Lockdown rl-1

by Sean Black

  ‘But there ain’t been no ransom demand or warning of any kind, man. I don’t buy it,’ Ty said.

  Lock chewed his bottom lip. ‘No. . but explain Natalya getting into that car with Josh Hulme for me.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Me either.’

  Thirty-two

  It seemed like a long time since Lock had been in Carrie’s apartment but it couldn’t have been more than three or four months. Not one to follow any set of rules, Carrie had invited him back there pretty much on the first date, stressing that she wasn’t normally that kind of girl. He wasn’t normally that sort of guy either, but the attraction between them had been both immediate and powerful, more connection than hook-up. Being back here, especially with all the shit that had been flying, calmed Lock.

  He’d called Carrie from his car and she’d met him at the outdoor rink at the Rockefeller Center before suggesting that it might be warmer back at her apartment. Lock hadn’t thought to argue.

  As he hung his jacket in the hall closet, it hit him just how much he’d missed her. The intensity of work had allowed him to push those feelings to the side. But the quietly ordered domesticity of her apartment, the fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table, the sharp smell of furniture polish, the warm air flowing gently through the floor vents, all of it conspired to send a wave of regret through him.

  Any sense of an opportunity missed was compounded as soon as he flopped down on the couch. He glanced over at the framed photographs on the mahogany sideboard. Lock was familiar with most of them, apart from one recent addition.

  It must have been taken on a skiing trip. Carrie was standing with her arms wrapped around a man’s waist, both of them grinning for the camera like newlyweds. He was about Lock’s age with an expensively acquired natural tan and not so naturally acquired bleached teeth. Lock hated him on sight.

  Carrie walked in from the bedroom, having changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater. She saw Lock looking at the picture. ‘That’s Paul,’ she said. ‘He’s one of our producers. Divorced last year. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.’ She seemed keen to get past the awkwardness of the moment.

  ‘Hey, it’s a free country,’ Lock came back, a little too quick to be convincing.

  ‘He’s a really great guy. You’d like him.’

  ‘I doubt that somehow.’

  In a show of support, Angel jumped up on to the couch, lay down next to Lock and began to lick her genitals.

  ‘Well, this is awkward,’ he said, averting his gaze from the dog.

  ‘Gal’s got to have a hobby, right?’

  ‘We still talking about Paul?’

  Carrie laughed.

  ‘So, is it serious?’

  ‘Oh, Ryan. So if I said to you right now that I’ll ditch Paul and we can give it another try, what would you say?’

  He knew where this was going. Like a trial lawyer, Carrie’s profession ensured that she rarely asked a question she didn’t know the answer to.

  ‘I’d say I have a little boy to find.’

  ‘And I love you for that, but it doesn’t get us anywhere, now does it?’

  They lapsed into silence. Angel finished licking herself and made a move to snuffle Lock’s face. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but you’re really not my type,’ Lock said to the dog, gently deflecting her head with one hand.

  Carrie busied herself preparing some pasta and salad while Lock opened a bottle of red wine. She could, he thought, make even something as mundane as boiling water seem elegant. Everything she did was so precise, done with such attention to detail.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ She crossed to a stool, picked up her bag, pulled out a folder, handed it to Lock. ‘Everything you always wanted to know about Cody Parker but were afraid to ask.’

  Carrie had accumulated not just the regular press clippings, she’d also gotten hold of arrest reports, court transcripts from Cody’s early transgressions of the law, and some classified profile and wire tap information from the JTTF.

  ‘How’d you get all this stuff?’

  ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’

  ‘Long as I eat first,’ Lock said, settling down to speed-read through the mass of information.

  Don must have been right about the influence of Cody’s mom on his beliefs because his criminal record started early. Fourteen in fact. But almost every offence was against property. He was prime suspect in the exhumation and dumping of Eleanor Van Straten, but even that, it could be argued, involved an inanimate object. The only thing that came even close was a bomb threat against a construction company building a new animal testing and research facility down by the former Brooklyn Naval Yard. The client was Meditech.

