Hounded (17 page)

Ricky and I are watching cartoons, and Laurie is making pancakes.

I’m not sure where Wally and the Beav are, but they’re missing out on a typical American morning with the typical American family. And truth be told, I’m starting to get into the cartoons. And if more truth be told, I’m also starting to get into hanging out with Ricky.

Interrupting this idyllic moment is Sam Willis ringing the doorbell, which is a lot better than Eddie Haskell, or Hike Lynch.

The fact that Sam didn’t call is an indication he has something that he considers significant to tell me. “Andy, you’re going to want to hear this.”

“I hope it’s good news,” I say.

“That’s for you to figure out. I just report the facts.”

I take Sam into the kitchen where Laurie is, out of earshot of Ricky, although Ricky is so engrossed in the cartoons I don’t think he would notice a bomb going off.

“Sam’s got big news,” I say to Laurie, which causes her to put down her spatula.

“I’ve been doing two things,” Sam says. “Finishing up on Diaz’s phone, assigning names and addresses to the numbers I couldn’t get easily, and trying to match up calls from Reynolds’s phones with Diaz’s.

“There’s one cell phone that Diaz called twice, and he received two calls from that number as well. It’s a Vegas cell number, in the name of Glenn Kennedy.”

“Did you track him down?”

“I tried, but had no success. That’s because there is no Glenn Kennedy. The address and social security number the phone company had on file are fakes.”

“That is, in fact, interesting,” I say. People only fake their identity when they have something to hide. Hopefully what this guy has to hide relates to our case.

“I haven’t gotten to the key part yet.”

“Please tell me the same phone number is on Reynolds’s call list as well,” I say.

“Bingo.”

This is big news, and well worth interrupting cartoons for, although I recorded them anyway. It immediately gives us the connection we never had between the mysterious heart attack deaths and Danny Diaz.

“There’s more,” Sam says.

“More? Sam, you are the gift that keeps on giving. Laurie, give this man a pancake. But first let’s hear it.”

“Reynolds called that number twice the day you met with him. Once before you got there, and once right after you left.”

“We need to find out who this guy is,” Laurie says, and in the process speaks my thoughts aloud.

“How do we do that?” I ask Sam.

“I have no idea,” he says, and it is the first sentence he’s uttered since he came over that I don’t like. “I got all the information that the phone company has, and it’s all bogus.”

“He has to pay his phone bill, right? Can you get a look at the checks he used? Or learn the account it was drawn on?”

“Come on, Andy. Who do you think you’re dealing with? He paid by postal money order. He put down a thousand dollars, which gave him a large credit, and they just keep taking from that credit. This guy did not want his identity known, and he did a good job concealing it.”

“And this number is a cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, since you can tell me where Diaz’s phone has been, can you do the same with this one?”

Sam breaks into a big smile. “You know, I don’t see why not.”

The trial is like a train bearing down on us, and we’re sitting in lounge chairs on the tracks drinking piña coladas with those little umbrellas in them.

At least that’s what it feels like. We’ve learned a great deal about Juanita and Danny Diaz, and about the murders that we believe are somehow being committed. But we haven’t learned enough, and for the last week it feels like we’ve been running in place.

It took Sam longer than usual to get the GPS data on the cell phone that both Danny and Reynolds called. There was a technical reason that it was difficult, and Sam told me what it was, but like all technical sentences, I couldn’t translate it into normal language.

But he finally came up with it, so that we know where that cell phone has been for the last three months. And one entry is nothing short of stunning. That phone was also in Pete’s house, at the same time that Diaz’s phone was there. Either there was a family circle meeting there that day, or the guy we’re looking for had both phones.

Unfortunately, we still don’t know who that mystery guy is, or why Danny and Reynolds had individually been in contact with his phone. But I’d bet anything I know why he was in Pete’s house: he was there to place the drugs.

