“I did no such thing,” the woman whose breast pin said she was VIVIAN FRANÇOIS replied in a jittery-sounding voice. While her mouth said one thing, her eyes were saying something totally different.
Jack extended the gold shield. “This gives us the authority to turn you over to Interpol, Scotland Yard, your very own DGSE, and the American CIA or MI6.” When François didn’t look impressed, Jack smiled, and said, “Or how about those cuties at Mossad?” That got her attention. “One phone call, and an agent will be here within twenty minutes.” While Vivian François considered her options, Harry held up his shield, his face full of menace.
“This is what I suggest, mademoiselle. We are going to forget we were here yesterday and forget that you lied to us. We are going to ask you again for your cooperation, and for that cooperation, we will be leaving this behind when we leave.” Jack pulled out the wad of euros that represented five hundred American dollars. He held the euros in one hand, his cell in the other. “I have every agency that I just mentioned on speed dial. Mossad is number one. Now, where is Ms. Petrie?”
François started to wring her hands. “I can tell you where I sent her. I cannot tell you if she is still there. She said she would call me, but she has not done so. She did not tell me what trouble she was in, but she did appear to be frightened. I sent her to a friend who . . . how do you say in English, rents rooms by the day? Ah, yes, boardinghouse with meals included, no?”
“Boardinghouse, yes,” Jack said. “Where? Write it down. How long will it take us to get there?” Bingo!
François drew a crude map. “There is no point in explaining since you do not know the area, monsieur. Just give this map to the cab driver. Forty-five minutes by cab if you leave now.”
“Has anyone else been here looking for Ms. Petrie?”
François hesitated. Harry advanced a step and held out the gold shield at eye level. “I think so, yes. My night clerk left me a message that two men came in a little after ten o’clock last evening and asked the same questions you asked. He told them to come back this morning because he knew nothing. The man is . . . how do you say . . . slow. That is why he works at night. Nothing goes on at night.”
“I do not want to frighten you, mademoiselle, but this would be a very good time for you to go somewhere else. For a day or so. Those men do not carry gold shields, and they are not nice like we are. We mean you no harm. I cannot say the same for them. Do you understand what I just said?”
“I understand perfectly. I will post a sign on the door. What is it you Americans say on your signs? GONE FISHING!”
In spite of himself, Jack laughed. Harry grinned.
Jack held out the wad of euros. “Does this buy your silence, mademoiselle?”
Vivian François didn’t have to think twice about her answer. “Yes, monsieur, it buys my silence. Now if you would be so good as to leave, I need to close down.”
The moment the door closed behind Jack and Harry, the blinds inside were pulled. A second after that, a single white sheet of paper was Scotch-Taped to the door. In big bold letters it said, GONE FISHING. Jack clapped Harry on the back just as a cab pulled to the curb. They climbed in, handed over the map, and settled back for the forty-five-minute drive. Both Jack and Harry passed the time by sending texts Stateside with a real-time update on what was happening in France.
“We just might get out of here today, Harry, if we can do the snatch and grab. Call the pilot and put him on alert.”
Jack finished with his last text and pulled up the morning edition of the Post, and scrolled down. Good going, Maggie, he thought. Everything’s in play now. He smiled to himself and suddenly realized his throbbing head was still quiet. He actually felt peaceful. He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to run amuck.
