Confluence. Stephen J. Gordon

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ – to Jon, Katie kissed him on the cheek, and Sakolsky, Katie, and I walked out.

      At the top of the entry steps, I stopped and looked at Katie while Sakolsky continued down ahead of us.

      “What?” she looked back at me.

      “I was going to ask you out tonight.”

      “And you’re changing your mind?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Ask me out.”

      “Let’s go out tonight.”

      “That’s not asking.”

      Sakolsky spoke up from the foot of the steps, “Have you been to Canton?”

      Why was he still there? I didn’t know whether I should have felt annoyed by his eavesdropping or not.

      “There’s a great promenade,” he continued, “that runs from Canton to Fells Point and then to the Inner Harbor. Great place to walk.”

      Katie looked at me. “We can eat down in Canton and then go for a walk.”

      “Sounds nice.”

      We set a time, thanked Sakolsky for the idea, and then went our separate ways. Actually, Sakolsky stayed where he was, but I escorted Katie to her Mustang. We said goodbye and I turned to see my potential benefactor waiting for me. “What’s up?” I looked at him.

      “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help.”

      Not knowing what to say, I just nodded and walked to my Jeep.

      10

      Patterson Park is a large, square shaped area of green – 137 acres – just northeast of Fells Point. Within its setting are a boat lake, tennis courts, a swimming pool, an ice rink, and a four story pagoda that dates back to the late 1800s. For a long period, the neighborhood of classic Baltimore row houses adjacent to the Park had become depressed, but now it was an up and coming area, with many of its units being bought and remodeled by young professionals.

      The address Nate had given was toward the middle of a run of row houses near the southwest corner of the Park. Due to a dearth of parking spaces, I had to leave the Grand Cherokee around the corner and walk back. As I came up the block, the row houses stood wall-like on either side of the narrow street, with some second story windows blistered out in a bay construction. In general, the exteriors were well kept, and mainly faced in brick, however a number had the Baltimore kitschy formstone façades. Three police cars parked near a door halfway down the block left no doubt where to go.

      “Major Aronson for Captain D’Allesandro,” I said approaching two officers.

      They nodded and told me he was probably still downstairs. I pulled open a screen door near them and stepped inside.

      The house was deep, but narrow – maybe nine feet across – and the walls were painted a gray-blue. To the left was a mismatched, old yellow and green floral sofa and to the right a small chest and a television. Further back in the house were two sets of steps. The first led downstairs, and then almost immediately beyond it was a set of steps heading to the second floor. Voices drifted up from below and I followed them down to the basement.

      The lower level matched the narrow dimensions of the main floor, but was more claustrophobic due to a seven foot plastered ceiling and unpainted gypsum board walls. I saw Nate and Detective Medrano immediately. They were huddled over a long white resin plastic folding table; a uniformed officer stood nearby. As I approached, the officer spoke to Nate: “Captain?” and nodded to me.

      Nate looked over. Without a greeting, he simply said, “Gidon, take a look at this.”

      I stepped over to see what they were examining. In front of them was a laptop with a photo of Josh and Shelley’s house pulled up, plus a series of papers and printed photographs spread out beside it. The photos were all of the Mandels: Josh and Shelley walking into their house, Josh and Shelley in front of the synagogue, Josh next to his car, Shelley with their girls in front of a school.

      “And there are these,” Medrano said. He was wearing latex gloves and pointed to a set of lined legal sheets. They were a list of times and events – when Josh left the house in the morning, when he went to the synagogue, where he had lunch. There was also a sheet detailing Shelley’s daily schedule.

      “How far back does this go?” I asked.

      “Almost two weeks,” Medrano answered.

      “So who are these guys?”

      Nate looked at me. “The guy you single tapped flew into Kennedy two weeks ago, traveling on an Algerian passport. His buddy, Mazhar, was Turkish and also came into Kennedy two weeks ago. And guess what?”

      “They were on the same flight.”

      Nate nodded.

      “So who are these guys?” I repeated.

      Nate shook his head. “Not a clue. That’s all we got on them so far. We’ll take the laptop in and check the hard drive. See what we can find.”

      “I tried to go through the e-mails,” Medrano said, “but they were all encrypted.”

      “How big a problem is that?”

      “Don’t know. We’ll see.”

      “We do have another piece,” Nate said. “You gave me the license plate of the guy in the Buick…the guy who dropped off these guys.”

      I nodded.

      “It was a rental from BWI. Hertz. Its most recent driver rented it this past Thursday. We got this…” he took out a folded photo print of a man standing at a Hertz service counter. He was photographed straight on from a slightly high angle; the camera must have been at ceiling height behind the clerk. The customer was broad shouldered and was wearing what looked like an all weather coat, sunglasses and a baseball cap. It was impossible to clearly see his face.

      “We have guys who can play with the picture to get an idea what he looks like without the sunglasses,” Medrano said. “You saw him Friday night, right?”

      I shrugged. “He was a pair of eyes reflected in a side-view mirror.”

      Nate continued: “We ran his name. Joseph Belard. Immigration says he came in on a British Air flight last week.”

      “Into Kennedy?”

      Nate shook his head. “Providence, Rhode Island. Flew in on Wednesday, and then took a US Air flight here on Thursday. He returned the car on Saturday, yesterday, but there’s no record of him taking a flight out.”

      Medrano added, “The desk clerk at Hertz said that there were two men with him. No description worth anything, but his impression is that the men were picking him up after he dropped off the rental.”

      “So,” I said, “Belard returned the car, but he could still be here.”

      “Ain’t life grand?” Nate said. “And while you may not have seen him, СКАЧАТЬ