“Two to One. Give me a minute, Eddie,” the voice said. There was silence for a while. “Two to One. She’s not at her desk. She’s… in the hallway. She’s turning.” There was another pause. “She’s in the can, Eddie. Been in and out of there all day. Could be she’s got her period, or the runs or something.” Sikes rolled his eyes. Neary took the radio.
“One to Two. This is Neary. Spare me the health report, Len. Where’s Vetter?”
“Two to One. Just passed him in his office, boss, working at his desk,” Pressman answered. Neary looked at Sikes and me.
“Vetter first, then.” He spoke into the radio. “Unit One to all units, we’re live now with Mitch Vetter. Acknowledge.” One by one Neary’s people called in their acknowledgments. Neary handed me a cell phone. “Caller ID’s blocked. It’s all yours,” he said. I punched in Vetter’s number and switched on the voice scrambler.
“Mitchell Vetter speaking.” I remembered the high-pitched voice and the New York accent.
“Listen to me. Unless you want to see the Nick Welch case reopened as a murder investigation, be at the corner of Broad Street and Pearl in ten minutes. Ten minutes, Vetter, or you’ll be answering a lot of questions about Nick Welch.” There was a long silence at the other end of the line. And then there was laughter.
“Sid? Fucking Sid, is that you?” Vetter was laughing hard. “Jesus, you are a sick puppy. The voice thing is a cute touch, though. But who the hell is Nick Whosis? Sid? Sid?” I hung up. Neary looked at me. I shook my head.
“He thought it was funny,” I said. “Unless he is very slick, he didn’t know who Nick Welch was. He thought I was somebody named Sid.”
“Unit One to Unit Two. What’s up, Lenny?” Neary said into the radio. Lenny’s whispered voice came back quickly.
“Two here. He’s at his desk, laughing and making a phone call. Now he’s talking, still laughing. He’s stopped laughing now, looks confused. Still talking, shaking his head. Now he’s off the phone.” Pressman paused for a moment. “He’s just looking at the wall now, shaking his head. Now he’s typing at his keyboard again.”
“What do you think?” Neary asked me.
“I think he’s not our guy, but give him a few minutes,” I said. Neary nodded and called Pressman on the radio.
“One to Two. Lenny, stay close to Vetter for another fifteen.” Pressman acknowledged. Neary handed the radio back to Sikes, who updated the other units. Then we waited. After about a day, fifteen minutes passed, during which time the most exciting thing Mr. Vetter did was to buy a soda. We agreed to move on. Neary looked at Sikes.
“Unit One to Unit Two. Where’s Compton at, Lenny?” Sikes said. It took a couple of minutes for the answer to come back.
“Two here. She’s at her desk, nobody else in the room.” Neary nodded. Sikes got on the radio again and told all of Neary’s people we were placing the call to Compton. They acknowledged, and Neary looked at me. I flicked on the voice box and punched her number.
“Cheryl Compton.” She spoke quickly. I said my piece, and again there was a long silence, longer this time than with Vetter. But when Cheryl answered, it wasn’t with laughter.
“Who is this?” she said in a low, tense voice.
“Ten minutes, Cheryl,” I said. More silence.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” she hissed. I hung up. Neary looked at me.
“She wasn’t laughing,” I said. Sikes called Pressman.
“Talk to me, Lenny.”
“She’s just sitting there, holding on to the arms of her chair, looking at the walls. She looks… I don’t know, real stiff.” There was a pause. “Now she’s picking up the phone. She’s talking, now she’s hanging up. Looks like maybe she left a message for somebody. Okay, she’s getting up now. I’m moving.” There was another pause, longer this time, then Pressman came back. “She’s walking around the main corridor, to the north end of the building. She’s going down one of the aisles. She’s at a window, looking out. I got to keep moving, sorry.”
We waited for Pressman to come back. Neary was pale and rigid with tension, and maybe anger. He looked exhausted. Sikes looked bored. Then Pressman spoke.