Back in the States, Dennis West patrolled the Home Builders Depot parking lot, looking like a lost soul who had lost his wheels. For the most part, he stayed close to the garden center since Stacey Copeland came into work early and would have a choice front parking space. Abner had confirmed that her hours were six-thirty to two o’clock. She was off weekends, and management did its best to work with the students who worked part-time to control their hours. He now had her home address and the make and model of her car. At the moment, he was parked one row over and three cars behind her silver Ford Taurus. Since he already had Copeland’s address, all he needed was to see her get into her car, and he could drive out to Columbia Heights where she lived and mosey around on his own. This way he didn’t have to worry about her spotting her tail. He continued to look around, but he couldn’t detect any of Snowden’s operatives. If they were even here. If they were, they were damn good at what they did. Then he caught Copeland out of the corner of his eye. Tall for a girl. Lanky, actually. She looked to be in good shape. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with the Home Builders Depot logo on the back. She yanked at a baseball cap that was smashed into her back pocket, clamped it down on her curly head, then got into her car. She very casually looked around before she pulled her sunglasses off the visor and put them on. She backed out of her parking space carefully, her head going to the right, then left, then back right again. Clearly to Dennis, she was looking to see if anyone was paying attention to her.
Dennis gave her a good five-minute head start because he wanted to see if anyone appeared to be following her. When he deemed the coast clear, he changed gears and left the parking lot. He’d already programmed her address into the GPS. For all he knew, he might even get to where she lived before Copeland did. He wished he’d taken a dry run while he waited so he had an idea of the area. Well, too late now. He settled down for the drive, glad that traffic wasn’t heavy.
Thirty-seven minutes later, after two drive-bys, Dennis pulled into a private driveway with a FOR SALE sign on the lawn. If the house was empty, and it appeared to be with nothing on any of the windows, he was good to go. Parking as he did at an angle, he had a clear view of the four-apartment building complex where Stacey Copeland lived through his side-view mirror.
Dennis felt comfortable enough to know he had a story to offer if anyone asked him why he was parked so long in the driveway. “I’m waiting for the Realtor, who said he was delayed.” Period, end of story.
Three hours later, Dennis realized that wasn’t the end of the story. Stacey Copeland had not returned to her apartment. He knew he hadn’t screwed up, but he checked with Abner again to make sure he had the right address. He did. Maybe she went shopping. Women did like to shop. But for three hours! Especially after a workday.
Dennis opened the car door, got out, and stretched. He was soaked with perspiration and itched all over; plus, he had to use the bathroom. Leave or not to leave? His bladder finally won out, so he got back in the car and headed for the nearest gas station. The A/C on full blast felt so good, he swooned.
Twenty minutes later he was back in the neighborhood driving up one street and down another searching for something to make sense of his even being out here. He had just turned left onto a nicely tree-shaded street when he spotted Copeland’s silver Taurus parked in the driveway of a small brick house with a well-landscaped yard. He checked the license plate to be sure it was the right silver Taurus. The numbers matched perfectly.
Copeland must be visiting a friend, he finally decided. Women did that all the time. For all he knew, she could be there for hours. Women did like to yack and jabber and tend to forget the time. Espinosa had told him that once. Now what should he do? He called Ted to ask for advice.
“Stay with it, kid. You might be onto something. For all you know, she might have those two women stashed inside that house. Wait till it gets dark, then check it out on foot. In the meantime, call the address in to Abner and see if he can find out who owns the house. You know what, now that I think about it, it’s starting to make a lot of sense. It just so happens I know that neighborhood, and it’s only about a mile from the White House. Hiding out in plain sight. Figures, because that’s exactly what I would do if I were her, hide
out in plain sight. Works every time. Good work, kid, keep me posted. Hey, one other thing, kid, don’t get caught.”
Dennis snorted. Like that was going to happen. His thumbs worked frantically as he sent off a text to Abner. The only thing left now to do was go back to the empty house and park in the driveway again. It hit him then. Copeland’s car was the only one in the driveway at the new location. And there were no actual garage doors attached to the house. The owners must have converted the garage to usable living space. Details, details, details. He patted himself on the back for being so observant.
Chapter 11
Dennis knew he was in trouble the moment he heard the tap on the car window as a flashlight momentarily blinded him. A cop! Busted! Oh, jeez. He needed to think quick and fast. He lowered the window, blinked, seeing stars for a moment. “What’s up, Officer?” he managed to croak as he tried to shield his eyes from the bright light.
