Blindside (Michael Bennett)

by James Patterson

She slowly slipped her right hand into her purse and felt the handles of her garrote. The young man was oblivious as he engaged Janos.

  Alice tried to assess if she really needed to eliminate a witness or just thought she might enjoy it. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t mind feeling people struggle under the power of her arms and shoulders focused on the wire of the garrote.

  To be on the safe side, she pulled it from her purse. Both hands ready to go.

  Janos had all the information he needed. He thanked the young man and took a few steps down the stairs to the street.

  Alice was still in a perfect position to act.

  Then the young man said, “I’ve applied to Columbia. Do you think you guys could help me?”

  Before Alice could do anything, he jumped right into his pitch. It covered his academic career since middle school. He had two years of college and was hoping to get in and finish at Columbia.

  The young man brushed hair out of his eyes as he finished up. “I have enough financial aid lined up, along with money from my parents. I’m not a computer genius like Oscar or Jennifer, but I have really good grades and I’m interested in business.” He sounded proud of himself as he finished his list of accomplishments, from being in the marching band in high school to having straight As at SUNY Brookhaven.

  Alice held up her homemade garrote. Then she caught Janos waving her off. Her partner said to the young man, “You seem like a good kid. But you need to aim lower.” Janos gave him a thumbs-up and added, “Hang in there.”

  Alice decided the conversation was too bizarre for the young man to ever think they would be involved in crime. She slipped the garrote back into her purse and hurried down the stairs to catch up with Janos.

  Janos had a wide grin on his face and said, “Did you hear my good American accent? That kid totally believed I worked for Columbia University.”

  Occasionally Alice really enjoyed working with her goofy partner.

  CHAPTER 26

  IT FELT GOOD to be back on the job. And having a different assignment helped make it interesting. If you don’t get something out of your job other than money, what’s the point? One of the things I love about police work is that you never know what might happen. I live my life in a constant state of surprise and excitement. Not a bad way to spend your time.

  Over the years, I’d explored the idea of applying to the FBI or pursuing promotions within the NYPD. But days like this always convinced me that being a detective was the best possible position. Not just any kind of detective, but an NYPD detective. To roam over this great city and meet interesting people made me excited to start work almost every day.

  I had a list of names the mayor had given me. They were acquaintances or friends of Natalie’s. I had spoken to the mayor’s ex-wife, who now lived north of Albany. She knew more about her daughter’s day-to-day life and friends but offered nothing of great importance. At least nothing that looked important at the moment. I’d seen divorce ruin families. I got the idea that the divorce was only part of this dynamic, though the mayor himself had taken the blame.

  The mayor’s ex-wife had started to worry about her daughter a while ago. She felt the rising fear of a parent. She didn’t care what I did or who I was as long as I found her daughter.

  I spoke to a bright young woman named Allie Andrus, who was a senior at NYU. She had been friends with Natalie since middle school. I thought I’d get some real insights, but all she said was that they had drifted apart. Now Natalie hung out with a group of computer hackers. Allie used the phrase “cyberpunks.” That sounded a little dismissive to me.

  I spoke to two other friends on the phone and then landed on the name Thomas Payne.

  When I ran the name through NYPD computer indexes, I was shocked to learn he was the victim of a homicide. His body had been found a few blocks from Penn Station.

  That changed everything. It could be a coincidence. But if you believe in coincidence, you probably shouldn’t be a cop.

  I immediately got on the horn and reached Detective Ed Arris. He gave me directions to Payne’s apartment and said he’d meet me in a few minutes.

  Ed and I went back a few years. He was six foot four but had more bulk than me. Some of it had to do with his football career. He’d played at Hofstra about the same time as their best-known NFL player, Wayne Chrebet.

  He shook my hand, then enveloped me in a bear hug. “Good to see you, Mike. We’ve all been worried about you.”

  I waved off the sentiment, but it touched me. I had to change the subject, quick.

  I said, “How do you like Manhattan South?”

  “You know how it is. I’d been up in the Bronx a while. NYPD likes to spread out their black detectives. This is a pretty easy gig compared to the Bronx. I figure I’ll pull the plug in the next ten years anyway.”

  I noticed how well kept the building was as we walked to the front door of the apartment. There was no doorman, but the electronic security was outstanding. Four different cameras caught the front of the building. An expensive awning covered the sidewalk leading to the entrance.

  Ed said they had no leads. Just a body that had been strangled with a ligature. In this case, he thought it was some kind of wire.

  Ed said, “Screwed up the victim’s neck pretty bad. Deep laceration, but it didn’t sever any arteries. The poor kid choked to death. He was dead at least twelve hours before someone from a restaurant next door noticed the body jammed up against a wall behind a row of parked cars. The kid’s family is devastated.”

  Every homicide detective knew the feeling, talking to a family who had just lost someone. Death notifications were one of the worst parts of the job.

  Ed fumbled with the keys, then we ducked under some yellow crime-scene tape across the doorway.