At the moment the phone is in a large apartment building in Hackensack, very close to Route 80. Unfortunately, there are 142 apartments in that building, all with the same GPS coordinates. So it is impossible to tell whose apartment the phone is in.

And that phone has been in the building, unused, for the last week. It’s frustrating; for a mobile phone, this one is not particularly mobile.

Sam begged me to be able to go “out to the streets,” as he put it, and I agreed. He didn’t have to beg too hard, since I had no one else to do it, but I did admonish him four times to be extra careful and not take chances. In similar circumstances a while back, Sam almost got himself killed, and would never have survived except for the rather forceful intervention of one Marcus Clark.

Sam is performing two simultaneous functions for us. Through his computer, he is tied into the phone company GPS system, so he will know if the cell phone leaves the building, and he could follow it. We’d be less concerned about where it goes; what we want to know is who is carrying it.

Sam is also tracing the places where the phone has been, and trying to match those places in some manner to Diaz or Reynolds. It’s not easy: first he has to get the address, then learn exactly what the place is, and then try to make a connection. It is tedious, difficult, and very frustrating work.

As for myself, I’ve been reduced to going over every detail of the case as preparation for trial. Pretty much the only breaks I take are to hang out with Ricky, Tara, and Sebastian. Ricky’s presence doesn’t even seem so unusual anymore, and he may even be starting to like me. Having said that, it seems like I’m just about the only male he’s ever met he doesn’t call “uncle.”

Pete has been growing increasingly anxious, and with good reason. I’ve been updating him regularly as I do with all my clients, but I get into more detail with him than the others. That’s because he understands the process, and can place the things he hears into the proper perspective.

I think that as much as he hates being a prisoner in his own house, he might be regretting having insisted on a trial as soon as possible. But that boat has sailed; there is no longer any chance for delay.

Laurie, Ricky, and I are having dinner, which represents another positive that Ricky has brought to the house. Because of his presence, Laurie has relaxed her nutritional standards somewhat. Tonight we’re having hot dogs, something she would ordinarily not give me if I were starving on a deserted island. Although, in fairness, I’m not even sure that deserted islands have hot dogs.

I’ve been slipping Ricky food ideas for him to suggest to Laurie, and tonight we’re literally enjoying the fruits of that approach. We’re having apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream, one of my all-time favorites.

Ricky actually winked and smiled proudly at me when Laurie brought the pie out. The kid is so conniving and manipulative; it’s hard to believe he’s not actually my son.

I’m just polishing off my second piece when Sam calls. None of his calls since he started watching the apartment house have brought any good news, but I live in hope.

“I’ve got something for you,” he says.

“The phone is moving?”

“Nope. Stuck in place. This is something else.”

“What is it?”

“One of the places the phone has been was a company called Blaine Pharmaceuticals; their headquarters are in Paramus.”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” I say.

“I thought so, too, so I Googled it and found out why. One of their research scientists, a guy named Daniel Mathis, was reported missing about three weeks ago. Vanished without a trace.”

“Right,” I say, because I vaguely remember it. I think I passed by the story on the way to the sports page. “What does that do for us?”

“The phone was there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he says. “And once again, that’s not the best part.”

I’m starting to enjoy my conversations with Sam a lot. “I am looking forward to hearing the best part.”

“The day it was there is the day Mathis disappeared.”

I read everything I can find about Daniel Mathis and his disappearance.

It was front-page news a few weeks ago, but the media seemed to get bored of it quickly. If Mathis were a young, good-looking woman, or an adorable toddler, the media would have been falling all over themselves to prolong the story. But instead he is an ordinary-looking guy who did research in veterinary medicine, so he was not invited into the ranks of hot media tickets.

Even from the sparse reports, there is one thing in particular that interests me a great deal. First of all, the FBI was immediately identified as the lead agency in the investigation. That would not happen in the normal course of events. They would only come in if invited by local authorities, or it they had reason to believe the missing person was kidnapped across state lines, or if he was of particular import to public safety.