“Okay, she’s back in her office now. She’s on the phone again.. talking… hanging up. Looks like another message. She’s just sitting there again.” Neary looked at me.
“I don’t know, Tom,” I said. “Give her some time.” He looked at his watch. It was three-forty and getting dark out. It was also getting closer to rush hour, which mostly worked against us. The bigger crowds made it harder to spot a tail, but they also made it much easier to lose your subject.
“Twenty minutes,” he said. Sikes spread the word. We waited. Pressman gave us reports every five minutes. He told us about Cheryl Compton sitting, staring at the walls, calling numbers that seemed not to answer, pacing around her desk, sitting back down, and staring some more. Twenty minutes came and went, and Neary gave it fifteen more. Five minutes before that deadline, Compton seemed to settle down and go back to work.
“Something’s sure as hell bugging her,” Neary said. “And I’d like to know who the fuck she’s calling.” His voice was tight with frustration. He shook his head. “It’s getting late; let’s move on. Where are Desai and Mills?”
“Keep an eye on her, Lenny,” Sikes said into the radio. “We’re moving to the fourth floor now. Unit One to Unit Three, where are your guys?” Sanchez’s voice came over the radio, telling us that Mills and Desai were in their respective offices.
“Desai first,” Neary said. Sikes nodded and picked up the radio.
“Unit One to Unit Three. We’re going with Desai. Tell me what you see, Sanchez.”
Sanchez’s voice came back quickly. “I’m looking at him now, Eddie. He’s working at his desk.” Neary gave Sikes the nod, and Sikes notified all units that we were live with Desai. Neary looked at me. I picked up the cell phone and did my thing.
“What? Who… who is this?” Vijay Desai said. “Who are you calling for? Is this some kind of sales thing?”
“Ten minutes, Desai,” I said.
“Ten minutes for what? Who is this?”
I hung up. I looked at Neary and shook my head.
“Either a great actor or completely clueless. My vote is clueless,” I said.
Sikes got on the radio. “What’s the haps, Sanchez?”
“He’s just sitting there. Looks kind of confused.”
“Give him ten,” Neary said, but before Sikes could get back on the radio, Pressman’s voice cut in.
“Unit Two to Unit One. Vetter is moving. He’s got his coat on, headed for the elevators.” He sounded out of breath.
Sikes spoke quickly. “Unit One to Unit Six. You hear that, Juan?”
“I heard,” Pritchard said. “I’m by the doors. What’s he wearing, Lenny?”
“Tan pants, brown leather coat, thigh length, blue-and-red-striped scarf,” Pressman answered quickly.
“I’ll let you know when I pick him up,” Pritchard said. While we waited, Sikes spoke to Sanchez. Desai was apparently back at work. After a few minutes, Pritchard came back.
“Got him. He’s headed up Water, toward William Street. I’m half a block back,” Pritchard said. “Victor, you close by? Can you flank him?”
“Can do. I’m at Broad and Pearl, heading up Pearl to William,” Victor said.
“Stay with him,” Sikes said. The minutes passed slowly. It was nearly four-thirty, and night had all but fallen. The crowds were thicker on the sidewalks and the traffic heavier. It was going to be harder and harder to keep a tail. “Talk to me, Juan,” Sikes said.
“Turning up William Street, now. It’s getting crowded out here, Eddie,” Pritchard said. Neary checked his watch. Desai’s time was up. It was Mills’s turn. Neary gave Sikes the nod.
“Sanchez, where’s Mills?” Sikes asked.
“At his desk. I’m looking at him now.” I flicked on the voice box, but before Sikes could notify the units, Pressman broke in again, breathless.
“Shit, Eddie, I lost her. I lost Compton. Goddamn, her coat’s gone. Eddie, she’s off the floor. She may be headed out. Shit.” He was short of breath and sounded scared. Sikes’s face furrowed in dismay. Neary let out a huge, disgusted breath.
