There was no need to mention that Lulu had started out in our corner but had gone all Benedict Arnold on me once she heard the suspect was her pal Preston Savage.
“What’s she up to tomorrow? Another visit?” my mother asked. “Or are you and I keeping on target for Monday?”
“Lulu’s going to the country for the weekend,” I said. “She’s washed her hands of all this.”
“Good try, though, kid,” Sam said, tousling my hair and then taking Asta’s leash from me. “Using all your resources to get at your perp. I like your style.”
“Thanks, Sam. I owe most of it to you.”
“Homework, anyone?” my mother asked. “Say good night to Sam.”
“All caught up,” Liza said. “Friday’s going to be a light day.”
“I’ll get some fresh air with Sam and Asta,” my mother said. “Then we three can all hang out in the living room and watch TV.”
“I’m good with that,” I said. “See you tomorrow, Detective Cody.”
I wanted nothing more than to get to my laptop and catch up on the news of the Latitude Society players, but I could use this downtime to think. What could I possibly tell Miss Shorey to get out of tomorrow’s field trip to the library?
I made it through two episodes of an old public television show about some fancy family in England after World War I. I couldn’t relate to anything in it except the fabulous clothes the women wore and the super-cool vintage cars.
“Night, Mom,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. “You look whipped.”
“I am, babe. Going to sleep now, too,” she said. “Good night, Liza. See you in the morning.”
I raced to get into my pajamas, onto my bed, and then online.
There was a text from Katie, who was doing a countdown of the days till we left for Montana—only twenty to go—and a brand-new one from Booker.
What’s up your sleeve tonight? he asked. Awesome clue.
It was your blazer that made me think, after Lulu’s words.
Can U talk?
Best not. Mom’s going to sleep early. If she hears, she’ll know I’m out of bounds.
K.
Then I remembered another thing. The man you were researching—the rare book dealer from Atlanta—was at the library today, just before you got there.
No way.
Way. His name is Walter Blodgett.
No wonder he doesn’t call back. The answering machine at his store in Atlanta, Buckhead Books, says he’s traveling and won’t be back until next week.
Well, like Mr. Savage, he’s a buddy of the library. I’m trying to see if the two are connected or working together. Got to find out what my Latitudians are doing tonight, Booker. Talk tomorrow.
I grabbed my laptop and logged in to the society site. I tried to skim the posts as quickly as I could.
Liza came out of the bathroom and got under the covers. “Anything happening?”
“Interest seems to be building in Saturday’s event in Brooklyn,” I said. “And you, my friend, are like a lightning rod.”
“I am?”
“Yep. Seems like those comments of yours have attracted a lot of attention—some good, some bad. People are really looking forward to meeting you.”
“I think I’m going to try to be incognito, Dev. Is that okay?”
“Whatever.”
“Any word from Preston Savage?”
“Total silence,” I said.
“You’re checking for BookBeast, too?”
“Of course.”
“Savage. Beast. Not the most clever way to disguise himself.”
“Do you mind if I turn out my light, Dev?”
“Suit yourself, Liza. I’m too wired to go to sleep right now.”
I stayed up for another hour, lobbing some controversial posts into the conversation about the Cortés exhibition. I thought it was too risky to say anything more about wanting to meet a book thief. Maybe that was why my contacts slowed down.
My mother was about to leave the apartment the next morning when Liza and I came into the kitchen for breakfast. Natasha was setting out our cereal bowls and toast.
“Good morning, girls. Sleep well?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liza said.
“That’s good,” my mother said. “Me too.”
“Busy day, Mom?” I asked.
“I’m hoping for a quiet one. You okay walking yourselves to school?”
“No problem. Looks like another nice day.”
“Let’s stay in touch. The mayor might insist I have dinner with him tonight,” she said. “Fourth of July weekend is right around the corner, and we’ve got to tighten up all the planning for the tall ships in the river and the fireworks display.”
“I’ll be here, Blaine,” Natasha said. “Okay if we order in pizza?”
“It hasn’t been the healthiest week of dining for poor Liza.”
“Don’t worry about me, Ms. Quick. I love pizza.”
“Thanks for letting me off the hook,” she said. “You’ve had an action-packed week. I’m glad for the weekend ahead.”
We ate our breakfast, walked to school, and went to our first morning class. Liza seemed more subdued than usual.
By the time I was on my way to Miss Shorey’s room—with the unsigned permission slip in my pocket—I was still struggling to think of a way out of the field trip.
I stood in a corner of the stairwell and called my mother’s office. It wasn’t Tapp who answered the phone. “Commissioner Quick’s office.”
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Devlin Quick. Is my mother there?”
“No, I’m afraid she’s not.”
“How about Tapp?”
“Sergeant Tapply’s out today with a stomach flu. I’m just answering the phones for him. How can I help you, Dev?”
I was wondering the same thing myself.
“Could you please ask my mom to give me a call when she gets back to her desk? It’s nothing urgent,” I said. “I just need to ask her about some plans for this afternoon?”
