Just One Look by Harlan Coben Page B

started asking questions.
    “The missing person’s name?”
    “John Lawson. But he goes by Jack.”
    He started down the list.
    “Address and phone number?”
    She gave them.
    “Place of birth?”
    “ Los Angeles, California.”
    He asked his height, weight, eye and hair color, sex (yes, he actually asked). He asked if Jack had any scars, marks, or tattoos. He asked for a possible destination.
    “I don’t know,” Grace said. “That’s why I called you.”
    Officer Daley nodded. “I assume that your husband is over the age of emancipation?”
    “Pardon?”
    “He is over eighteen years old.”
    “Yes.”
    “That makes this harder.”
    “Why?”
    “We got new regulations on filling out a missing person report. It was just updated a couple weeks back.”
    “I’m not sure I understand.”
    He gave a theatrical sigh. “See, in order to put someone in the computer, he needs to meet the criteria.” Daley pulled out another sheet of paper. “Is your husband disabled?”
    “No.”
    “Endangered?”
    “What do you mean?”
    Daley read from the sheet. “ ‘A person of age who is missing and in the company of another person under circumstances indicating that his/her physical safety is in danger.’ ”
    “I don’t know. I told you. He left here last night…”
    “Then that would be a no,” Daley said. He scanned down the sheet. “Number three. Involuntary. Like a kidnapping or abduction.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Right. Number four. Catastrophe victim. Like in a fire or airplane crash.”
    “No.”
    “And the last category. Is he a juvenile? Well, we covered that already.” He put the sheet down. “That’s it. You can’t put the person into the system unless he fits in one of those categories.”
    “So if someone goes missing like this, you do nothing?”
    “I wouldn’t put it that way, ma’am.”
    “How would you put it?”
    “We have no evidence that there was any foul play. If we receive any, we will immediately upgrade the investigation.”
    “So for now you do nothing?”
    Daley put down the pen. He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. His breathing was heavy. “May I speak frankly, Mrs. Lawson?”
    “Please.”
    “Most of these cases-no, more than that, I’d say ninety-nine out of a hundred-the husband is just running around. There are marital problems. There is a mistress. The husband doesn’t want to be found.”
    “That’s not the case here.”
    He nodded. “And in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases, that’s what we hear from the wife.”
    The patronizing tone was starting to piss her off. Grace hadn’t felt comfortable confiding in this youth. She’d held back, as if she feared telling the entire truth would be a betrayal. Plus, when you really thought about it, how would it sound?
    Well, see, I found this weird photo from the Photomat in the middle of my pack from Apple Orchard, in Chester, right, and my husband said it wasn’t him and really, it’s hard to tell because the picture is old and then Jack left the house…
    “Mrs. Lawson?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
    “I think so. That I’m hysterical. My husband ran off. I’m trying to use the police to drag him back. That sound about right?”
    He remained unruffled. “You have to understand. We can’t fully investigate until we have some evidence that a crime has been committed. Those are the rules set up by the NCIC.” He pointed to the sheet of paper again and said in his gravest tone: “That’s the National Crime Information Center.”
    She almost rolled her eyes.
    “Even if we find your husband, we wouldn’t tell you where he was. This is a free country. He is of age. We can’t force him to come back.”
    “I’m aware of that.”
    “We could make a few calls, maybe make a few discreet inquiries.”
    “Great.”
    “I’ll need the vehicle make and license plate number.”
    “It’s a Ford Windstar.”
    “Color?”
    “Dark blue.”
    “Year?”
    She