There is no obvious reason why any of this should have been the case, at least not as quickly as it seems to have happened. The earliest reports mentioned the FBI, and Special Agent Spencer Akers in particular. They were clearly involved from day one, and I’d like to know why.

He apparently was reported missing by one Sharon Dalton, a former colleague at Blaine who was identified as Mathis’s girlfriend. She was interviewed by a couple of media outlets, but basically had nothing to say, other than she was worried about Daniel, and asked anyone with information to please contact the FBI.

Based on my persuasive powers with women, I decided it was best to have Laurie call Ms. Dalton and get her to talk to me. My failure with women over the phone dates back to high school, and has pretty much continued unabated ever since.

Laurie works her magic, and together we drive to Sharon Dalton’s Ridgewood home, since she has agreed to see us right away. “I was surprised how easy it was,” Laurie says. “There’s something going on there … some undercurrent.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure, but I expect we’ll find out soon enough.”

We are only in her house for thirty seconds before I, and I’m sure Laurie, pick up on what Laurie was talking about. The undercurrent is anger: Sharon Dalton is angry at something, or someone, and it’s not us.

We start to ask her questions about Mathis’s disappearance, and she answers them, albeit not providing much significant information. I’m surprised that she is not asking us why we are there or want to know these things, but I’m fine with her not doing so.

“He just went missing. He did not tell anyone where he was going, or why. One day he was here, the next day he wasn’t,” she says.

“And you have no idea where he could be?”

She shakes her head. “But he didn’t leave voluntarily. No way Daniel would do something like this.”

“And you have no idea what circumstances could have led him to leave … involuntarily?” Laurie asks.

Dalton hesitates a moment before answering. My sense is that she wants to tell us something, is close to doing so, but can’t quite get there. “No,” she says.

“So you reported it to the FBI?”

“Yes.”

“Why not the local police?”

Another hesitation; there is definitely something there. “I don’t know; I just thought of them first.”

“What agent did you speak with? Was it the Spencer Akers that was mentioned in the media reports?” I’ve had some involvement with the bureau over the years, at least enough for them to hate me. In the process I’ve gotten to know a few of the agents, but Akers is not one of them.

“Right … Spencer Akers,” she says. “He called himself a ‘Special Agent.’”

“They all think they’re special. What did he say?”

She frowns. “He just took the information; asked me questions. That’s all. Then he told me I might be hearing from them.”

“And have you?”

“Not a word,” she says, and Laurie and I exchange brief looks. Sharon Dalton’s anger is with the FBI for not keeping her in the loop about her boyfriend’s disappearance. “I feel like nothing is happening; I’m totally in the dark.”

There is much more to this story, and Sharon Dalton knows it. I believe she wants to say it, if I can just find a way to draw it out of her. I feel like Tom Cruise trying to get Jack Nicholson to admit he ordered the Code Red. She wants me on that wall … she needs me on that wall.

“That’s been my experience with them,” I say, shamelessly goading her. “The fact that you might be worried about your friend, that doesn’t really enter into their thinking.”

She nods. “They tell me not to say anything, and then they say nothing at all.” Then, suddenly, she switches gears and asks, “Why are you interested in this?”

I could lie, but I decide to take a shot; in the moment the potential reward seems greater than the risk. “I believe that Daniel’s disappearance may relate in some way to a case I am investigating, involving some mysterious deaths,” I say. “I have no reason to believe he is himself a victim, nor do I think he’s done anything wrong.”

A light seems to go on, and she says, “You’re a lawyer.”

“Right,” I say. Laurie had told her that when she called her, but I guess it hadn’t registered.

“Then let me ask you something. If the FBI tells me not to say something, but I’m the one who told them, do I have to do as they say?”

“It would be a very rare case that they can prohibit you from talking about something that you did not receive as classified information.”

“So I can talk about it?” she asks.

“I can’t answer that with certainty unless I know what it is, but it is very likely that you can say it. This is information you came upon yourself?”