“Then maybe you ought to try her cell, Dev.”
“I’m not supposed to bother her when she’s working, unless it’s something really important. That why I called the office.”
“I get it,” the officer said. “But she’s not likely to be back here until the end of the day.”
“Something wrong?” I asked. So much for her quiet day. “Where did she go?”
“She’s just fine, Dev. But a patrol car flipped over chasing some perps out in Queens. Sam took her to the hospital so she could be there when the cop comes out of surgery.”
“She’s the best,” I said. She had every good instinct a person should have.
“You got that right.”
“Thanks, Officer. I’ll talk to her later.”
I ended the call and walked to the sunny room at the end of the hallway. Miss Shorey and the other girls in the class were milling around, getting ready to leave.
“There you are, Dev,” Miss Shorey said. “Have you got your permission slip?”
“That’s just it, Miss Shorey. I didn’t mean to hold you all up, but I’m afraid I can’t go with you today.”
“But, Dev,” she said, “it was my conversation with you that gave me the idea to take everyone to the library.”
“I know that,” I said, handing her the unsigned slip of paper. “We’ve got this wonderful girl from Argentina who’s staying with us for the first half of the summer session. My mom’s assistant promised to give her a tour of One Police Plaza, and this seems like the best afternoon to do it.”
“I certainly can’t argue with the police commissioner,” Miss Shorey said with a smile. “I’m sure the rest of the girls would rather go with you than come with me.”
“Not very likely,” I said.
We all walked out together, and I spotted Liza waiting for me in front of my locker.
“How did you get out of it?” she asked. “No fiblets, I hope.”
“Truth,” I said.
“Remember on Tuesday when you met Tapp in my mother’s office? Remember that he offered you a tour of headquarters?”
“Sure I do.”
“I told Miss Shorey about Tapp’s promise, and that today seemed the perfect day to go there.”
“That’s so cool, Dev,” Liza said. “And Tapp agreed?”
“He happens to have taken a sick day,” I said. “But the fact is it’s true that he offered you a tour. Anyone in my mom’s office can help with that.”
Liza was trying to make herself feel better about the situation. “At least your mom will be glad to have us there.”
There was no need to update Liza on the commissioner’s whereabouts before we got to One PP.
“Think of it, Liza,” I said as we left the school to walk to the subway station on East Eighty-Six Street. “They have the latest computer systems that can do record checks and get any kind of background information you can imagine. This could be our luckiest break yet.”
“Devlin Quick,” Liza said, sounding more like a big sister than a friend. “What do you think your mother will have to say about this?”
“Didn’t you hear Sam last night, Liza? He encouraged me to use all my resources,” I said. “My mother didn’t object to that, did she? And what could be better than this? There are always clues to be found in the Puzzle Palace.”
22
I sent my mother an e-mail when we emerged from the subway and stopped for a hot dog at one of the food trucks in front of headquarters.
“Miss Shorey wanted to take us on a field trip to the library, but I didn’t think you’d like that much. Called your office to see if Tapp could give Liza the tour he promised. Heard about the bad accident and Tapp’s flu. Thought it would be fun to hang out at your desk.”
By the time we cleared security and made our way to the fourteenth floor, my mother had responded. “Sometimes you really do know how to make me happy! It’s a good, safe place for you to be. Let Liza be the honorary PC for the afternoon. Love you.”
I showed the e-mail to Liza and she laughed.
When we reached the commissioner’s office, I introduced both of us to the detective sitting at Tapp’s desk for the day. His name was Richie Marcus.
“So,” he said, ushering us into the big office, “I understand from Dev’s mother that you’re in charge, Liza. She called to ask me to arrange a tour.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said.
“I’ll just get someone to cover the phones here, and I’ll take you myself,” Richie said.
“We don’t mean to put you to any trouble,” I said.
“My pleasure, Dev.”
“Here’s the deal,” I said to Liza after he walked out the door. “Eyes and ears on high alert. Let’s see if we can do a criminal background check on Savage. There’s all kinds of new technology that the department experiments with here, so be on the lookout for anything you think could be helpful, okay?”
“Yes.”
Liza had turned her chair around to look out the window. The view across the Brooklyn Bridge, out over the harbor, and then back up the East River was one of the best in the city. Unlike Liza, my mother was all action—or she’d never get anything done from this desk. I had the feeling that Liza would rather stay up here and daydream than keep the city safe.
“That’s Brooklyn,” I said to her, pointing across the river. “That’s where we’re going tomorrow.”
“It’s enormous.”
“No kidding. It used to be its own city,” I said. “It had nothing to do with Manhattan at all. Till 1898, when they joined up to become the City of New York.”
“They’re expecting us in the Major Case Squad,” Richie Marcus said from the doorway. “Ready to roll, girls?”
“Roger that,” I said.
“You’ve been spending way too much time with Sam Cody,” Richie said, patting me on the shoulder as we walked to the elevator.
