Page 21 of The Accomplice
These were background shots. One of the front of the hotel, with a bomb disposal tech in a protective suit that made him look like a deep-sea diver. He was walking through the blast screens. The other shots were dramatic images of the massive police presence in the parking lot, giving an impression of the scale of the response. Flicking through them, Bloch hesitated, then went back and looked at the previous image, then forward again to the last one.
She handed me the phone, got out of the car without a word and went to take a look at the parking lot.
Lake and I got out and followed her as she approached the station wagon with flat tires and a thick layer of dust on the windshield. She reached for the rear passenger door. It was open.
‘They found Delaney’s car in the underground parking lot of her building. Doors open, alarm going off,’ she said. ‘An intruder couldn’t have gotten in there without a key-card or fob. All of those lots are secure because they cost a fortune. So how did he get into the lot ? He couldn’t drive in.’
I checked the photos she had been studying. In both pictures the station wagon was in view. In one, the rear passenger door was slightly ajar. In the other picture, the door was closed.
‘Next to the station wagon, that’s Delaney’s car,’ said Lake. ‘Now we know how he got into the underground parking lot. He had been hiding in the station wagon the whole time, and when the attention was on the bomb disposal squad he slipped out and into the back of Delaney’s car.’
‘But how would he know she would park next to the station wagon ?’ I said.
‘He wouldn’t,’ said Bloch. ‘The station wagon was at the rear of the lot. With the bomb squad here, every cop had their attention focused on the building. They’re not watching what’s going on in the parking lot fifty feet behind them. He took his time, chose his moment, and snuck into Delaney’s car. She just made it easy for him. We need to go check out her building.’
‘I know where it is,’ said Lake.
CHAPTER TEN
EDDIE
Only buildings that went up in the last forty years or so have underground parking. There aren’t that many, but more than you might first imagine. The FBI had secured a lease on an apartment in a building in Midtown, on the east side.
There were two patrol cars parked across the entrance and exit to the underground lot. No way past them. This was a crime scene, and Bloch’s reputation wouldn’t get us past the cops at the ramp leading to the basement parking lot.
One of the patrol officers reached for his radio, spoke into it then got in the car and reversed it. The other patrol vehicle did the same, clearing the entrance for a gray Sedan that pulled onto the ramp, and drove down into the lot past the barrier which had been locked open. I didn’t see the driver, but one of the men in the back was Bill Seong. Soon as the car passed, the patrol vehicles put their roadblock back in place.
‘That was Seong in the back of that car,’ said Lake.
‘Let’s get inside,’ I said.
Bloch parked up the street and we made our way back to the building. The residents’ entrance was two glass doors. Outside, affixed to the wall was an intercom with a number pad and instructions beside it.
‘What’s Delaney’s apartment number ?’ I asked.
‘1011,’ said Lake.
When the FBI are first notified one of their agents is missing, there are standard checks to be done. Cell phone. Apartment. Witnesses.
A team would’ve been inside Delaney’s apartment tonight. Once they found it empty, they would’ve spoken to her neighbors to ascertain when they last saw her, and if they’d seen anything suspicious that night.
I dialed 1012 on the keypad. A ring tone was answered quickly by a male voice.
‘Yes ?’
‘This is the FBI, we spoke earlier. Would you mind buzzing the door, please ?’ I said.
A buzzer sounded, Bloch pushed open the front door, and we were in. The elevator took us down two floors to the parking lot. One basement parking garage is much the same as any other. Exposed steel beams and strip lighting. Yellow and white paint on treated concrete floors and somewhere there was always a puddle of water with a constant overhead drip feeding it. And the smell. Burnt motor oil and old garbage.
There were a bunch of forensic techs in blue hazmat suits swarming over Delaney’s car. Twenty feet away, Bill Seong stood in a huddle with five other agents. All males. All in the same navy or black suits. Same haircuts too, apart from one guy who had shaved his head.
I was hoping he wouldn’t see us, and we could get closer to Delaney’s car for a better look. In part because I wanted to see if there were any more warnings left behind by the Sandman, but mostly I needed to know if there was any blood on the seats or dash. It was cold in the lot, but I could feel the sweat on the back of my neck. I didn’t want to lose another friend. Bloch and I moved quietly toward Delaney’s car.
‘Hey, Bill,’ cried Lake.
Bloch swore under her breath, gestured toward Lake.
‘I like him,’ I said.
