Laurie could see the familiar exit signs along the FDR Drive ticking by. They had spotted Brenner, still walking south on Bowery, and then watched as he got behind the wheel of a black Dodge Charger. Now they were following him from a safe distance behind, unsure of their destination.
“Still can’t believe this thing’s electric,” Leo said. “Handles like a race car.”
“Well, handle it carefully. It’s Jerry’s baby. Where is Brenner heading? He better not be going to Albany. Jerry said the car can only go one hundred sixty miles before it needs to be charged.”
“He’s signaling now. We’re going on the Triborough Bridge. Maybe he’s headed for LaGuardia? He could be making a run for it. Wait, he’s got his blinker on again. I think we’re headed for Randall’s Island.” It was an island in the East River between East Harlem, the South Bronx, and Queens. Most of the island was a city park.
“Keep your distance, Dad. Parts of the park can be pretty vacant. There won’t be many cars to blend in with.”
“You know how many stakeouts your old man has done? It’s under control.”
Laurie fixed the binoculars on the Charger’s license plate. She grabbed a piece of paper and pencil from the glove compartment and wrote it down. “A little insurance in case we lose him.”
“Good idea, but I’m not planning to lose him,” Leo said. Then, pointing, he added, “He’s pulling into the parking lot by the baseball fields.”
“Well, don’t follow him! He’ll see us.”
Laurie had taken Timmy here for a few birthday parties and remembered the general layout. The park was home to more than sixty athletic fields. Even on a nice day, not all of them would be in use.
“Trust me,” Leo said crisply as he approached the parking area where Brenner had turned. Laurie leaned low in her seat as Leo drove past. “There’s a grove of trees beyond this field,” he told her. “We can park behind it. He might be able to see the car, but there’s no way he’ll be able to see us.”
After a short drive, she felt the car come to a stop.
“Dad, maybe we should call for backup.”
“Not yet. My gut tells me that right after the encounter with you, he called somebody to meet him here. I don’t want to scare off whoever that somebody is.”
Brenner had gotten out of his car and was smoking a cigarette while leaning against the hood. He checked his watch then glanced around, his gaze lingering on the grove of trees.
“He keeps looking at us, Dad.”
“Don’t worry. He can’t see you from where he is.”
Another vehicle, a Volvo wagon, pulled into the lot and parked next to Brenner. As it slowed to a stop, Laurie adjusted the binoculars and was able to see the driver. “It’s a woman,” she said. “She looks familiar.
“Oh my God, Dad. I can’t believe it. It’s Leigh Ann Longfellow.”
The senator’s wife got out of her car, looked in all directions, and walked over to where Brenner was standing. Even though the day was overcast, she had on a pair of dark sunglasses.
Neither Leo nor Laurie took note of a white SUV that entered the park and turned toward an adjacent field.