  ‘Who’d you get to do this piece of research?’ Lock slid the piece of paper across the marble towards Carrie.

  ‘That would have been me.’

  ‘Well, don’t go clearing any space for that Pulitzer on your shelves just yet.’

  ‘Oh, and why’s that?’

  ‘Because I know all of Meditech’s facilities. And I’ve never heard of one down at the naval yard.’

  Carrie nibbled on a piece of radicchio. ‘I’ll double-check for you, if y’like.’

  ‘Probably someone else’s typo. Lot of these companies have similar names.’

  ‘So what do you say to Cody Parker taking Josh Hulme?’

  Lock picked up the file. ‘Don’t see it from any of this. Y’know, he was dropping some hints that all roads lead back to Meditech.’

  ‘Of course they do. And 9/11 was organized by the CIA. And the Jewish-controlled media are in on the whole thing.’

  ‘He did say one thing that made me think though.’

  Carrie crossed to the sink and began to rinse the rest of the radicchio under the cold tap. ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Did you hear about this contract that Meditech is going after with the Pentagon?’

  Carrie shrugged, shaking the excess water off the lettuce and placing it in a bowl on the counter. ‘So what? The government’s been pumping billions into biotech companies ever since it realized the Department of Defense couldn’t keep up. You should know that. There’s been forty-four billion dollars handed out since 2001. Every pharma and biotech company’s fighting each other to get on the federal teat.’

  ‘Bio-terror is bullshit. Terrorists that are any good go low tech. Fertilizer. Boxcutters. Stuff that’s easy to acquire,’ Lock said, passing Carrie a glass of red.

  ‘What about someone slipping something into the water?’

  ‘It’s possible, I guess.’

  He took a sip of wine.

  ‘Would you do some digging for me?’

  ‘Into this contract?’

  ‘And Richard Hulme. I still never got out of him why he resigned.’

  Carrie grimaced. ‘Me either.’

  Lock knew this was a rare admission. It wasn’t something that happened to her very often.

  ‘Can I give you some advice, Ryan?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘When I’m trying to break a story I always try to keep it simple. It’s easy to see things that aren’t there. Make connections that don’t exist.’

  ‘Like this contract with the Pentagon?’

  ‘Precisely. Think about it for a second. If anything, wouldn’t a contract like that make it less likely for Meditech to give up on animal testing, not more?’

  ‘That’s what Cody Parker said. But Meditech have given up testing.’

  ‘No, they said they had. Those are two different things.’

  Thirty-three

  The Kensington Nanny and Au Pair occupied a small corner of the top floor of a five-storey walk-up within spitting distance of Alphabet City. Ty had tracked it down as the company Meditech had used to source childcare for its senior employees. ‘Had’ being the operative word. Several complaints that the people referred were wholly unsuitable to care for goldfish, never mind children, had led to it being d
ropped as an outside contractor.

  On the fourth floor, Lock and Ty both had to stop to catch their breath.

  ‘Man, we are some unfit motherfuckers,’ Ty observed, gulping for air.

  ‘Hey, I just got out of hospital, what’s your excuse?’

  ‘Too much good living.’

  They continued on to the top floor. The door leading into the office was ajar and they could hear a woman inside fielding calls. Lock pushed it open with the toe of his boot and they walked in.

  The woman appeared to be in her late forties. Holding the phone in one hand, she rifled through a stack of papers on the desk in front of her. A cup of coffee sat full and untouched next to the papers, the milk congealing in a white paste on the top. The rest of the office was a mess, papers scattered randomly over every conceivable surface. ‘Yes, and I’m very sorry that things haven’t worked out, but I simply don’t have anyone else available at the moment,’ she was saying into the phone. She acknowledged Lock and Ty’s presence by holding up her hand and waving them in, directing them to two seats on the opposite side of her desk with another sweeping gesture.

