don’t have to say it. Truth, Billy. Do you know something I don’t?’
It took a moment before Billy spoke again. ‘No. But maybe I look at some things differently than you do.’
‘Such as …?’
‘Such as, how an incredibly wealthy heiress just happened to meet a guy, who just happened to climb up the side of a ship …’
‘Billy, I’ve explained all that.’
‘Yes, you have,’ Billy said. ‘But maybe that explanation sounded a bit different to someone who hadn’t just fallen head over heels in love.’
Silence.
Finally Billy spoke. ‘I’ll see you in Chicago. Love you.’
‘Yeah,’ Margo said, ‘Love you too.’
‘One last question,’ Billy said, sounding a bit too casual. ‘When you and Jack got married, did you … you know, merge your assets? Did you put the gazillions of bucks your father left you in a trust, like I told you to do? Or did you put all that money in both of your names? Yours and Jack’s?’
Margo hung up the phone.
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ Billy said to the dead line.
NINE
It was late morning by the time Margo landed back in Chicago and went through customs. She slid into the back seat of Billy Berlind’s Silver Cloud III Drop Top. It was claret with cream-coloured seats and, next to Margo, Billy’s favourite thing in the world. It had been his father’s and, had it fitted in the elevator, both men would gladly have garaged it in the living room of the apartment.
‘Did you sleep?’ Billy asked while the driver stowed her things in the trunk.
‘Like a baby.’
‘Liar,’ he said.
‘I’m not speaking to you in case you’re interested.’
‘Not interested,’ he said, tucking her coat snugly around her. ‘I’d give you a Scotch but you need to be firing on all cylinders.’
Margo was on alert. ‘Did you find him? I’ve finally given up trying to get through to his phone.’
He opened the polished bar, built into the car’s mahogany frame. ‘What the hell.’ He poured two Scotches, neat, and handed her one. ‘Cheerio.’
‘Tell me!’
‘Better to show you.’ Billy leaned forward and gave an address to the driver.
‘That’s Jack’s office.’
‘Margo, drink up.’
‘I don’t want a drink.’
‘You will,’ Billy said. ‘Trust me. Margo, it’s nothing I can tell you; it’s something you have to see for yourself.’
Margo gave him
a malevolent look but she took the Scotch and drank it down.
They rode the rest of the way to Jack’s office in silence. Brightly coloured Christmas decorations already festooned every lamppost on Michigan Avenue. Margo, who normally anticipated Christmas with the enthusiasm of a toddler, suddenly found the brightly coloured lights garish, even depressing.
The driver stopped on Oak Street and Billy helped Margo step from the car. The ringing of the street-corner Santa’s bell was giving her a headache. She happily escaped into the quiet comfort of the lobby.
The elevator stopped at the penthouse where Jack had his office. Margo started fumbling for her keys but Billy pushed on the door. It swung open easily. He made no move to enter. Margo stepped past him into the familiar space. She stopped in her tracks.
The place was empty.
The big partner’s desk she had bought Jack as a wedding gift was gone. The beautiful photographs of water sources in exotic locales around the world were also gone. The furniture, the draperies, the rug he’d bought in Pakistan, even the coffee maker he treated like a loved but ornery pet was gone. Not even a crumpled piece of paper remained.
Margo turned to Billy, speechless. He pointed to a small printed sign attached to the wall outside the door.
Office To Let
312 781-4242
Margo was already dialling when Billy stopped her. ‘Already called.’
‘And?’
‘I was told the landlord is eager to lease the place,’ he said. ‘His last tenant cleaned the place out yesterday with two years left on his lease.’
‘What is going on?!’ Margo had begun to shake. Billy held her tightly.
‘I asked you a question before,’ he said carefully. ‘Are your bank accounts in both names? Yours and Jack’s?’
Margo wrenched away from her friend. ‘Take me home.’
‘I will,’ Billy said, ‘But you’re not going to like what you’ll find there either.’
TEN
The beautifully panelled library with views of Lake Michigan had been a refuge for Margo’s father after the death of his wife. It had also been the site of hide-and-seek games between little Margo and Billy. The competitions were of such intensity that once Billy had to be pulled nearly unconscious from a Georgian corner cupboard. He had chosen to suffocate rather than give away his secret place.
Today the room was anything but the refuge Margo needed. It was filled with men in suits.
They had completed the tour of the apartment under Billy’s guidance. It was an expedition too painful for Margo to undertake.
Jack’s now empty closet and dressing room had been duly noted. The desk, the filing cabinets and the closet in the small study he had occupied had been examined and re-examined. Nothing remained.
The men had seen, but not mentioned, the picture frames that once had held photographs of a happy couple. Now they sat empty. There was no evidence left that Jack had even existed, let alone lived in this apartment as Margo’s adoring husband.
Billy perched protectively on the arm of Margo’s chair as first the lawyer, then the banker, then the stockbrokers explained to Margo what had happened to her assets. As they droned on about wire transfers and short sales, Margo’s mind drifted away to another time and place.
She remembered the mariachi band that seemed miraculously to appear no matter where they were having dinner those first glorious days in Puerto Vallarta.
She remembered the feeling of warm sand sifting through her toes as Jack had slid a ring on her finger.
She remembered the tears of happiness that made speech difficult as they promised to love and cherish one another until death parted them.
Mostly she remembered the feel of Jack’s body on hers; how he knew exactly where she longed to be touched, and exactly how.
