P Is for Peril

raised a flag on that score-no heart problems, diabetes, no history of mental illness. She said she'd called and talked to him at the office-this was September 12, shortly after lunch. Purcell told her he'd be late, but there was no mention of his not coming home at all. By Saturday morning, she was frantic, calling everyone she knew-friends, relatives, his colleagues. Hospitals, CHP, the morgue-you name it. There was no sign of him.
    "I sat with her for an hour, this was at the house in Horton Ravine. She's got another place at the beach she stays most weekends. I went through the drill. Asked about habits, hobbies, job, country club memberships; had a look at his bedroom; went through his chest of drawers, phone bills, credit card receipts. I checked his credit card accounts for any recent activity, address book, calendar-covering all those bases."
    "Nothing surfaced?"
    He held up a finger. "I'll get to that in a minute. Over the next couple weeks, we went through the mail at his home and at the clinic, arranged a mail cover, talked to his associates, entered him in the DOJ missing persons system, and put a stop on his license plate. Meantime, you have to understand, we're not talking about a crime here, so this is strictly a public service. We're doing what we can, but there's no evidence to suggest we got a problem on our hands."
    "Fiona tells me his passport's missing."
    Odessa smiled ruefully. "So's mine for that matter. Just because his wife can't lay hands on it, doesn't mean it's gone. We did come across a recent statement for a savings account at Mid-City Bank. And this is what caught our attention. It looks like he made a series of cash withdrawals-thirty thousand dollars' worth-over the past two years. Balance drops from thirteen grand to three in the past ten months alone. The last activity on the account was August 29. His wife doesn't seem to know anything about it."
    "You think he was prepping for departure?"
    "Well, it sure looks that way. Granted, thirty thou won't get you far in this day and age, but it's a start. He might've milked other accounts we haven't come up with yet. It's always possible the guy's a gambler and this is his stake. She says he's not, but she might've been kept in the dark."
    "Could we go back to the passport? If Purcell left the country, wouldn't Customs have a record of it?"
    "You'd think so. Assuming his was the passport he used. He might have traded in his personal ID-driver's license, birth certificate, and passport-for a set of phony papers, which means he could have flown to Europe or South America under someone else's name. Or he might have driven into Canada, booked a flight, and left from there."
    "Or he might be lying low," I said.
    "Right."
    "Wouldn't someone have spotted his car?"
    "No guarantee of that. He could've run it off a cliff, or driven into Mexico and sold it to a chop shop. Park a car like that in South Central and see how fast it disappears."
    "What kind of car?"
    "Four-door Mercedes sedan. Silver. Vanity plate reads 'Doctor P.' "
    I said, "You haven't mentioned foul play."
    "No reason to. Or if there is, I don't see it. It's not like we found blood stains in the parking lot outside the nursing home. No signs of a struggle, no evidence of assault, and no reason to believe he was forcibly removed. We canvassed the neighborhood, hitting every house within range. Nobody saw or heard a thing that night."
    "Fiona thinks he might have left on his own. What's your take on it?"
    "Personally, I don't like the feel of it. Nine weeks with zip. You almost have to assume there's something else going on. We're beginning to backtrack, looking for anything we might have missed the first go-round."
    "Did Fiona's story affect the investigation?"
    "In what regard?"
    "All this talk of his past disappearances," I said.
    Odessa waved that aside. "Air and sunshine. She says he's gone off before. Maybe so, maybe not. I'm not entirely clear about her motive."
    "According to her, she wants results."
    "Sure, but who doesn't? We're cops, not magicians. We don't perform miracles."
    "Did you believe the story she told?"
    "I believe he left her. Whether he was having problems with the current Mrs. P. is anybody's guess." He paused. "Have you met Crystal yet?"
    I shook my head.
    Odessa lifted his brows and shook his hand as though he'd burned it. "She's a beautiful woman. Hard to picture anyone walking out on her."
    "You have a theory?"
    "Not me. From our perspective-so far-this is