It didn’t make sense, someone squatting his car registration on Melody Finder. Whoever did it must have known she didn’t have a car, so didn’t use her space, probably rented another tenant’s. Or she was right and it was all a mistake.
Ten minutes later, they’d searched the whole garage. Nothing. Nicholas saw the cameras as he walked back toward the elevator. They were tucked away, all but impossible to see. He pointed them out.
Mike shook her head. “That putz property manager could have mentioned they have video feed. Let’s go grab it for the past forty-eight hours, see if there’s anything worth seeing.”
The property manager was on the phone with the management company when they got back to his apartment. Nicholas asked to speak to them. With a few brief sentences, they happily agreed to let the FBI look at their feed, housed off-site. They promised to send the tapes to 26 Federal Plaza immediately.
For the moment, they were at a dead end.
Mike said, “This is getting frustrating. We keep having these great breaks that don’t pan out.”
“The bright side,” Nicholas said, “Mrs. Antonio might wrap this up for us, give us the faces of everyone in COE.”
She nodded, dialed Ted “Bud” Anders, in her opinion their best sketch artist. Between him and his laptop, if there was a chance to come through with a good likeness of the four individuals, he’d find it. They’d asked him to do the Middle Eastern man first.
Nicholas heard Bud’s enthusiasm. “Mrs. Antonio has great visual memory, so it won’t take too long, Mike. I’ll send the Middle Eastern guy’s sketch to your cell as soon as I have something.”
When she punched off, Mike said, “No way to nail Bud on how long it’ll take, so I guess we now have to focus on the Honda with Mr. Wounded Knee and his buddy, whoever that was. You know they were probably two of the four people staying in that apartment.”
“And Mr. Wounded Knee was looking for something. But what?”
She threw up her hands. “Nicholas, we need more agents and another twenty hours in the day. And I’m hungry. Let’s head back to the office, pick up some pastrami on rye on the way.”
“I heard your stomach talking, but I was too polite to say anything. Pastrami on rye? I could go for that, maybe a double.”
They jaywalked, got into the Crown Vic. Nicholas had just turned over the engine and started to pull from the curb when Mike suddenly grabbed his arm.
“Nicholas. I don’t believe it. Look, a black Suburban, coming up the street.”
He braked, the car half out into traffic. “Are they going into the garage? Bloody hell, they are. It’s about time a little luck flowed our way. Can you see who’s driving?”
“No, but I can get the plate. It’s New York.” She read off the rest of the numbers.
“Yep, it’s our car.” Nicholas reversed the Crown Vic back into the spot while Mike kept her eye on the Suburban, idling in the garage drive, waiting for the door to go up.
She said, “The driver is young, white, wearing sunglasses and a Boston Red Sox cap. I think I see blond hair, and it’s long. I can’t see his face. We need to get in there, Nicholas, before he parks and goes upstairs to wherever he lives. I’m calling for backup.”
Nicholas was already halfway out of his seat. “I’m going to follow him down the ramp. I’ll text you what floor he goes to.” He took off at a run, weaving in and out of traffic, ignoring curses and loud horns. She saw him bend double to slip under the garage door before it closed again.
Mike called Zachery as she jogged in and out between cars to get across the street. “Sir, we need backup at West Thirtieth and Sixth, in the Meadow Arms apartment building garage. We’ve identified a black Suburban involved in the possible abduction of the woman from the burned repair shop in Brooklyn last night.”
She heard Zachery shout in the background, “Get agents to West Thirtieth and Sixth, and alert NYPD, they’ll be closer.” He came back on with her. “I love it when a talking gut pans out. People are on their way. Get the Suburban, Mike, and be careful. Where’s Drummond?”