“Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can,’’ Jeffrey said to the cop he was speaking with on Lydia’s cell phone.
“What happened?’’ Lydia asked when he hung up.
“Looks like Juno wound up calling 911 to report his uncle missing like you told him to. The squad car that was supposed to be there was not. Morrow wants us to go to the church.’’
“Where’s Morrow?’’
“I didn’t ask.’’
“We’ll go as soon as I talk to Greg. I don’t want him to find this out from someone else. I need to be the one to tell him,’’ she said, anxious now for Juno, as well.
They were pulling up to Greg and Joe’s Auto Repair and as soon as she saw the building, she knew something was wrong. There was an air of desertion to it. When she had come the first time, there was an aura of activity. She’d been able to hear music playing from an old radio, see lights on inside the garage, smell paint and gasoline. Today the door was closed, the lights were off, there was an unnatural quiet.
“Busy place,’’ said Jeffrey. “I hope he has time to see us.’’
Lydia pulled her Glock from the glove compartment.
“What are you doing?’’
“There’s something wrong. It’s the middle of the morning and the garage isn’t open.’’
“So maybe he took the day off.’’
“Maybe. But I don’t think so.’’
Jeffrey unsnapped the holster on the.38 special at his waist as they stepped out of the car. Ever since things had started to heat up, he’d regretted leaving his own Glock in New York, wanting to avoid the hassle of getting it on the airplane. They walked to the garage door, which, as they got closer, Lydia could see, was ajar.
“Greg,’’ she called, “it’s Lydia Strong.’’
When there was no answer, she pushed the door open. Stepping inside, Lydia felt the walls for a light switch, which she couldn’t find. So they made their way in the dim light coming in from a high, dirty window above the door. They felt their way along the empty shell of a car up on cinderblocks, toward the office where a desk lamp glowed, Lydia in front and Jeffrey at her back.
“Greg,’’ she called again. This time she was answered by a low moan.
They moved faster toward the sound and found Greg on the floor of the office semiconscious, his head lying in a pool of blood. She bent down to him as Jeffrey dialed 911.
Lydia grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse and as she did, saw a number written on his arm. “What is this?’’
“What?’’ asked Jeff, as he hung up with the operator. He bent down and inspected Greg’s arm. “It’s a VIN number.’’
“Why would he have written this on his arm?’’
“Maybe he didn’t have any paper?’’
She shot him a look, putting her hand to Greg’s forehead. “Call the number in to Jacob Hanley in New York. You’ll probably get it faster.’’
Jeffrey looked at his watch. “Jacob’s probably not even in yet. I think I’ll call Craig.’’
Lydia always called Craig Keaton “the Brain’’ behind his back. He stood a full head taller than Jeffrey but looked as thin as one of Jeffrey’s thighs. Clad forever in huge baggy jeans, a white T-shirt under a flannel shirt, and a pair of Doc Martens, his pockets were always full of electronic devices…cell phone, pager, Palm Pilot, all manner of thin black beeping, ringing toys. A pair of round wire spectacles, nearly hidden by a shock of bleached-blond hair, framed blue-green eyes. Craig called himself a cybernavigator, though his title at Jeffrey’s firm was Information Specialist. He specialized in knowledge of all computer research tools and was, before being recruited for Mark, Hanley and Striker, an infamous hacker wanted by the FBI. He was eighteen when he was arrested and could have faced more than a little time in federal prison, but luckily for him, Jacob Hanley was his uncle. All former FBI agents with more connections between them than a motherboard, Mark, Hanley and Striker were able to get Craig a deal. He worked for them, he kept his act together, and he reported to a probation officer for the next three years.
Now, more or less plugged in to the Internet and the Bureau systems 24/7, more or less legally, Craig could gather almost any piece of information needed at any time of the day or night. Lydia wondered when he slept, and joked that one day Jeffrey would go to Craig’s basement office and find that he had become a disembodied voice, sucked into the computers like some character in a William Gibson novel.
“I’ll call him,’’ Lydia said.
“Because he has a crush on you and you think that will make him work faster.’’
“Exactly.’’
As Lydia dialed, Jeffrey knelt down next to Greg, putting a hand on his shoulder. She heard him say, “You’re gonna be all right, buddy, hang in there.’’ She hoped he was right.
“Hi, Lydia. How’s it going?’’ answered Craig, seeing her number on his Caller ID box. “To what do I owe the pleasure?’’ She found his attempt to be suave incredibly cute.
“Hey, Craig,’’ she said, as sweetly as she could. “I need you to work some magic for me – yesterday.’’
“You got it. What’s up?’’
“I need a name and address on the following VIN number: VZN61LG-PSEA.’’
“That’s it?’’ He sounded a little disappointed. But she heard the soft clatter of his keyboard. “Let’s see. DMV systems are always a little slow.’’
Lydia thought she was going to have a brain aneurysm waiting for him to come back to her with the information. She heard the wail of approaching sirens.
“Okay,’’ he said, after less than a minute, though it seemed to Lydia like an hour. “We’ve got a 1995 Dodge Caravan registered to Bernard Hugo at 1412 Mission Lane in Angel Fire, New Mexico.’’
The corners of her mouth turned up in a sad, tight smile of recognition. She had to assume that Bernard Hugo was Robbie’s father and that he hadn’t gone to Colorado after all. “Craig, you are the best. I am taking you on a drinking binge as soon as I get back to New York.’’
“Cool. When are you in town?’’
Paramedics came in through the garage door, and Jeffrey moved away from Greg as they approached.
“Soon, honey. I have to run, Craig. You’re the best.’’
“’Bye, Lydia.’’
“You’ll break his heart,’’ said Jeffrey.
“Let’s go,’’ she answered.
“Shouldn’t we call Morrow?’’
“No. Fuck that guy.’’
“We should call,’’ Jeffrey said as they got in the car, Lydia in the driver’s seat. He dialed the number.
“The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not available,’’ said the recorded message.