Mike picked up one of the pictures sitting on the table by the sofa, held it up. “Ms. Finder, is this your boyfriend?”
“Yes, yes, that’s Craig. He’s in Paris right now. He’s training at Le Cordon Bleu. When he graduates, we’re going to open a restaurant. And before you ask, no, he doesn’t have a Suburban. Really, I don’t know what this could be about. It’s got to be a mistake.”
In the 5x7, Melody Finder and Craig were wearing hiking shorts and boots, standing in front of a mess of trees Mike didn’t recognize, wide grins on their faces.
“We ziplined in Costa Rica. We did it maybe half a dozen times.”
Mike lifted the cat off her lap, rose, and set him back down. He gave her the stink eye, then fell back asleep. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Finder. We’ll be in touch.”
“But why? I mean, you see now it’s all a mistake, right?” Melody was practically running after them to the front door, her Doc Martens hitting the floor hard.
Nicholas said, “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
“Well, okay, I guess. Hey, stop by my blog sometimes. You look like you’d enjoy a good Chianti. I have a lot of recommendations there.” And she gave them both a big smile, showing lots of white teeth.
When the door closed behind them, Mike said, “Property management company, now. Since it appears Ms. Finder doesn’t know anything, that means someone probably registered the car in her name. Let’s see if they’re using the garage, too.”
42
KNIGHT TO E2 CHECK
The on-property agent for the property management company was short, heavy, and annoyed, but willing to let them scout the garage for anything helpful. He rose from his comfortable leather desk chair to show them the way down.
“I don’t know if any of the tenants have a black Suburban. Then again, I don’t spend a lot of time in the garage. If someone buys a new car, they’re supposed to tell us what it is, but half the time they don’t. Melody’s space would be coded to her apartment, 1507, but she doesn’t use the garage, so I rented it to 1202 instead. He has a Prius and a Jaguar. Can you imagine, having two cars in this city? But he’s some Wall Street jockey who likes to go to the Hamptons on the weekends.”
This monologue took them to the elevator and down into the garage, where he handed off two Maglites.
“Have a time,” he said. “I’ll be back upstairs, checking with the management company to see if they have anyone with a Suburban.” He left them, the elevator doors closing with a whisper in the dark.
The lights were on motion detectors to save energy. A step forward and the whole quadrant lit up but left large swatches of dark. There were more than a hundred spaces on three underground levels to explore.
The slot for 1507 was on the top floor. It was empty.
Nicholas said, “Too much to hope for. Let’s split up. You take this floor, I’ll go down to the bottom. We’ll meet in the middle.” He checked his mobile—three bars. “I have service, so call me if you find something.”
Mike nodded. “Last time I was in a Manhattan garage with you—my very own apartment’s garage, I might add—we ended up in a shootout.” She touched the bullet hole in his jacket. “Let’s not do that today.” She stepped into the darkness, the flashlight beam skittering in front of her.
Nicholas took the elevator down two levels, stepped out, and started the search, looking systematically left to right. He was glad of the flashlight. The motion-detectors were slow because the lights were CFL to save energy; they needed to warm up to give maximum light, and that took a while. If it was busy, there’d be plenty of light, but in the midday with only two of then, all the shadows, the sounds of their footsteps, the dankness of the air, it was downright creepy.