  As soon as we stepped into the apartment and I saw the two TVs and all of the computer equipment, I knew this was related to the missing Natalie Lunden.

  CHAPTER 27

  IT’S ALWAYS A surreal experience to be in the apartment of a dead person. Their life is told in the belongings they left behind. Secrets are held in correspondence and emails. Even their TV viewing habits might be looked at. Anything that could give a detective a hint of what led to the homicide.

  Cops like to say a good homicide detective is born, not made. The gift has more to do with the determination to keep looking at things until they make sense. With all the new forms of communication, from instant messaging to email, investigations have changed dramatically. More opportunities to catch a killer also means much more information to pore over. Cases, at least more complicated cases, take longer.

  I believe experience is what makes a good detective. Varied experience, not the same one over and over. Experience is a tricky thing. You never realize how important it is until you gain it. The ultimate catch-22.

  This was a very nice two-bedroom apartment most professionals would kill to live in. Somehow a twenty-four-year-old computer whiz had found a way to pay for it.

  Ed proceeded to brief me as we walked through the apartment. He said, “We found an airline ticket to Estonia.”

  Immediately I thought about the wire from Danske Bank in Estonia that paid for Natalie Lunden’s apartment. Things were starting to pop.

  Ed continued, “The victim had a Long Island Rail ticket to Hempstead in his pocket.”

  “A fairly big town. I think it’s the biggest in Nassau County. He have relatives there?”

  Ed said, “I spoke to his parents, who live in Hicksville. They weren’t expecting him. Of course, they’re in shock. The only thing they could think of was that his grandmother has a house in Hempstead she lets him use. I looked up the address. Good place to lie low. It would be hard to connect it to him.”

  I said, “You think he had a change of heart about the trip to Estonia. Maybe he was running.”

  Ed finished my thought. “And whoever he was running from caught him. It’s possible. We have some grainy surveillance photographs that show him leav
ing Penn Station with a couple. A well-dressed white woman and man in their thirties. Not enough to make an exact ID. But the surveillance cameras downstairs show what may be the same couple visiting the building earlier that evening. Excellent images, but not a single match in our system, and they may have been visiting someone other than Payne. This one really has us stumped.”

  “No drug connections?” That was usually the first and most likely reason for a homicide in New York.

  “No, nothing. He’d been in school until eighteen months ago.”

  “His parents pay for this apartment?”

  “Nope.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And confusing. I can’t find what the kid did for money, but he was doing okay.”

  “I’d say so.”

  I had told him I was looking for a witness. Technically, it was true. I had been waiting for the next question.

  Ed said, “What’s the connection between the witness you’re looking for and Payne? Can the witness help me on this homicide?”

  “Truthfully, I don’t know. But if I ever find her, it will be one of my first questions.”

  “What kind of case is she a witness to?”

  “Ed, this is gonna sound weird coming from me, but I can’t talk about it.” It was embarrassing to tell one of my brother cops something like that. The FBI did that kind of shit all the time. That’s why none of the local cops worked with them much. I didn’t like saying it to a fellow detective.

  But he took it in stride and we continued exchanging a little information and looking through the apartment again.

  Finally I said, “Okay, Ed, I’ve seen enough. Will you keep me in the loop?”

  “Sure, no problem. Will you do the same?”

  “As soon as I’m authorized, you’ll hear the whole story. For now, I have to shift my focus to another witness.”

  “Down here in Manhattan South? I have a lot of contacts.”

  “I think I need to go to Columbia first. Last I heard she was registered there.”

  Ed said, “I seem to recall you having a little trouble at Columbia not that long ago. Will they let you on campus? They’re not known to help the police much.”

  “I have a few contacts. I need to find this girl. I’ll see what I can pick up on her and if she knows anything about your victim.”

  “Is this witness’s name a secret, too?”

  “No, not really. Her name is Jennifer Chang. She’s a computer genius, too. That’s why I think it might all be related.”

  Ed laughed and said, “If you don’t know it by now, everything’s related in police work.”

  CHAPTER 28

  I HADN’T BEEN to Columbia University in some time. During my last visit, looking into rumors of a teenage hit man, I’d found the student studying at Columbia’s Butler Library. The young man was bright and eloquent. He was also an armed psychopath, which became clear when he pulled a pistol on me while we were chatting. We’re credited with the only running gunfight in history inside a Columbia library.

  Thinking about that shooting, and my most recent shooting, left me feeling a little dejected. It really did seem like people were much more open to using violence to get away from the police. It made me scared for the generations of cops to come.

  A security guard at the campus was a retired NYPD sergeant. It was clear on the phone he didn’t want anyone to see him talking to a current NYPD detective, but he did a search of the university’s records and found that Jennifer Chang was an enrolled student.

  There was no way to tell if she was attending her classes, but he knew some of the university’s IT people. That’s where I was headed, north of the main campus. I should’ve picked up on his tone and chuckle. He said, “Jason is a little different.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say he lives in his own world. Play by his rules, and he could be a big help.”