  Lock picked up the stack of files that were resting on top of his chair and laid them down on top of a filing cabinet.

  ‘Listen, I have someone in the office right now,’ the woman continued. ‘If anyone becomes available you’re top of my list.’

  Lock could still hear the person on the other end of the line as she put the phone down on them.

  When she spoke, the English accent seemed to drop away, revealing something more akin to Brooklyn. ‘Just so you both know, I’ve got a three-month wait list before I can find someone to mind your little bundle of joy.’

  ‘Er, we’re not together,’ Lock objected.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, checking out Ty from head to toe before diverting her gaze back to Lock, ‘he is a little out of your league, sweetie.’

  Ty snickered as Lock tried to decide whether or not to be offended.

  ‘Hey, you guys aren’t nannies by any chance, are you?’ she asked with a beleaguered smile.

  ‘Only for grown-ups,’ Ty smiled. ‘And I’m most definitely, one hundred per cent, straight.’

  Only Ty could turn this into a hook-up opportunity, thought Lock.

  ‘This how you find your staff? Anyone who manages to hit the door?’ Lock asked.

  ‘You with the FBI? Because I’ve already told one of your guys everything I know. Shit, you’re not a reporter, are you? Because if you are I’m making no comment.’

  ‘We’re here in a private capacity, Ms. .’

  ‘Lauren Palowsky.’

  ‘Ms Palowksy. Josh Hulme’s father asked us to help find him.’ Lock deliberately kept Meditech’s name out of it.

  ‘The FBI said I shouldn’t discuss any of this.’

  ‘The FBI are fully aware of our involvement,’ Lock assured her.

  ‘Then speak to them.’

  Lock’s face set, any trace of amiability falling away. ‘I’m speaking to you. And if you don’t mind me saying, you seem remarkably composed for someone who’s had an employee brutally murdered and the child who they were looking after kidnapped, and possibly murdered too.’

  Lauren studied the film of milk floating on top of her morning coffee. ‘I’m trying not to think about it. But let’s be clear about one thing: I didn’t employ Natalya. I’m a broker, that’s all.’

  The phone rang again, but Lauren let it go to voicemail.

  ‘Your lawyer tell you to say that?’

  ‘No. And anyway, don’t you think I’ve been worried sick about that child since I heard?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. You tell me.’

  She looked down at her desk, grabbed a random handful of papers, held them up at him. ‘All these people are looking for someone to parent their children because they don’t have the time. They all want Mary Poppins, but they’re only prepared to pay minimum wage. Then when something goes wrong, suddenly it’s my fault.’

  ‘I’m just trying to figure out what happened,’ Lock said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. ‘Tell me about Natalya.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell, really. Same story as most of the girls who contact me looking for work. Her English wasn’t great, but a lot better than some. She seemed pleasant enough.’

  ‘How long had she been in the country?’

  ‘Not long, from what I could tell.’

  ‘Years? Months? Weeks?’

  ‘Months, probably.’

  ‘Did she say anything else about her circumstances?’

  ‘She’d been doing bar work, travelling into the city every day from Brighton Beach or somewhere. She thought a live-in position would suit her, give her a chance to save some money.’

  ‘Where was she bartending?’

  ‘I deal with dozens of applications every week. I’m lucky if I can remember any of the names.’

  ‘What about her visa? She had one, right?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I’m not the FBI, or the INS, or Homeland Security. I understand that you probably cut some corners,’ Lock prompted.

  ‘The clients sign a contract that says they, as employers, have final responsibility for checking that kind of stuff. Look, it’s not like I’m smuggling people into the country here.’

  ‘So what’s the difference between using you and putting an ad in the paper or posting on craigslist?’

  Ty answered for Lauren. ‘About four thousand bucks a pop, right?’

  ‘I’m kind of going off you,’ she said to Ty.