The officer appeared to be middle-aged and wore an expression that he wasn’t about to put up with any crap. Dennis ran with his story he concocted on the fly. “I guess someone called to say I’ve been sitting here all day, huh? It’s true, Officer, except for a couple of bathroom breaks. Here’s the deal. I paid a Realtor who represents this property a deposit of five thousand dollars to buy this house. I came to find out he took down payments from two other people. I told him if he didn’t meet me here to return my money, I was going to the police. I’m getting married next month, and my fiancée loves this house. We saved for five years to come up with the down payment, and I’m not leaving till he gives me back the money. First, he said he’d be here by four, then he sent a text saying he was delayed and would be here by seven. Then at seven he sent another one swearing he would be no later than ten, and he has my check with him. What would you do, Officer? I gotta tell you, right now I’m more afraid of going home and telling my fiancée I don’t have the check than I am afraid of you.” This was all said with a straight face on his part. It looked to him like the cop was buying it.
The cop looked at Dennis’s earnest face and relented. “Several neighbors called to say you were sitting here all day. Okay, I’ll cut you some slack and let you stay, but you better be out of here by ten o’clock. I’ll be back to check on you on my rounds.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Dennis grumbled. “I didn’t even get out to walk around. So, what you’re saying is if that skunk doesn’t show up by ten, I have to leave. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Pretty much, son. You need to take it up with the real-estate board. I wish you good luck.”
Dennis pressed the button to raise the window before he collapsed against the seat. That, he congratulated himself, was an Academy Award moment. He looked down at his watch: 9:11. It was fully dark now. He’d originally planned to make his move at nine-thirty, to check out the house on foot the way Ted suggested. When he saw Stacey Copeland arrive back at her apartment building a few minutes past eight, he made the decision to go at nine-thirty.
With the cop now wise to him and the fact that he was patrolling the neighborhood, Dennis realized he needed to relocate or go home. The third possibility was to call in reinforcements. He decided to go with the third option, and quickly punched in Myra’s cell-phone number. She clicked on after the first ring. He quickly repeated the night’s events and waited for a response, which was for him to go to the gas station and wait for Myra and Annie.
Dennis pressed the starter button and turned on his headlights. He sighed. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or delighted. He’d done all the legwork, and now, if the two ladies didn’t want him in at the finish, assuming he was right and Amalie Moss and Rosalee Muno were in the house, he was going to be one very unhappy camper. He was almost certain that Myra and Annie would want him at the finish line. Who else would they get to skulk around the backyard and peer into windows? Yours truly, that’s who.
Dennis made it to the gas station without running into the cop who’d checked him out. He felt grateful. If he was allowed to go with Myra and Annie, he’d leave his car at the gas station and drive with them.
Even if Annie drove like hell, he knew it would be thirty minutes before they joined him at the twenty-four-hour gas station and convenience store. He decided to use the restroom for the fourth time that day. He splashed cold water on his face and toweled off with scratchy brown paper towels. He washed his hands and combed his hair. Satisfied that he looked as good as possible, he marched into the convenience-store section of the gas station and bought a cold iced tea, some Twinkies, and chips.
The night was hot and humid, typical weather for Washington in July. He dumped everything in the car and decided to limber up, so he jogged in place for a good ten minutes. He was sweating profusely when he climbed back in the car and turned on the air-conditioning, knowing full well he was going to catch a cold but not really caring.
The iced tea was gone in two long gulps. The Twinkies and chips took less than ten minutes since he hadn’t eaten anything all day and was now starved. He was glad Harry wasn’t around to see what he was eating. Harry was into seeds, grain, and that shitty green tea that he mainlined. “Sometimes,” he muttered to himself, “you just gotta do what you gotta do.”
With nothing else to do to occupy his time, Dennis sent texts to everyone advising them of what was going on. To Jack he texted, How about an update on what’s going on with you over there in gay Pareee.
