Free Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix by phill syron-jones Page B

my God, is she the latest victim of this killer that’s been in the papers? What will I do now? She was my whole life!”
    The coffee had arrived and the girl placed it down onto the large coffee table between Walters and the officers. She carefully poured coffee into the antique bone-china cups. It was the kind of valuable chinaware that most people would keep in a glass cabinet, hardly something to be actually used. But what was money to this guy?
    “We can’t be sure of anything, sir,” McCall said tactfully, “but we’d be grateful if you could come downtown and identify a body...”
    He nodded, with his head in his hands.
    “I’m sorry to ask, Mr Walters,” she said gently, “But where were you around the time your wife went missing?” This was the question she always hated to ask a loved one, but sometimes it hit the right chord.
    Walters composed himself and picked up the cup and saucer from the dark wooden antique table.
    “I was out at my club. I was there until midnight. We had a port tasting on that evening so our driver had to bring me back.” He sipped the steaming liquid.
    “And which club would that be, sir?” She took her notebook out, ready to write down any new information.
    “The Harvard club, it’s on West 44th.” His hands shook slightly.
    “When did you see your wife last?”
    “Around midday, just before she left for the club.”
    “And when were you expecting her back” asked McCall, watching as Steel circled the room looking at photographs on the walls and shelves. She wondered if he was even paying attention to her questioning, or if he cared whether he was here or not.
    “It’s hard to say, I never really expect her back when she has been to the club.” He placed the cup and saucer back onto the table. “You see, it depends what sort of day she has had.”
    McCall looked puzzled and Steel turned slightly, clearly surprised at his response.
    “What do you mean?” Steel exclaimed, turning back to look at a rather colourful Rembrandt painting on the wall.
    “If she has had a good day she will stay until late, sometimes may have to stay over. And if she has had a bad day, well, she normally shops.” A lonely look fell upon his weary face. He was not particularly old, but it seemed as if something had worn him down, making his features careworn and weary.
    “Did she drive herself or was she taken to the club?”
    “No, she took her car; it’s a black Mercedes SLK.” His mind shifted, a faraway look came into his eyes, and then, with a start, he was back again.
    “I bought it for her birthday last year and she goes everywhere in the damn thing.” Bitterness swept over his face, causing the wrinkles in his skin to crease further.
     “I will get you a copy of the registration and the other details,” he said, standing slowly. “Please wait here, I won’t be but a moment.”
    He left the room to go across the long hallway. From what the two detectives could see, he entered a dimly lit room with some sort of maroon velvet wallpaper and heavy looking oak furnishings. Steel continued to look at the art and paintings that were dotted round the large luxurious area, which felt more as if it was part of a stately home than a lived-in home.
    Walters returned holding a piece of paper in his hand, his suit shining in the sunlight as he headed towards them. “I hope this helps.” His words were almost sincere as he spoke them, but Steel picked up on something in his demeanour that suggested he was hiding something. McCall looked at the piece of heavy office paper the older man had handed her, and scanned the contents. The paper contained the licence plate and GPS number of the car. In addition, her cell phone number was amongst the main details on the list.
    “Perfect, Mr Walters, thank you, this will really help.”
    As McCall spoke Steel turned and gave her a look of disbelief. Was she really buttering him up? He knew that if the killer had been through this kind of trouble