A Night at the Operation Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Why do you ask?” My throat was suddenly dry.
    “Well, she appears to be missing. No one at her office has seen her since yesterday afternoon.”
    “I’ll be right there,” I said.

3
     
     
     
     
    CHIEF Barry Dutton’s office is one of the least attractive rooms in Midland Heights, and he knows it. He tries to dress up the municipal uniformity of the chipped cinder block and peeling wood veneer with plants, an area rug, and a window curtain, but it’s like putting an Armani gown on a hippopotamus—it really doesn’t make the hippo any lovelier, and you’re not fooling anybody.
    I wasn’t worried about aesthetics at the moment, anyway. It was one thing when Gregory thought Sharon was missing after less than a day, but if Dutton was concerned enough to call, it clearly justified having a knot in your stomach, so I did. It’s never fun to hear from the police about a loved one, even an ex-loved-one.
    “I thought you guys didn’t get involved in missing persons cases until at least twenty-four hours had gone by,” I said. Dutton was sitting behind his desk, and I was pacing where the area rug wasn’t helping the room much. So I could notice the aesthetics and worry at the same time; I’m a multitasker.
    “We don’t,” Dutton answered, his basso even more bass than usual. Without leaving me any time to ask about that statement, he added, “Do you have any idea where she might be right now?”
    I thought of answering as Bob Hoskins did in the underrated Who Framed Roger Rabbit? , and saying “Cucamonga? Walla Walla? I hear Kokomo is nice this time of year.” But given the gravity of the situation, I stuck with, “No. I saw her yesterday, and she didn’t say anything about going anywhere.”
    “Is that typical?”
    I shrugged. “It’s not atypical. We have lunch together once a week, and then sometimes we talk on the phone a few days later, and sometimes we don’t. This time was a ‘don’t.’ ”
    Dutton’s lips pursed out, then in, which I did not take to be a good sign. There was something he wasn’t telling me, and I’m never crazy about that, especially when it comes from the cops. “What’s going on, Chief?” I asked.
    He didn’t answer me. “Who would have typically heard from her, besides her husband, Dr. Sandoval?”
    “Soon-to-be ex-husband,” I noted, then thought about his question. “Best guess: the other doctors at her practice, Toni Westphal and Lennon Dickinson.”
    Dutton’s eyebrows rose. “Lennon?” he asked.
    “He was born in the seventies to parents who came of age in the sixties,” I explained. “How come Dylan is all right for a first name, but Lennon isn’t?”
    “Sorry. Who else?”
    “There is the nurse, Grace—I don’t remember her last name—and the receptionist, Betty. And whatever patients she saw yesterday. Gregory says he hasn’t seen her, and they still share that house.”
    “A typical New Jersey divorce. Everybody’s afraid to leave the house because they think that means they’ll lose it.” Dutton sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking.
    “What’s going on, Chief?” I repeated. “Sharon’s a grown woman who’s been gone for less than a day, and you’re already investigating.” The knot in my stomach turned into a noose. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
    “Yes, but it’s not what you think,” Dutton answered. He opened his eyes, and looked kindly at me. “I don’t think your ex is in danger, but what’s bothering me is that she was last seen—”
    “Don’t say ‘last,’ ” I warned.
    “—at her office a little after seven last evening, and never went home. Her car is not in the driveway at her house or in the parking lot at her office. She hasn’t called in to her practice. She hasn’t been home, at least not according to the man living in her house. She isn’t answering her cell phone or responding to e-mail. Does that sound like Dr. Simon-Freed to you?”
    My lips were pressed