  ‘Right back at ya, babe,’ said Ty.

  Lauren sighed.

  ‘If these girls were legal, most of them could go get a job that paid them more than seven bucks fifteen an hour, know what I mean? Everyone bitches about illegals, until it comes time to put their hand in their pocket.’

  Lock sensed this was a favourite gripe Lauren rolled out when challenged about the ethics of her business. But it wasn’t helping him with working out what part Natalya had played in Josh Hulme’s disappearance.

  ‘Did you get any references from Natalya’s previous employer?’

  ‘I gave all that stuff to the FBI already. They took copies.’

  ‘May we take a look?’

  The phone rolled to voicemail again. Lauren sighed, and with what seemed to be a huge effort got up from behind her desk and crossed to the filing cabinet. ‘I didn’t want to give them the originals in case this whole thing comes to court.’ She stopped in the middle of the room. ‘Now, I know I put it all somewhere safe.’

  Lock guessed that ‘safe’ in the context of Lauren Palowsky’s chaotic filing system meant somewhere it would probably never be found again.

  The phone rang for a third time.

  ‘Would you mind if I. .?’ she asked.

  ‘Listen, do you want me to take a look?’

  ‘Could you? If I don’t keep on top of my calls I’ll be here till midnight.’

  Lock opened the top drawer of the nearest filing cabinet and set to work. He motioned for Ty to start checking one of the numerous teetering piles.

  A full hour later, Lock was wondering how people spent their whole lives in offices doing exactly what he was doing now. Not that he suffered from claustrophobia per se, but his mind and body were inherently restless; always moving, rarely still. Even in sleep, his dreams were vivid and kinetic.

  The search did double duty: it gave them access to all of the agency’s records and allowed Lock time to weigh up Lauren. One thing had rapidly become clear: she wasn’t involved in any kidnapping. Kidnapping took a level of organization that was way beyond her. She’d probably end up sending the ransom note to the wrong address.

  As they picked up and glanced at one piece of paper after another, Ty and Lock had soon discerned that invoices, applications, every piece of paperwork imaginable were simply thrown together with no rhyme or reason. There were applications from prospective nannies going back over ten years and details from parents
of children who were probably in college now.

  Ty lifted out one green hanging file whose tab read ‘telephone account’, so naturally it contained company credit card statements. Beneath it, on the bottom of the cabinet drawer, was a piece of paper. He lifted it out. It was a letter of reference. He went to place it with the others when he noticed the name. Natalya Verovsky.

  Ty walked over to Lauren’s desk, waved it in front of her. She covered the phone with one hand.

  ‘Did the FBI see this?’ he asked.

  ‘What is it?’ She looked at the letter. ‘Shoot. It must have got separated from her application.’

  Lock had joined Ty at the desk, and he took the single sheet of paper from Lauren and studied it. No letterhead. Handwritten. The writing was spidery longhand. Natalya’s name was written in block capitals about a third of the way down, then the actual reference was scrawled beneath. Just a few lines.

  Natalya has worked for me for twelve months now. She has been a very good worker. She is very good with the customers and always on time. I am happy to recommend her services to you.

  Then there was a gap of maybe an inch, and it was signed ‘Jerry Nash’. There was an address, but no phone number. No reference to what Natalya’s work had been either, and no mention of what the relationship between Natalya and Jerry had been. Boss? Coworker? Friend?

  It took Lock and Ty another forty minutes to locate Natalya’s original application. When they found it, there was nothing on it that they didn’t already know. Crucially, it didn’t list her last place of employment. Or any other employers. So the reference remained significant, the only new lead Lock was aware of in an investigation rapidly going cold.

  Unbelievably, there was no computer in the office, and no way of checking the address on the reference, or whether it even existed. With no phone number, Natalya could have concocted the whole thing herself.

  Lauren was still on the phone. Lock waved the reference at her. She made a face at him. ‘What now?’