Imminent Peril

by Melissa F. Miller

  She nodded, but he could see in her eyes that she wasn't convinced. “Unless you know something I don’t,” he added.

  “No, but I just wonder if maybe Agent Pataki or some other immigration enforcement agent showed up and she got spooked and bolted. You could maybe read the note that way.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll check into it tonight after the twins are asleep.”

  “Really? You’ll do your secret agent thing?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “In that case, you can do it while I get them ready for bed.” She popped to her feet.

  “Are you sure? It’s my night.”

  “Positive.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” he told her. Tapping into a secure government database without leaving a trace was approximately seven thousand times easier than getting toddler twins down for the night.

  Sasha tiptoed into the home office, feeling flush with victory. Connelly swiveled in his chair to look at her.

  “Great success,” she whispered triumphantly. “Now let's just hope they don't sleep like babies.”

  They shared a quiet laugh. Only after they’d become parents had they realized that ‘sleeping like a baby’ was a complete misnomer.

  She perched on the edge of the desk. “Have you found anything?” she asked, struggling to keep the hope out of her voice.

  He blew out a frustrated breath and dragged his fingers through his thick hair, creating a sea of tiny spikes. “I haven't found anybody named Pataki.”

  “So the guy lied to Mickey.”

  “Well he could've been lying about his identity. Or he could've been lying about his assignment. Or he could be undercover. Or he could be on loan to Homeland Security from another agency. Or he could have a role like mine and Hank’s, which isn’t going to be in any database.”

  She frowned at that. How were they going to track down the guy if he belonged to some shadow agency that didn't even officially exist?

  He went on. “But who knows? All I can say about Agent Pataki is I can't say anything for sure.”

  “Okay, so forget Pataki. What about Prachi?”

  He closed one window and enlarged another. “This is Prachi Agarwal’s visa application and supporting documentation. Do you have your phone?”

  She nodded and pulled it out of her back pocket.

  “Pull up the picture you took of her note.”

  Sasha's stomach clenched at the mention of the note, but she nodded and pinched the screen to zoom in on the picture. “Got it.”

  “Okay. Come here and take a look at this.” He pulled her onto his lap and pointed to an image of a handwritten response Prachi Agarwal had given to a series of questions about her position at Playtime Toys.

  The script was straight up and down, almost vertical. It was a clean and precise, almost masculine, cursive. Even her signature was all straight lines and angles. It was not at all surprising for someone with an analytical bent who worked in science and technology, but it was all wrong.

  Sasha leaned in for a closer look and then looked back at her photo. “That's not right.”

  Connelly nodded. “They’re not a match at all.”

  The note was written in a stereotypically feminine hand. Flowery, flowing script with lots of curlicues and big, sweeping letters.

  “So one of these is a forgery.”

  “Oh, this one is real. She would have written these answers in front of a Customs and Border Patrol agent.” He jabbed at the monitor. “Of course you’d need a handwriting expert to say definitively, but wouldn’t you say the note you found in her notebook is trying almost too hard to look like it was written by a woman? It's as though a man who didn't have a sample of Prachi's handwriting wrote this note.”

  “Do you think it was this Agent Pataki, if he exists?”

  He shrugged. “I don't want to speculate. And I don't want to worry you more than you already are …”

  “But?”

  “But there's an alternative theory. It’s not a great one, though.”

  “Just tell me, Connelly.”

  He turned her so she was facing him before he answered. “Some of the Customs and Border Patrol folks have, on occasion, gotten a bit too enthusiastic.”

  “You don't say,” she said dryly. It wasn’t exactly a revelation that there were rogue federal agents out in the wild. But this wasn’t the time to get into a big discussion about it with Mr. Law and Order.

  “Some of the detention facilities are dark sites,” he persisted. “Being sent there, it's almost like rendition on U.S. soil. The detainee’s name never appears on a prisoner manifest. If they're not on the list, they don't exist. They're not entitled to a speedy determination. They don't have access to counsel. They’re just disappeared.”

  A wave of nausea rolled through her. “Do you think that’s what happened to Prachi?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “I don’t know. I could see an agent, maybe tipped off by Playtime Toys just to rattle her, getting carried away. And writing the note to cover it up. Or it could be something else entirely. Regardless, I guess what I'm saying is I agree with you that you and Prachi Agarwal are mixed up in something. Something that inspired someone to fake what seems to be a suicide note for a woman who’s gone missing.”

  “We have to go back to her apartment,” she murmured.

  He took her in his arms. “No. We don’t.” He pulled her tight and spoke with his mouth close to her ear. “You’re going to go to bed. Or take a bath. Meditate. Something. I’m going to call a buddy at the police department and ask them to stop by her place.”

  “But what if the local police stumble into an active federal investigation? Won’t you be in hot water?” she asked, tilting her head up to see his face.

  He worked his jaw. “One, if there's an investigation, it's so off the books that even I don't have access to it. That’s unlikely. And two, that’s why I’m calling in a favor. This isn’t going to trace back to me. And, more importantly, it’s not going to trace back to you. Okay?”

