for those pens and pencils just on the right here. This is where she would make all those jottings in her notebooks. And to her left. .
Doyle slides the chair out and bends down to look into the recess. That’s when he understands.
He hears what sounds like the faint buzzing of an insect, and realizes that it’s the voice emanating from the phone that’s now down at his side. He raises the phone to his ear, but doesn’t wait to hear what’s being said.
‘The space,’ says Doyle.
‘What?’
‘The space. In front of the chair. Where Cindy worked and studied. There’s an empty space there. The only clear space in the room.’
Silence. Like maybe he has just surprised the guy.
‘Okay, there’s a space. So what?’
‘If she had a diary, this is where she would have written it. But not necessarily in one of these notebooks, right?’
A faint chuckle. ‘Way to go, Columbo. I’ll be in touch soon.’
There’s a click, and the line goes dead. Doyle goes back into the living room. Mrs Mellish is standing exactly where he left her, still looking uneasy. He goes over to her and hands the phone back. She is wary when she takes it, almost as if she expects him to grab her arm.
‘What’s going on?’ she asks. ‘Who was that man on the phone?’
Doyle knows he needs to get her back on his side. ‘Mrs Mellish, I’m sorry. There are things I can’t tell you right now. Things that have cropped up in our investigation. One of our sources has told us that Cindy had a diary, and that it might be important. That man who just called was giving me some further information to help me locate it.’
‘But you looked. You said there isn’t a diary in her room.’
Okay, thinks Doyle, here goes.
‘Mrs Mellish, did Cindy have a computer?’
She stares at him. Either she’s not sure whether to tell him the truth, or else she’s trying to figure out how he knows this.
‘The DVDs,’ he explains. ‘She has lots of DVDs but no player, no TV. Underneath the counter where she sat and worked there’s a power socket and cables.’
She stares some more. Finally gives the faintest of nods.
‘A laptop. I bought it for her two years ago. For her birthday, and to help in her studies. It’s usually in her bedroom, but I asked her if I could borrow it for a while. I’ve been on the Web, looking for new jobs.’
‘Do you think it’s possible Cindy might have kept her diary on that computer?’
‘I. . I guess it’s possible. Maybe.’
‘Mrs Mellish, do you think I could borrow that computer? Just for a day or two, so I can get it looked at?’
He watches her body language. Sees the defenses going up.
‘I don’t know. Is this. . normal? I mean, do the police usually do things like this?’
‘There’s no such thing as normal. Every situation is different. In this case, it’s just possible there may be something useful on Cindy’s computer. I just want the experts to take a look. They won’t damage it, and I’ll get it straight back to you, I promise.’
‘But you can’t say why you think there’s a diary?’
He thinks, I want to tell her. I want to let her know there’s a psycho running around out there who has already killed two people and may be about to kill again, and the reason I know about the diary is that he’s been phoning me up and taunting me, and when I catch this cocksucker I’m gonna make him wish he’d never been born. I’m gonna do that for you, Mrs Mellish. For you and for Cindy.
‘It’s a possibility, that’s all,’ he says, not really answering her question. ‘But if we find anything, you’ll be the first to know.’
She looks into his eyes, and he hopes that his determination to get justice for her shines more brightly than his lack of candor. Eventually she turns and walks through one of the open doors into her own bedroom. She comes back a minute later with a laptop in her hands.
‘Please, be careful with it. I know it’s just a lump of metal and plastic, but, well. . it was Cindy’s.’
Doyle takes the computer and smiles his gratitude. As he leaves the apartment, he makes a promise to himself that the laptop is not the only thing he will bring back to this woman.
Sometimes they have to be called in.
It’s nice to know they’re there. Sitting in the background, acting as insurance. For when you really need help. You don’t want to use them frivolously — that would be a waste. They are far too valuable.
But sometimes cashing them in is the right thing to do.
This particular favor is owed to Doyle by a man called Lonnie Adelman. Detective Lonnie Adelman. Doyle was at the Police Academy with him, and although they don’t see as much of each other as they used to, they still get together socially now and then. It’s a relationship which, in itself, could probably act as enough of a basis for Doyle to approach him for help. But Doyle has additional leverage. Four years ago, he was involved in the arrest of a group of teenagers for possession of cocaine. One of those teenagers turned out to be Adelman’s son. Following Adelman’s representation and a promise that he would keep the boy on the straight and narrow, Doyle kicked the kid out and kept his name out of the paperwork.
Now it’s payback time. Because what makes Adelman especially valuable to Doyle is that he is a member of CCS, which used to be called CITU, cops loving abbreviations the way they do. CCS is the Computer Crimes Squad, while CITU stood for Computer Investigation and Technology Unit. Whatever the hell it’s called, the key thing to Doyle about both of those titles is the word
It’s also the reason why Doyle now finds himself in the NYPD headquarters at One Police Plaza, the building known fondly to cops as the Puzzle Palace, the Big House, or — to use yet another abbreviation — simply 1PP.
Adelman looks delighted to see Doyle when he enters his office, but he also looks like a man who is late for an appointment. To Doyle he always looks that way, even when he’s supposed to be relaxing. His flushed face says that there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Doyle figures he’s an ideal candidate for an early heart attack.
‘Hey, Cal,’ says Adelman. He grabs Doyle’s hand, slaps his shoulder. He’s a big man, a couple of inches taller and broader than Doyle, and Doyle is no waif himself. ‘How’s it going, man?’
Doyle shrugs. ‘Still sliding down the razor blade of life.’
Adelman laughs. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I read about you in the papers. You been busy, dude.’
‘Life’s never dull. What about you and those cyber-crooks? You arrested that Super Mario guy yet? Mustache like that, he’s gotta be on the wanted lists, right?’
Another hearty laugh. ‘Can’t catch him. Boy drives like a motherfucker. ’
They chat for another few minutes, catching up. So as not to seem too pointed, Doyle waits until the topic of family crops up in the conversation before he asks about Luke, the son he arrested.
‘Still straight,’ Adelman says. ‘No doubt about that. He’s a man now. Even got himself a girl. Subject of drugs comes up, he just talks about how stupid he was back then.’
Doyle nods. ‘Good to hear. He’s a great kid.’
In the silence which follows, Doyle catches Adelman sliding his eyes toward his wristwatch.
‘Listen, Cal, it’s been great seeing you and all, and we should definitely get together properly soon, but I gotta shoot to a meeting in five minutes. Are you gonna ask me about that computer under your arm, or have you forgotten it’s there?’
Doyle looks down. ‘Hey, whaddya know? There
‘Go ahead. You wanna hide that trail of porn sites you been visiting?’
‘This doesn’t belong to me. I need you to search it for me.’
‘Search it? For what?’
