12
Jack wasn't dressed for Beekman Place but he was in too foul a mood to play games.
He'd been to Cordova's house—picked his way in and searched it from basement to attic. Not a trace of Sister Maggie.
Next stop was Hurley's. If Cordova had snatched her, chances were slim that he'd be hanging out at his favorite bar. Then again, if he'd killed her and dumped her body, he might feel the need for a few drinks, and maybe an alibi as well. But Jack couldn't find him at Hurley's either. Even checked out the men's room. No Cordova.
Last stop had been the office: same story.
Jack had made another swing by Cordova's house—just in case he'd returned in the interim—but it looked as empty as when he'd left it. He'd parked down the street and watched the place.
Where was the fat slimeball? Jack's mind shied away from imagining what he'd done to Maggie. If Jack could find him, Cordova would tell him where she was. Jack would see to that.
But after an hour of sitting, Cordova hadn't shown. Good chance he might not show at all.
So Jack decided to pay a visit to the third woman who'd entered his life this week.
Esteban wasn't on the door and his late-shift coworker, a brawny black guy, wouldn't let Jack into the lobby.
His arm blocked his name tag as he opened the glass door six or seven inches and eyed Jack's wrinkled jeans and sweatshirt. "Are you on Mrs. Roselli's visitor list?"
"I don't know about the list, but she's expecting me. Just call her and say Jack's here for a follow-up chat."
"I don't know. This is pretty late for her."
"Just call her and see. I'll wait out here."
He nodded. "I know you will."
He closed the door and went to the lobby phone. Jack leaned close to the gap between the glass door and glass wall. He blocked his street-side ear and listened.
"Mrs. Roselli? Sorry to bother you, but there's a man here. He says his name is Jack and that you're expecting him… Pardon me?… Oh, I see… I'm sorry to hear that… is there anything I can do?… Are you sure? I can call a… Yes. Yes, I see. I'll tell him. And remember, if you need anything, anything at all, I'm right here… Right. Good-night. Feel better."
Jack backed off a step as the call ended. Sounded like the old lady was sick.
The doorman returned to the door. Jack saw now that his tag read Louis. He opened it wider this time. Apparently his talk with the old lady had reassured him about Jack.
"She's not feeling well. Says to come back tomorrow."
"She okay?"
"She doesn't sound too hot, but she didn't want a doctor, so…" He shrugged. "I'm here if she needs me."
"Good. I don't want anything happening to her."
Jack turned and walked off. Half a block away he hunched his shoulders against a sudden chill. He'd met three new women this week. Now, in the space of twenty-four hours, one was dead, one was missing, and the other was sick. Was he carrying a curse? Had he become some sort of Jonah?
What the hell was going on?