sooner by someone entering because the office door to Narcotics had an institutional smoked-glass panel, and a change in background light would be noticeable. He reviewed the situation; deciding he had things in the right order, rehearsed them once while counting in his head. Four to five seconds , he guessed. When combined with the five or so seconds that Abby needed to alert him, it would be too long.
He grabbed the mop and headed directly to the hallwayâs broom closet, filled the rolling bucket from the soapstone sink, wetted the mop and, carrying a yellow plastic sandwich board warning of a WET FLOOR , hurried to the end of the hall near the stairs and the elevator. He mopped the floor furiously, making it as wet as possible, then placed the sandwich board in the center of the hall. With all this water he hopefully had bought himself some extra time while also slowing down any approach.
Back inside Narco, Dart unlocked the file room for the second time, blocked the door open with the rag, and switched on the light.
The room was crowded with gray metal utility shelving along all walls and a pair of opposing stacks in the center. All the shelves were crammed with folders.
Dart checked his watch. This could take a while.
A rolling stepstool allowed him access to the top shelves, which was where he found the Lâs. Dart was surprised by the number of files, each representing a Narco investigation, an arrest, or a snitch. The cityâs drug problem was huge. He fingered the spines: L ⦠A ⦠W ⦠and came up with five files carrying the last name LAWRENCE. Splitting his attention between the files and the open door, Dart nervously inspected the spines of each of these five files. Charles âBusterâ Lawrence, Eldridge Lawrence, Philip Lawrence, Maynard Franklin Lawrence, Lawrence Taylor Lawrence. No Gerald. Dart hadnât thought to memorize the dead manâs social security number, or driverâs license number for comparison, and people like Lawrence used enough aliases that it seemed plausible that any one of these five could be his. Dart took the time to go through the folders again opening each to a mug shot or crime scene photo. One by one he eliminated them; no Gerald Lawrence to be found. If Lawrence had been investigated by Narcotics, it hadnât been in the recent past.
Disappointment depressed him.
He didnât need the stool for Stapleton. The S âs were in the center aisle with S ⦠T ⦠A at eye height. Again, he thumbed through the spines, all marked with color-coded stickers.
A phone rang, not ten feet from him. Dartâs heart skipped and his chest froze, and for a second his head swam. The phone in the outer room rang again, seemingly louder, and a third time. Hurrying, he overcame his anxiety and started pulling files stickered S ⦠T ⦠A.
Stacker; Stadler; Stafford ⦠He had to pull each file out a ways in order to read the name on the spine. He looked down the line of similarly colored stickers, realizing there were dozens of S-T-A s to go. He jumped forward by a group of ten: Stands ⦠Standzleff ⦠Staples ⦠Stapleton. Three of them: Clifford, David R., Edgar. He tugged David R. from the shelf, but felt distracted by the possibility of someone walking in on him.
He pulled open the file. There, looking back at him, was the mug shot of a younger version of the jumper. He pulled the paper clip and flipped through the pages to the write-up. Possession and distribution of a controlled substance. David Stapleton had been busted fourteen months earlier for dealing speed. Dartâs finger raced down the sheet to the name of the lead detective: Roman Kowalski.
His pager vibrated at his side. âCareful, itâs wet!â he heard a slightly hysterical Abby called out loudly.
Dart flicked off the pager, shoved the Stapleton folder back into the stack, and turned for the file room door.
It took four strides to reach
He grabbed the mop and headed directly to the hallwayâs broom closet, filled the rolling bucket from the soapstone sink, wetted the mop and, carrying a yellow plastic sandwich board warning of a WET FLOOR , hurried to the end of the hall near the stairs and the elevator. He mopped the floor furiously, making it as wet as possible, then placed the sandwich board in the center of the hall. With all this water he hopefully had bought himself some extra time while also slowing down any approach.
Back inside Narco, Dart unlocked the file room for the second time, blocked the door open with the rag, and switched on the light.
The room was crowded with gray metal utility shelving along all walls and a pair of opposing stacks in the center. All the shelves were crammed with folders.
Dart checked his watch. This could take a while.
A rolling stepstool allowed him access to the top shelves, which was where he found the Lâs. Dart was surprised by the number of files, each representing a Narco investigation, an arrest, or a snitch. The cityâs drug problem was huge. He fingered the spines: L ⦠A ⦠W ⦠and came up with five files carrying the last name LAWRENCE. Splitting his attention between the files and the open door, Dart nervously inspected the spines of each of these five files. Charles âBusterâ Lawrence, Eldridge Lawrence, Philip Lawrence, Maynard Franklin Lawrence, Lawrence Taylor Lawrence. No Gerald. Dart hadnât thought to memorize the dead manâs social security number, or driverâs license number for comparison, and people like Lawrence used enough aliases that it seemed plausible that any one of these five could be his. Dart took the time to go through the folders again opening each to a mug shot or crime scene photo. One by one he eliminated them; no Gerald Lawrence to be found. If Lawrence had been investigated by Narcotics, it hadnât been in the recent past.
Disappointment depressed him.
He didnât need the stool for Stapleton. The S âs were in the center aisle with S ⦠T ⦠A at eye height. Again, he thumbed through the spines, all marked with color-coded stickers.
A phone rang, not ten feet from him. Dartâs heart skipped and his chest froze, and for a second his head swam. The phone in the outer room rang again, seemingly louder, and a third time. Hurrying, he overcame his anxiety and started pulling files stickered S ⦠T ⦠A.
Stacker; Stadler; Stafford ⦠He had to pull each file out a ways in order to read the name on the spine. He looked down the line of similarly colored stickers, realizing there were dozens of S-T-A s to go. He jumped forward by a group of ten: Stands ⦠Standzleff ⦠Staples ⦠Stapleton. Three of them: Clifford, David R., Edgar. He tugged David R. from the shelf, but felt distracted by the possibility of someone walking in on him.
He pulled open the file. There, looking back at him, was the mug shot of a younger version of the jumper. He pulled the paper clip and flipped through the pages to the write-up. Possession and distribution of a controlled substance. David Stapleton had been busted fourteen months earlier for dealing speed. Dartâs finger raced down the sheet to the name of the lead detective: Roman Kowalski.
His pager vibrated at his side. âCareful, itâs wet!â he heard a slightly hysterical Abby called out loudly.
Dart flicked off the pager, shoved the Stapleton folder back into the stack, and turned for the file room door.
It took four strides to reach
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