When there were no incoming texts, Dennis turned his phone off and waited. The wait was short. It was only seven minutes later that he saw Annie blasting her way through the parking lot. She skidded to a stop next to his car, her tires practically smoking.
Dennis hopped out of his car, locked it, and literally dove into the backseat of Annie’s fancy-dancy car and came face-to-face with Myra’s dog Lady. Lady barked at her space being invaded. Perfect! He should have thought of Lady himself. Nothing like a lady walking a dog or two ladies walking a dog. He felt stupid but only for a minute. He hugged the gorgeous golden retriever.
Even before Dennis could close the door, Annie had the car in reverse and was barreling back across the lot. “What’s the plan, young man?” Myra asked.
Dennis gave Annie directions. “Well, first I think we should do a couple of drive-bys to get you two familiar with the neighborhood. Which, by the way, is actually very nice. I think we should park a few streets over and walk to the house, at which point I’ll check out the yard, front and back. There are a lot of bushes, but I also think it’s a good idea that you brought Lady with you. No one pays attention to dog walkers.”
Two drive-bys later, Dennis pointed to a small copse of evergreens at the entrance to a cul-de-sac. “Pull in here and park. Don’t worry, I know exactly where we are. I can get us in and out of here in a flash if necessary. We’re going to walk now like we belong here. Everybody good with that?”
Everybody, meaning Myra and Annie, said they were good with that, so they took off walking down the street. They encountered no one, but they did hear muted voices coming from various front porches. Voices they ignored.
“What’s the address?” Annie hissed.
“Sixty-six Nightingale Lane,” Dennis hissed in return. “It’s just around the corner, two houses in. There’s a big old sycamore tree right by the driveway, where you can have Lady pretend to do her business. I’ll go around back. There are lights on inside. No outside lights, that’s a good thing. No strange dogs barking either, which is also good.
“While I’m checking out the back, you two ladies decide how you want to handle this. Do we blast in? Do we identify ourselves and ring the bell? What? Personally, I’m all for blasting in. They’ll bolt for sure if we give them notice. Make up your mind real quick,” Dennis said, “because I won’t be gone long.”
“The youngster has a point, Myra. What do you think?”
“What I think, Annie, is who is going to be doing the blasting? Does that mean Dennis is going to kick in the back door, which probably leads
to the kitchen? The women will undoubtedly run out the front door unless one of us is waiting by the front door. That’s what I would do if I was in their position. Do you have your gun in your purse?”
“I do. Never leave home without it, you know that, Myra.”
“I know. I know. I was just making conversation. I’m just a little bit nervous. And Lady is getting jittery.”
“The only reason Lady is jittery is because she’s picking up on your nervousness. Think, Myra. When was the last time we failed at anything? Never, that’s when. So lighten up and go with the flow here. Damn, it’s humid. My clothes are plastered to my body, and we’ve only been here less than ten minutes. Supposed to rain tonight, too, and all day tomorrow. This whole thing started on a rainy day, remember, Myra, we were getting our nails done when Pearl hit the shop like a tornado?”
Myra had her mouth open to speak when Dennis appeared out of the darkness. The women backed up so they were closer to the young reporter. “All the blinds are pulled except on the kitchen window. No blind or curtain there. There’s food on the table, groceries, staples actually, that haven’t been put away yet. I got right up under the window and looked in. I could see light coming from another room, so I guess they have the television on. I couldn’t tell for certain which room it is. The house is small, five rooms off a short hallway would be my guess. That has to mean the front door opens into the living room. So, how do you want to do this? I could try to pick the lock, but I might make noise. They’re going to spook real easy; I think we all know that. Or, I can kick in the door. It’s just your regulation kitchen door, four panes of glass on the top and wood on the bottom half. Standard lock. The front door is probably solid. If I kick in the door, they’re automatically going to run for the front door.”
In Plain Sight Page 11