The Major Case Squad office on the sixth floor of headquarters looked like a movie set for a high-class cop drama. Every desk had hi-tech computer equipment, the walls were lined with file cabinets topped by WANTED posters, and the detectives—all in shirtsleeves with holsters exposed—appeared to be totally engaged in their work.
Richie Marcus walked us to the desk of an African American woman who looked about my mom’s age. She’d been expecting us. She was wearing a gray pin-striped suit, and I assumed the bulge on her waist was a gun. Her hair was short and curly, her posture was perfect, and I didn’t take personally the fact that she was all business.
Several of the guys gathered around as she explained the work of Major Case. I knew from my mother’s conversations with Sam that it was a really elite squad, which is why it was located in One PP and not in one of the precinct buildings scattered around the city.
“… and we handle all the high-profile kidnappings, at the discretion of the commissioner,” she said, continuing to list their duties. “We get to partner with the Feds on bank robberies, and we’re responsible for art thefts, too.”
“Art? Like from burglaries in people’s homes?” I asked.
“Not your apartment, Dev,” she answered. “I’ve been there with your mom. But from what I hear, your grandmother might fit the bill.”
I blushed.
“Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. More likely we’d get the cases from museums,” the detective said. “We investigate burglaries and thefts when the value of the stolen property is over one hundred thousand dollars.”
Liza’s eyes opened wider at that one. “Did you ever have a case in the New York Public Library?”
“That would mean the disappearance of a whole lot of books to meet our criteria. Like everything Shakespeare ever wrote,” one of the guys said. “Never been there.”
Can’t help it if these particular cops didn’t know the value of the library treasures. This wasn’t the moment for me to educate them.
I thanked them as we left the squad.
“At least we know,” Liza said, “that if something worth a whole lot is at stake in our case, your mother can assign it to that lady. She looks really tough.”
It took the better part of an hour for Richie to take us through the incredibly sophisticated counter-terrorism offices. My mother had devoted a lot of time and money to making it the spiffiest squad of its kind in the country—the most up-to-date and powerful—and she would be proud and pleased that Liza and I spent time there.
The men in TARU—the Technical Assistance Response Unit—did all the work like eavesdropping and wiretaps. They could conceal a tiny camera in the button of a man’s shirt to record drug sales, and plant microphones the size of a baby flea in the apartment of a bad guy. I loved to listen in while my mother played back tapes at our dining room table late at night, to hear how heists and hits were planned—and then thwarted by her great detectives.
“We’re almost there, Liza,” I said as Richie Marcus led us out of the elevator on the eighth floor. “Had to do the full-on tour so my mother knows we were serious, but the next stop is our target.”
Liza just nodded. I think all the blue uniforms were making her dizzy.
“So this is one of the jewels in our crown,” Richie said. “It’s the Real Time Crime Center. It’s where I usually work, so I can show you around.”
The large room was like the beating heart of the Puzzle Palace.
There were no windows to distract the detectives from their assignments, in which they served as lifelines to cops on the street. On every wall were huge screens that flashed real-time images of police activity, crime scenes, thugs on the lam, and all the up-to-the-second information that would solve cases within minutes of their commission.
The computers on each desktop were the fastest made, and were loaded with everything from criminal records to locations of every registered gun owner in the city to apartments in which police had responded to domestic assaults. It was a giant search engine and a data warehouse to help police officers
on patrol the moment they asked for assistance.
Liza was amazed and trying to take it all in. The members of the team on duty were each so busy that most of them didn’t even turn their heads away from their screens. A few called out my name and waved, but most were absorbed in their work.
“We’re the air traffic controllers of street crime,” Richie said to her. “It used to take weeks to get this kind of data to cops in the field, Liza. Mug shots or information about arrest warrants. Everything had to be done by a hand search of records. Now we can do it within minutes.”
“Would you please show Liza what you can do?” I asked.
Richie pointed to his desk across the room, below one of the giant screens. “Sure,” he said. “Follow me.”
Liza and I pulled up chairs on either side of him.
“Here’s one from yesterday,” he said. “A man walked into a pizza shop on the Upper West Side at four o’clock. Orders a slice to go. The clerk turns his back to cook the slice and when he serves it up, the man has a gun in his hand. Demands all the money in the register. Flees the scene with a pepperoni slice and ninety-six dollars.”
Liza gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Was he hurt?”
“The clerk? No, he’s fine. Describes the gunman—approximate age, height, and weight,” Richie said, typing into his computer. The second he hit enter the location of the robbery and the description of the perp appeared on the large screen over our heads. “Still looking for a needle in a haystack, right?”
Liza and I agreed with him.
“There are more than ten million mug shots of men in this system, thousands of them who are white males, about forty, five foot ten inches, and a hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Sounds hopeless,” Liza said.
“Then the clerk, who’s still shaking like a leaf because it’s less than ten minutes after the robber left the scene, tells the cop taking the report that the gunman had a tattoo on the hand holding the gun.”
“A tattoo of what?” I asked.
“A snake, Dev. A coiled cobra with its head all fanned out.”
We watched Richie type the word “cobra” on his keyboard and hit enter again.
Into the Lion's Den Page 13
