helped, I guess.”
“That all?”
“If you can hang around tomorrow, maybe you could find out a little more about those old newspaper articles I was telling you about. I'm stalled a bit on that. And if you don't mind swinging by my apartment on the way over to Marcia's, Nicky's got a whole file of background information on the Drummonds. Plus, I've got Cartwright Drummond's laptop. Maybe you could help Nicky decipher some files for me.”
“What're you gonna be doing?” he asked.
I thought about that. “You ever see those kids’ books where you have to try to find the goofy-looking little guy somewhere in the background surrounded by a whole bunch of complicated and colorful scenes?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I'll be looking for Waldo,” I said.
10
Waldo, however, must have moved his act to a different town. The rental car description Cassidy Drummond had provided—midnight-blue Nissan Maxima with D.C. plates—and the tag number I'd gotten from the company might as well have been phantoms, for all the good they were doing me. I had traced circles over an ever-expanding search pattern in the neighborhoods around Haynes's place on Fourteenth Street, sweeping out as far as Rugby Avenue. Nothing.
Moving on to the university lots, I cruised the areas around Alderman again, and up to University Hall. Then I switched tactics and headed across town on Barracks and Preston, perusing most of the streets near my office and those surrounding the downtown mall. I made fast runs through Belmont, around the Prospect Hill area, and Cherry Avenue. Not a sign.
I had yet to check out the Pantops area, and Park Street and Rio Road, not to mention the Georgetown Road area and the entire 29 North corridor. It was a long night, and shaping up to get a lot longer.
A half hour later I found myself parked along the curb on High Street, dialing Marcia's number on the cell.
“Jake just arrived,” she said when she answered.
“Good.”
“He told me you said not to worry.”
“That's right.”
“Making any progress?”
“Nada.”
“Cassidy's told me everything.”
“Okay.”
“I'm sorry for being so short with you earlier.”
“Forget it.” I was watching the streetlights burn with life, watching the houses along the street burn with life too, lights ablaze, televisions and computer screens all aglow.
“What do you do now? Will you go to the police?”
“Most likely.”
“I really am sorry, Frank. Now that I know—”
“I'm going to want you to tell me all that went on between you and Tor Drummond,” I said.
There was a pause. “All right,” she said softly.
“Can you put Cassidy on now?”
“Yes. Be careful, Frank.”
“Always.”
Another pause. “I—I don't want anything to happen to you.”
“Me either.”
Cassidy came on the line. “You haven't found anything?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I'm sorry.”
“I keep trying Wright's cell phone.”
“I know.” I'd tried it again too. Cartwright Drummond's cell phone number now answered with an ominous recording—”The subscriber you have dialed is unavailable or has traveled beyond the coverage area”—which meant either the phone had been turned off or the battery had died.
“Isn't there something else you can do?” Her voice sounded shaky.
“Keep looking.”
“Okay.”
“But I have to be honest. I'm not optimistic at this point. You're probably not going to be able to keep a lid on this thing.”
There was silence. Then after several seconds: “I know, I know—” She began to cry softly.
I let her cry for a little bit. “I'm very sorry,” I said finally. Seemed like I was getting good at saying that. “Listen. Time's getting critical. There are a couple of cops I know I can trust.”
“No, please. Not yet. Please just keep looking.”
I thought it over. “I'll keep looking,” I said, “but don't get your hopes up.”
“I'm afraid,” she said. “You think … do you think Wright's been?” She
“That all?”
“If you can hang around tomorrow, maybe you could find out a little more about those old newspaper articles I was telling you about. I'm stalled a bit on that. And if you don't mind swinging by my apartment on the way over to Marcia's, Nicky's got a whole file of background information on the Drummonds. Plus, I've got Cartwright Drummond's laptop. Maybe you could help Nicky decipher some files for me.”
“What're you gonna be doing?” he asked.
I thought about that. “You ever see those kids’ books where you have to try to find the goofy-looking little guy somewhere in the background surrounded by a whole bunch of complicated and colorful scenes?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I'll be looking for Waldo,” I said.
10
Waldo, however, must have moved his act to a different town. The rental car description Cassidy Drummond had provided—midnight-blue Nissan Maxima with D.C. plates—and the tag number I'd gotten from the company might as well have been phantoms, for all the good they were doing me. I had traced circles over an ever-expanding search pattern in the neighborhoods around Haynes's place on Fourteenth Street, sweeping out as far as Rugby Avenue. Nothing.
Moving on to the university lots, I cruised the areas around Alderman again, and up to University Hall. Then I switched tactics and headed across town on Barracks and Preston, perusing most of the streets near my office and those surrounding the downtown mall. I made fast runs through Belmont, around the Prospect Hill area, and Cherry Avenue. Not a sign.
I had yet to check out the Pantops area, and Park Street and Rio Road, not to mention the Georgetown Road area and the entire 29 North corridor. It was a long night, and shaping up to get a lot longer.
A half hour later I found myself parked along the curb on High Street, dialing Marcia's number on the cell.
“Jake just arrived,” she said when she answered.
“Good.”
“He told me you said not to worry.”
“That's right.”
“Making any progress?”
“Nada.”
“Cassidy's told me everything.”
“Okay.”
“I'm sorry for being so short with you earlier.”
“Forget it.” I was watching the streetlights burn with life, watching the houses along the street burn with life too, lights ablaze, televisions and computer screens all aglow.
“What do you do now? Will you go to the police?”
“Most likely.”
“I really am sorry, Frank. Now that I know—”
“I'm going to want you to tell me all that went on between you and Tor Drummond,” I said.
There was a pause. “All right,” she said softly.
“Can you put Cassidy on now?”
“Yes. Be careful, Frank.”
“Always.”
Another pause. “I—I don't want anything to happen to you.”
“Me either.”
Cassidy came on the line. “You haven't found anything?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I'm sorry.”
“I keep trying Wright's cell phone.”
“I know.” I'd tried it again too. Cartwright Drummond's cell phone number now answered with an ominous recording—”The subscriber you have dialed is unavailable or has traveled beyond the coverage area”—which meant either the phone had been turned off or the battery had died.
“Isn't there something else you can do?” Her voice sounded shaky.
“Keep looking.”
“Okay.”
“But I have to be honest. I'm not optimistic at this point. You're probably not going to be able to keep a lid on this thing.”
There was silence. Then after several seconds: “I know, I know—” She began to cry softly.
I let her cry for a little bit. “I'm very sorry,” I said finally. Seemed like I was getting good at saying that. “Listen. Time's getting critical. There are a couple of cops I know I can trust.”
“No, please. Not yet. Please just keep looking.”
I thought it over. “I'll keep looking,” I said, “but don't get your hopes up.”
“I'm afraid,” she said. “You think … do you think Wright's been?” She
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