She was brought back to reality by the silence in the room. Everyone was looking at her, apparently waiting for a response.
Billy took charge.
‘I’m sure Margo understands exactly what the implications of these transactions are. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that she has been wiped out. She’s broke.’
Margo looked at them, understanding but not wanting to. She moved to the window and looked out over Lake Shore Drive to the water beyond. Ice was already beginning to form. Early this year, she thought absently. It’ll be frozen over by January.
‘You can hardly call a person who owns this apartment broke,’ she said, still studying the lake. ‘I also own a successful public relations firm so I have earning power. I’ll be fine.’
‘But do you understand that millions of dollars are missing? Many, many millions in negotiable instruments.’ It was the banker whose grey face matched his suit. ‘That’s cash money.’
‘I know what a negotiable instrument is, Mr Green,’ Margo snapped.
‘Stolen by your husband! I warned you, Margo—’ He caught himself. ‘Mrs McCarthy. When you asked me to handle this foolhardy transaction …’
‘The money was hardly stolen!’ Margo turned back to the men. ‘It was our money, mine and Jack’s. The accounts all had both names on them. And yes, you warned me, repeatedly, not to create joint accounts with this … vagabond, I believe you called him. So you are all off the hook. I won’t be suing anyone and I won’t be prosecuting Jack.’
There was silence in the room.
‘Well then,’ Billy said, standing next to his friend. ‘I guess we’re all on the same page.’
He smiled benignly at the money men. ‘Shall I show you out or do you know the way?’
The men left without a murmur.
Margo was absently straightening the perfectly straight books on the rosewood shelves that lined the room. She pulled a small framed photograph from behind her father’s big atlas and studied it. ‘They missed something,’ she said.
‘Who did?’
‘Whoever erased Jack from my life. They missed this.’
Billy looked over her shoulder. Two gawky boys of about twelve or thirteen years old were grinning from ear to ear as they held a large trophy between them. Their other hands were raised in some sort of awkward salute.
‘Who’s this?’ Billy asked.
‘Look closely. The mop of sandy hair, blue eyes.’
‘Jack?’
‘Yep. With his best friend, Marcus Kane. They had just won some skeet shooting competition. Beat all the adults, Jack told me. They were inseparable their whole lives.’
Margo smiled, happy to see Jack’s face again. ‘I’m sure they were a handful. Jack told me they even learned Native American sign language so no one would know what mischief they were planning.’
‘Well, I hope Marcus speaks English too. We’re calling him.’ Billy was excitedly pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘Maybe Jack contacted him.’
‘He’s dead,’ Margo said quietly. ‘Marcus is dead. An accident of some sort a couple years back. Jack would not talk about it but I know it affected him deeply.’
She traced young Jack’s face tenderly, then placed the photograph back on the shelf. To keep herself from crying she began busily collecting the untouched cups of coffee left behind by her team of advisors. They were mostly men who had once served her father.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Billy grumbled, snatching the china out of her hands. ‘You’re not so destitute you have to do housework. I’ll write you a cheque for whatever you need in the morning. Sky’s the limit.’
‘I don’t need money, Billy,’ she said. ‘But I love you for offering.’
‘Of course you do. I’m irresistible,’ he replied gruffly, suddenly fighting tears. ‘If I ever lay eyes on that snake I swear I will kill him with my bare hands.’
‘Who are you kidding?’ Margo said. ‘You can’t even kill a spider.’
‘I have people to do that,’ Billy snapped. ‘Jack McCarthy I will take care of myself.’
‘We’ll have to find him first,’ Margo said.
‘Good luck with that.’
 
; ‘No one can completely disappear in three days,’ Margo replied.
‘Unless they have big-time help. You don’t pull off a disappearing act like this by yourself.’
Margo picked up the photograph of the two young boys. ‘You’re right about that. If Jack had been the one clearing out the apartment he would have known to take this.’
Billy wasn’t sure how much truth his friend could handle at this point but he had to try. ‘Honey, face it. Jack is gone – in the wind, as they say. And, sadly, he’s got enough of your money to hide in style.’
Margo ran her hand over the top of the corner cabinet where Billy nearly lost his life years before. ‘I’ll find him. Who is better at hide and seek than me?’
‘Margo, let it go. Just let him go.’
‘I found you in here, didn’t I?’ Margo said. ‘I will find Jack.’
ELEVEN
Joliet, Illinois, is approximately forty miles southwest of Chicago and light years away from the opulence of Lake Shore Drive. It boasts a population of about a hundred thousand people, but it’s unclear whether or not that number includes the occupants of the two prisons located there.
Statesville Correctional Penitentiary, a maximum security facility, is known to its inhabitants as Hotel Hell. The slightly less forbidding-looking Illinois Youth Correctional Center is known as Statesville Prep.
Some say the streets of this small city are as dangerous as the cellblocks.
Jack McCarthy drove with caution, not from fear but a desire not to be noticed. The car, a battered grey 2001 Camry he had picked up for under three grand, had little to recommend it, save for the fact that it ran. He chose it because there was little chance of anyone noticing it, let alone wanting to steal it.
Jack’s appearance was as nondescript as his car. He had ditched the smart blazer and slacks he had worn yesterday to an archipelago of offshore islands in the Caribbean. Those sorts of places were known for crystal blue water, balmy breezes and banks that didn’t ask questions.
Jack had delicate business to take care of there. He flew in and out of the islands in a private jet and his transactions were completed in less than seven hours. He hadn’t even had time to take off his jacket.