'Cool. Eat first, search later,' I said.
We parked, walked in and scarfed down two slices and a Coke apiece in less than ten minutes. When we finished, we took two seats in front of a lonely computer in the back of the restaurant. The keyboard was dusty, and I imagined it didn't get much use. The counterman eyed us suspiciously, as though we were as likely to rip the computer from the wall as use it properly.
When I clicked the computer off sleep mode, I entered in my credit card number for access. Once we were in, I directed the browser to streeteasy. com.
'What is this?' Amanda asked.
'Streeteasy. com is a pretty useful tool. It's an online database that records any property transactions, along with the buyer, seller, asking price and brokerage firm who handled the deal. I have a log-in.'
I plugged in my log-in information and entered the name
Robert Reed in the search field. Several listings came up, with records dating back to 1989, and in five different states.
'This can't be right,' Amanda said. 'How could he live in three different states at the same time?'
'It's probably not all the same Robert Reed. Hold on,
I'll narrow the search.'
I narrowed the parameters to Hobbs County. The search came up empty. I tried it again, only this time plugging in
Elaine Reed instead. Again the search came up empty.
'Maybe someone else bought it for them? Or Elaine bought it under her maiden name?' Amanda asked.
'That's possible,' I said. 'We might have better luck searching for the exact house.' We had enough information to narrow the search range.
According to Freddie at Toyz, the Reeds' son, Patrick, was currently somewhere between three and five years old.
Which meant the Reeds had probably moved into the house on Huntley within the past seven years, either when they decided to try to start a family or when Patrick was on the way and space was essential. I entered the date range in the past eight years just to be sure.
The list came back with two thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three hits.
'I think we can narrow it down more,' Amanda said.
'We know there were at least three bedrooms in that house on Huntley. That should help, right?'
'Definitely, one sec.'
I refined the search to only include houses that had a minimum of three bedrooms. The search came back with three hundred and sixty-seven hits. We were making progress.
'Now we just sift through these and look for anything on Huntley. Anything that looks familiar.'
We scrolled through page after page of home sales and purchases through the past eight years. It was fascinating to see the range of prices at which houses had been bought, but it also gave an accurate overview of what the most expensive areas in the state were. Unsurprisingly, Hobbs
County homes were ridiculously cheap. Until a few years ago at least, when I noticed they began to trend upward by a large margin.
We'd been sitting at the computer for nearly two hours.
The computer had charged thirty-six bucks for the access.
I hoped Wallace wouldn't spent too much time scrutinizing my expense account.
Finally on the two hundred and twenty-fourth listing, we found it.
'There we go,' I said. 'Four-eighty-two Huntley Terrace.'
'Bingo,' Amanda added.
According to the database, the house had been pur-234
Jason Pinter chased in 2001 for three hundred and forty thousand dollars. There was a picture of the property on the Web site. I clicked to enlarge it.
The house was easily recognizable. As was the driveway and garage we'd seen the other night. We clicked through various photographs of the interior and exterior, looking for anything familiar. The rooms were different; obviously these shots had been taken before any renovations.
What was more surprising was that there was no sign of the metal gates, nor the brick wall surrounding the property. Whoever purchased the house in 2001 had built them custom-made.
'That's odd,' I said, clicking onto the 'buyer/seller' link. 'According to this, the buyer wasn't Bob or Elaine
Reed, or anyone named Reed at all.'
'Who was it, then?'
'Someone named Raymond Benjamin,' I said. 'Does that name sound familiar at all?' Amanda shook her head.
Then her eyes opened wide.
'Wait a minute,' she said, pointing at the name on the screen. 'When we were in that house, when you came into the room where I was held, didn't one of the guys call for a Ray?'
I thought hard, vaguely remembered hearing that, but between the cigarette burn and my state of panic I couldn't be sure. 'You think this Raymond Benjamin might have been the same guy from the other night?'
'Be a heck of a coincidence, a guy who obviously knows the place well enough to set us up shares the same first name as the man on the property deed.'
'Yes, that would be a mighty coincidence. It would also mean that Raymond Benjamin knows Dmitri Petrovsky.' I tapped my fingers on the keyboard. 'The guy who had me, he'd been in prison before. Attica. He was there during the riot, and that was in '71. If he was telling the truth, he'll have a criminal record.'
'I think it's time to leave the pizza place,' Amanda said.
'It sure is. Let's see what we can find out about
Raymond Benjamin. It's been at least twenty-four hours since I asked Curt Sheffield for a favor. Let's give him a ring.'
30
The diner smelled of cooking grease and burned coffee.
A plate of eggs sat in front of him, untouched. Raymond
Benjamin rubbed his aching jaw, then took another smoke from his pocket, lit it and inhaled deeply. It was all he could do to relax after the events of the past few days. Everything had been going just the way he'd planned, in that there were no disruptions, no mass hysterics. Everything cool, calm and quiet. And then all of a sudden the newshound
Parker shows up at Petrovsky's office and everything goes to shit.
He hadn't wanted to torch the house. Benjamin actually had some fond memories of that place. But once Parker decided to follow Petrovsky, it was only a matter of time before somebody came knocking. Burning it down was a necessary evil. There was too much inside for him and
Vince to get rid of in the little time they had, not to mention having to dispose of the doctor and that beat-up car Parker drove. Better to torch the whole thing and wipe their hands than risk one little thing turning up and screwing up the whole operation. Ray couldn't afford that. There was too much at stake.
Raymond Benjamin smoked his cigarette, eased back
into the booth and took out his wallet. He looked at the pictures inside. The first one was of a beautiful young couple. Ray barely remembered what life had been like back then. He'd been so impetuous, so violent. He was amazed a woman had actually had the temerity to marry him. The first photo had been a year or so before Ray Jr. was born. The boy had Ray's nose, but got the rest of his features from Ray's wife. Becca. Becca, who'd died while he was holed up in that shithole prison. Ray Jr., born in 1970, the year before the riots changed everything.
Every person was born with a specific skill set. Ray's son was born a technogeek, the kind of guy who could