  I found the offices not far from the Hudson in a four-story brick-and-glass building that looked more like a large warehouse than a hub of technology. I entered the front door, and the first thing I saw was a page of copy paper with the word Infrastructure scribbled on it with a ballpoint pen. An arrow pointed down. I took the narrow staircase next to the sign.

  It felt a little like a horror movie. The underground floor was poorly lit and there was no one around. Literally. I had not seen one person since I entered the building. I found another sign just like the first one with an arrow pointing to the end of the hallway.

  My shoes echoed off the concrete floor, which looked just as cold as the colorless walls. A stale odor assaulted my nose.

  Finally I found a door with one more matching sign that said Infrastructure.

  I knocked and heard someone shout from inside.

  I opened the door and saw a man, about thirty, with long red hair tied in a ponytail. He looked up and said, “Are you Bennett?”

  I nodded.

  “Todd in Security told me you’d be coming. He said you were trustworthy and on a noble quest. I respect anyone on a noble quest.”

  It took me a moment to realize this guy had played one too many Dungeons and Dragons games.

  He said, “My name is Jason. Jason A. Manafort. But Todd said you wouldn’t put my name in any reports. Can I trust your word of honor, sir?”

  “No one will ever know I was here or that you spoke to me.”

  “And your quest? Is it really noble?”

  “I’m looking for a missing girl, and Jennifer Chang might know where to find her. I just want to make sure she’s safe.” I waited while Jason considered this. He wasn’t taking our encounter lightly. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  Then Jason patted the seat next to him and turned to his computer monitor. He said, “I did a little background. I needed to meet you and make sure you were worthy of receiving this information.”

  I watched as he brought up Jennifer Chang’s registration information. I copied down an address in Midtown. It looked like more of a warehouse area. Some of the warehouses had apartments above them. I also looked at Jennifer’s official school ID photo. Like most college students, she looked too young to be in school, but that was just a product of me getting older.

  She was cute and had purple streaks running through her hair. She had been born in California and appeared to be of Asian descent. Nothing in her file was useful for my investigation, other than the address, which I intended to visit as soon as I was done with the Royal Handler of Information.

  I talked with Jason for a few more minutes and asked if there was anything else he thought might help me.

  He said, “Do you know what a MAC address is?”

  I recalled Eddie telling me about a computer’s unique address, the string of two-digit numbers and characters. All I said to Jason was “Of course I do.”

  He brought up a different screen on his computer. He said, “I found her ID on the Wi-Fi in Butler Library. I even checked security video to make sure it was her. Anyway, when she signed on, this is the address that came up.”

  I looked at the screen and copied down the twelve digits. I didn’t know how to use it myself, but I thought I could find someone who did.

  I also didn’t know how to thank Jason. He was stepping outside the normal protocol for Columbia employees to speak to the police. I dug in my sport coat pocket and found a challenge coin from Manhattan North Homicide. Most police units make their own coins, mementos that some people collect. This one showed a crime scene on one side and our unit’s logo on the other side.

  Jason stared at it in his hand for a moment and said, “I’m honored that you would entrust me with a symbol of your quest.”

  I said, “Thanks for the help.” It seemed shallow in the face of his sincerity, but I didn’t have time for a big show of emotion. I had to check Jennifer Chang’s apartment.

  CHAPTER 29

  ALICE GROFF AND Janos Titon had followed the directions from the kid outside Jennifer Chang’s old apartment. His directions had
been right on the money, and his description had been fairly precise. The apartment was on the floors above a warehouse that dealt with caskets and funeral accessories.

  They’d waited until the warehouse closed and it was dusk. Now they marched up two flights of wooden stairs, their footsteps echoing in the warehouse below them. They could hear the echo through the vents and a couple of windows that looked down into the warehouse.

  Alice nudged Janos and nodded toward a series of extremely subtle security cameras. They were all directed at the door.

  Janos muttered, “Computer geeks. They’re the same in America as they are in Estonia.”

  They were still dressed professionally, so Alice wasn’t worried about what they would look like on security cameras. She knocked on the door.

  Clearly whoever was inside had been watching the cameras and waiting. The door opened a crack with two heavy security chains on it. A tall, skinny man, with remarkably thick glasses, peered out at them. He spoke with a Hispanic accent as he said, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Alice had a little speech prepared about being from Columbia University and looking for Jennifer Chang. She was going to say they had come about a financial aid grant. Vague and non-threatening. The best kind of story.

  Before she could say anything, Janos wedged his foot into the open doorway and had the barrel of his Czech pistol under the thin ridge of bone the man thought of as his chin.

  Janos said, “It doesn’t matter who we are. You’re going to open this door or I’m going to open your face. Your choice.”

  The man was stunned. He stammered, “How, how, can, can I undo the chains with the door open?”

  Janos said, “Give me your hand.” He waited while the man stuck his hand between the doorjamb and the open door. Then he took a firm grip of the man’s index finger and put the barrel of the pistol against his hand. He said, “You can close the door as far as your fingers. That should be enough for you to undo the locks.”