  She hesitated. She hated to involve him in her mess; but, then again, what was marriage if not an agreement to share messes? So she nodded. “Okay.”

  25

  Leo's cell phone chirped to life early Friday morning. PBP flashed across the screen. Pittsburgh Bureau of Police. That was quick.

  “Hey,” he called into the living room. “I need to step outside and take this call. There’s still half a pot of coffee.”

  She looked up from the colorful, floor puzzle she was working on with Finn and Fiona and nodded.

  He accepted the call as he walked through the kitchen and out into their small backyard. “This is Leo Connelly.”

  Cheryl Minet, a Zone 4 patrol officer he’d met during a joint sting operation, was all business. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. There was a little kerfuffle over whether the address you gave me was within our boundaries or in Zone 5.”

  “And?”

  She laughed. “There’s this little finger of Zone 4 that protrudes into Zone 5’s boundaries. On the zone map, it looks like we’re flipping them the bird. Lucky for you, Amelia Street’s in the finger.”

  He chuckled. “Great.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll tell you straight up, the news isn’t great. We did the welfare check first thing this morning. The Agarwal woman’s apartment was unlocked and empty.”

  He’d expected as much. He was more interested in what else she had to say. “No evidence of where she might have gotten to?”

  “So here’s the thing. That apartment is totally clean. Too clean.”

  Exactly what Sasha had said. “You mean it’s clean as in there’s no evidence of foul play?”

  “I mean it’s clean as in there are no fingerprints anywhere. Somebody who knows what he’s doing spent some time in there with bleach and enzyme removers.”

  Leo’s pulse twitched wildly under his ear. “Are you sure?”

  “Listen, I don't have the experien
ce you have, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know that apartment was sanitized by a pro. There was a note in a journal on the kitchen table that we’re processing now. If it weren’t for the absence of fingerprints, the note would lead me to believe your Prachi Agarwal took off and went somewhere to kill herself. But dead people don’t generally wipe away all traces of their own existence, you know?”

  He nodded. Someone had been a bit too thorough. “What are your next steps?”

  “I talked to my commander. We’re treating it as missing person/possible foul play situation. We’ve got a guy doing a canvas of the neighborhood. We’ll send a unit to her place of work. And we’ve reached out to the landlord. Boss wants to know if any federal agency is running a parallel investigation. I didn’t mention your name. Should I?”

  “No. As of now, we consider this a local law enforcement matter. Dr. Agarwal happens to be an acquaintance of my wife. She was worried about Prachi, so I told her I would call in a favor. Make sure my name doesn’t show up anywhere in a report.”

  “No worries. I gotcha. This one goes in the favor bank.”

  “Definitely.” He knew how the system worked. He now owed Officer Minet one. It might be months, or years, before she collected. But she would.

  They said their goodbyes, and he ended the call. The fact that Prachi Agarwal's apartment had been wiped clean sent a shiver down his spine despite the late-morning sunshine warming the air.

  He hated to involve Hank, but it was time. They weren’t currently working an active investigation, which suited both of them just fine seeing as how they were pretty busy running their respective households. But he needed to bounce some ideas off his mentor and boss.

  Hank answered after several rings. “What’s up?”

  “Do you have time to talk?”

  “I have about 10 minutes before we have to leave for the orthodontist’s office.”

  “That’ll do. I’ll spare you all the details, but there’s a missing woman—Dr. Prachi Agarwal. She's here on an H-1B skilled worker visa.”

  “Define missing.”

  “She met with a lawyer on Monday morning about a potential employment claim. Demeanor was normal. No mention of any out-of-town travel. Nobody’s seen her since. She should have been in Sasha’s anger management class on Monday night, but she was a no-show.”

  “Anger management? Who did Dr. Agarwal punch in the nose?”

  “Ha. Unlike my lovely wife, she wasn’t court-ordered to attend. She’s on probation at work for slamming a door or something. Her employer told her if she didn’t take the class they’d revoke their sponsorship of her visa and she’d be deported.”

  “So we wouldn’t expect her to miss class.”

  “Bingo. Couple other things. Somebody called her employment lawyer asking questions. He claimed to be a guy named Pataki from Homeland Security.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Didn’t for me either. And Sasha stopped by her apartment yesterday. Nobody was home but the front door was unlocked.”

  Hank groaned. “Let me guess. Nancy Drew let herself in.”

  “Of course she did. She poked around but didn’t touch anything. She said the place was squeaky clean, and there was a note on the kitchen table that could be interpreted as a suicide note.”

  “Interesting.”

  “It gets more interesting. I took a peek at Prachi Agarwal’s immigration file.” Leo paused to see if Hank would object to his self-help.

  All Hank said was, “I trust you did it in a fashion that didn’t leave any electronic fingerprints.”

  Leo huffed, almost as offended as Sasha had been the night before at the suggestion that she might have been sloppy. “Jeez, Hank. Of course I didn’t.”

  “Just checking. Did you learn anything useful?”

