“Where can we find her?”
“She’s gone.”
A frisson crackles through Mal. “Gone? Where?”
“I don’t the hell know. She just packed her bags and left, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Can we come in, Mr.Rittenberg?”
“What for?”
“Just to have a look around, see if your wife is here.”
“I told you. She’s gone. What’s this about?”
“How did you hurt your face and hand, sir?” Benoit asks.
He moves his hand behind his back. “None of your business.”
“Do you or your wife know a Vanessa and Haruto North?” Mal asks.
The man pales. A muscle pulses at his jaw. He says nothing. Mal can see him struggling to think clearly through his alcoholic haze.
“Could you answer the question, please, Mr.Rittenberg?” says Benoit.
“What’s it to you?”
Mal says, “We’re investigating a missing person incident on the North Shore. We have reason to believe you and your wife can assist us in that investigation. Do you mind if we come in?”
His eyes narrow. He pulls the door even closer to his body. He seems to be sobering up, tightening, coiling. Walling off. He swallows and says very slowly, “I’m sorry, officers. I am not my wife’s keeper. I don’t know her every move, and I don’t know where she is right now.”
“We understand your wife is heavily pregnant, sir. She and the baby might be in jeopardy. It’s important that—”
He begins to shut the door. Mal blocks it with her boot. She’s treading toward a fine line she can’t cross without a warrant, but her pulse hammers hard, and she fears for the well-being of this man’s wife and unborn child. “Is that your Audi in the driveway, sir?”
Rittenberg glowers at her in silence.
“Were you at a house called Northview yesterday evening? In that Audi?” Mal asks.
He doesn’t respond.
“We have a witness who places you and your wife at Northview, sir. Also known as the Glass House—home of Vanessa and Haruto North.”
He tries to pull his door shut, but Mal’s boot is in the way.
She presses. “Who is your house cleaner, Mr.Rittenberg?”
“What in the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you use Holly’s Help cleaning services, sir?” Benoit asks.
Rittenberg’s eyes flick up to Benoit’s. Distaste fills his face. “I have no idea. My wife handles that.”
“Do you know Kit Darling, the maid from Holly’s Help?” Benoit asks.
Rittenberg swears, his eyes still fixed on Benoit. “What’s wrong with you people? I told you—my wife, Daisy, handles the cleaning service, and I doubt even she knows which maid comes on cleaning days. She isn’t home when they come. Now get your fucking foot out of my doorway.”
Very calmly, Mal says, “Mr.Rittenberg, when you and your wife arrived in your Audi at Northview around six fourteen p.m., with a bouquet of flowers from Bea’s Blooms and a blackberry pie orderedfrom the Pi Bistro, did you see a yellow Subaru Crosstrek with Holly’s Help logos parked in the driveway?”
