Herb.
“Footprints, right here.” Herb pointed at the ground. “Also some twigs broken off the bush so it was easier to see the house.
“Back there, someone was in a tree. You thinking two vantage points?”
“Either two vantage points,” Herb said, “or two abductors.”
They walked the perimeter of the property, trying to see if anyone else could have been watching. All they found were old, spent shell casings—the reason Jack now insisted on keeping the shades drawn, and why she’d installed the new burglar alarm. But there was no evidence of recent surveillance, except in those two spots.
Herb and Phin went back into the house. Harry was in the kitchen. He’d made himself a submarine sandwich and was finishing a bite. “No bugs in the refrigerator,” he said, mouth full.
“How about the rest of the house, jackass?” Herb said.
McGlade stared at Herb and protectively hid the sandwich behind his back. “Whole house is clean. At least, it was.”
Harry pointed his chin to the floor, which was dotted with nettles Phin had dragged in. Phin pondered that for a moment, wondering if it meant something. Wondering what they were supposed to do next.
Three years ago
2007, August 8
“W hat are we supposed to do next?” Herb asked.
We were exiting Dalton’s building and walking back to my Nova.
“The only thing we can do,” I answered. “We watch him. Follow him. Hope he makes a move.”
“You think he’ll make a move?” We waited for a cab to pass, then crossed the street. “He’s leaving the country tomorrow. You think he’ll do something to screw that up?”
“I think he’s a disturbed old guy who wants to play some kind of game. And if he does screw up, I want to be there.”
I unlocked my car, started the engine, and cranked on the air-conditioning. The chassis rocked when Herb sat down. After checking for traffic, I pulled out onto the street, turned onto Lake Shore Drive, and parked next to the 1300 building, near the underground garage. It didn’t matter if Dalton saw us—he practically challenged us to follow him, and no doubt knew we would.
I called a detective in my district, Tom Mankowski, and asked him to check the passenger lists on all flights to Cape Verde over the next three days, looking for Dalton’s name. I also asked him if he could confirm Dalton had a residence there.
Then we waited.
“So how’s Latham doing?” Herb asked. “Fully recovered yet?”
“He’s good.”
Latham, my fiancé, was still recuperating from a bout with botulism. He was almost back to normal, and we were going on vacation later in the month, renting a cabin on Rice Lake in Wisconsin. I had to testify at a murder trial next week, but that wouldn’t take more than a day or two. Then I was free of police work for seven glorious days. Though, knowing my luck, I’d probably run into some psychopath during the trip.
“How’s the wife?” I asked Herb.
“Good.”
We kept waiting.
“Think we’ve run out of things to talk about?” Herb asked.
“No, not at all,” I answered.
Neither of us spoke for fifteen minutes. We watched a bike courier ride up to Dalton’s building. He unhooked a bag attached to his rear bumper with bungee cords, and walked past the doorman.
“Remember when we first met?” Herb asked.
“Not really.”
“Sure you do. It was with that guy…the escort murder guy. Shell.”
“Can we talk about something else?” I didn’t like thinking about Shell.
“Sorry. Didn’t know it was still a soft spot.”
“It’s not,” I lied. “What about it?”
“That was eighteen years ago. We’ve been working together for a long time.”
“Sure have.”
“I’ve probably spent more time with you than I have with my wife.”
My eyes wandered away from the building and over to Herb. “You’re not going to tell me you’re in love with me, are you Herb?”
Herb smirked. “I wouldn’t want to ruin what you’ve got going on with
“Footprints, right here.” Herb pointed at the ground. “Also some twigs broken off the bush so it was easier to see the house.
“Back there, someone was in a tree. You thinking two vantage points?”
“Either two vantage points,” Herb said, “or two abductors.”
They walked the perimeter of the property, trying to see if anyone else could have been watching. All they found were old, spent shell casings—the reason Jack now insisted on keeping the shades drawn, and why she’d installed the new burglar alarm. But there was no evidence of recent surveillance, except in those two spots.
Herb and Phin went back into the house. Harry was in the kitchen. He’d made himself a submarine sandwich and was finishing a bite. “No bugs in the refrigerator,” he said, mouth full.
“How about the rest of the house, jackass?” Herb said.
McGlade stared at Herb and protectively hid the sandwich behind his back. “Whole house is clean. At least, it was.”
Harry pointed his chin to the floor, which was dotted with nettles Phin had dragged in. Phin pondered that for a moment, wondering if it meant something. Wondering what they were supposed to do next.
Three years ago
2007, August 8
“W hat are we supposed to do next?” Herb asked.
We were exiting Dalton’s building and walking back to my Nova.
“The only thing we can do,” I answered. “We watch him. Follow him. Hope he makes a move.”
“You think he’ll make a move?” We waited for a cab to pass, then crossed the street. “He’s leaving the country tomorrow. You think he’ll do something to screw that up?”
“I think he’s a disturbed old guy who wants to play some kind of game. And if he does screw up, I want to be there.”
I unlocked my car, started the engine, and cranked on the air-conditioning. The chassis rocked when Herb sat down. After checking for traffic, I pulled out onto the street, turned onto Lake Shore Drive, and parked next to the 1300 building, near the underground garage. It didn’t matter if Dalton saw us—he practically challenged us to follow him, and no doubt knew we would.
I called a detective in my district, Tom Mankowski, and asked him to check the passenger lists on all flights to Cape Verde over the next three days, looking for Dalton’s name. I also asked him if he could confirm Dalton had a residence there.
Then we waited.
“So how’s Latham doing?” Herb asked. “Fully recovered yet?”
“He’s good.”
Latham, my fiancé, was still recuperating from a bout with botulism. He was almost back to normal, and we were going on vacation later in the month, renting a cabin on Rice Lake in Wisconsin. I had to testify at a murder trial next week, but that wouldn’t take more than a day or two. Then I was free of police work for seven glorious days. Though, knowing my luck, I’d probably run into some psychopath during the trip.
“How’s the wife?” I asked Herb.
“Good.”
We kept waiting.
“Think we’ve run out of things to talk about?” Herb asked.
“No, not at all,” I answered.
Neither of us spoke for fifteen minutes. We watched a bike courier ride up to Dalton’s building. He unhooked a bag attached to his rear bumper with bungee cords, and walked past the doorman.
“Remember when we first met?” Herb asked.
“Not really.”
“Sure you do. It was with that guy…the escort murder guy. Shell.”
“Can we talk about something else?” I didn’t like thinking about Shell.
“Sorry. Didn’t know it was still a soft spot.”
“It’s not,” I lied. “What about it?”
“That was eighteen years ago. We’ve been working together for a long time.”
“Sure have.”
“I’ve probably spent more time with you than I have with my wife.”
My eyes wandered away from the building and over to Herb. “You’re not going to tell me you’re in love with me, are you Herb?”
Herb smirked. “I wouldn’t want to ruin what you’ve got going on with
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