  “I’ll say. The handwriting on the note in the apartment doesn’t match her handwritten interview answers in the file—and I mean, it’s not even close.”

  “So we have a missing woman, a fake suicide note, and a weird phone call that may or may not have originated from the Department of Homeland Security,” Hank mused. “You should ask the local PD to send over a unit for a welfare check. See what they turn up.”

  “I’m a step ahead of you. I called Cheryl Minet last night. By the way, she’s got one in the plus column now. Anyway, Zone 4 is opening an investigation because—get this—the place has been sanitized.”

  Hank gave a low whistle. “That doesn't sound like ICE or Homeland Security. If anything, it sounds like us. And we haven't disappeared her.” A heavy silence followed. Then he said. “I can think of three, maybe four, teams that might clean an apartment like that. But if any of them are involved …”

  “It means she's dead,” Leo finished Hank’s thought.

  “Well, yeah, most likely. Let’s keep our fingers out of this pie for now. Let the police work it. But depending on how tight Sasha was with this Dr. Agarwal, you two probably want to take precautions.”

  Leo exhaled loudly. “Right. I don’t want to make you late for the orthodontist, so I’ll just say it looks like Sasha’s mixed up in whatever got this woman disappeared. It might even be tied to her bar fight.”

  “I’m serious about the precautions.”

  “I know.”

  “In the meantime,” Hank went on, “I’ll make some calls and ask some low-key questions to some of the guys at ICE, but as far as I know, they don’t sanitize apartments. Although, these days, who can say for sure.”

  “I appreciate the help.”

  “Don't mention it.”

  Leo shut down his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Then he turned his face up and let the sun warm it for a moment before he walked back into the house.

  Connelly came back into the living room with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Sasha could almost see him straining under the burden. She finished off the alphabet train puzzle and handed Finn and Fiona a stack of hardback Dr. Seuss books before joining Connelly near the fireplace.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked not much louder than a whisper.

  “Pittsburgh Police checked Prachi’s apartment. It’s totally clean—not just of your prints. There are no prints.”

  “What do you mean, no prints? Her fingerprints have to be there.” She looked at him in utter bafflement.

  “You’d expect them to be, but they aren’t.”

  “How? Why?”

  He just shook his head. “It’s concerning,” he finally said. “Would you call Mickey Collins and find out if that Agent Pataki has contacted him again? If he has, try to get a telephone number for him, okay?”

  Connelly’s voice was tight with tension. She gave him a careful look. Then she nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll call from upstairs. So, tag you’re it.” She pointed to the twins and the pile of books.

  She took the stairs by twos, her heart beating wildly. Connelly had a great poker face—usually. The fact that his worry was showing was enough to make her worried.

  True to form, Mickey answered his own phone.

  “Hi, Mickey. It's Sasha,” she said as soon as she heard his voice.

  “Hi. Did you catch up with Prachi?”

  “No. I stopped by her place yesterday, but she wasn't there.” Sasha decided to tell him the truth, just not the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  “I hope she turns up soon,” he mused.

  “You and me both. Listen, I was wondering if that Agent Pataki’s called back or anything?”

  “I didn’t talk to him. Hang on a sec.” She could hear him rifling through papers on his desk, most likely a stack of message slips. “Nope,” he confirmed.

  “And you didn’t get his number, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Do me a favor and let me know if he reaches out to you again.”

  “Sure thing. Is that all you wanted? I'm not trying to give you the bum's rush, but I have a jury trial starting this afternoon, so …”

  “You should k
now that the police are looking into Prachi’s disappearance. I think they may suspect foul play,” she blurted.

  “Holy cow.”

  “Yeah. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “About Prachi’s case? No.”

  She sighed. “I’ll let you go. Good luck with your trial.”

  She ended the call and trudged back downstairs to break the news to Connelly. Now what?

  26

  Sasha had to do something other than sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop. Connelly was roaming through the house like a caged panther. He was holding something back from her, and she was pretty sure that it was his belief that Prachi Agarwal had been murdered.

  She dialed Will’s number. After a brief chat with Caroline, who filled her in on the office goings on, she was connected with Will.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked in a kind voice.

  “I’ve been better,” she said, unwilling or unable to muster the strength to lie convincingly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She brushed aside the concern. “I’d like to talk to you and Naya about Steve Harold's complaint.”

  “I take it she filled you in on her interview with his ex-wife?”

  “She gave me an overview,” Sasha answered, “but I want to set up a time to come in and sit down with you both.”

  He hesitated and then said, “I just don't think it's a great idea for you to come into the office. It would be confusing for folks if you came in while you’re supposed to be out on leave.”

  “Come on, Will. I came in all the time when I was on maternity leave. Our people are smart enough to handle a Sasha sighting.”

  “I know, but this is a different situation. It’s just … cleaner this way. Why don’t I have Naya step into my office and we can put you on the speaker.”

  “Fine.”

  He placed her on hold to call Naya. As she waited, her frustration began to mount, and she found herself pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor.