CHAPTER NINETEEN

Thursday, January 13

2:35 p.m.

New York City

Traffic grew heavier. The trip from Pauling’s apartment was thirty-five minutes of go, stop, and wait. The taxi traveled north on Sixth Avenue to 57th Street and then two blocks west. He turned north on Eighth, through Columbus Circle, to Central Park West, and onto 72nd Street.

Eventually, he stopped outside the Dakota with the meter still running.

Gaspar’s phone rang. He nodded toward Otto and picked up the call. “Yes, Brewer, thanks for calling me back. We’re at the Dakota. We want to interview the friend Reacher was visiting here. Otto thinks they’ll be more likely to cooperate with a friendly NYPD detective than with us. When can you get up here?”

Brewer talked for a couple of seconds before Gaspar shook his head and his eyebrows dipped into a frown. “I understand. Absolutely. A fresh homicide comes before a witness interview. Sure. Okay. Call me when you’re done, and we’ll figure something out.”

When he disconnected, Otto said, “Let’s see how far we can get without him.”

The driver asked, “Are you getting out here? I’ll need to move.”

Otto glanced around for the black sedan but didn’t see it. Yet. She didn’t want to unload the bags and bring them along. Leaving everything in the taxi wasn’t a great plan, either.

She heard her mother’s voice as clearly as if she were sitting in the taxi, too. When there’s only one choice, it’s the right choice. “We’ll only be a few minutes. Can you wait?”

He turned his head, looked at her, and shrugged. “You’re on the meter.”

Gaspar held up his phone and snapped a photo of the driver and the taxi’s license. He turned on his video recording mode and held up his badge. “We’re FBI agents. We’re going inside for fifteen to twenty minutes, at the most. Anything happens to our property while we’re inside and you’ve committed a federal crime. Do you understand?”

“Buddy, I’ve been carting you two around on the meter most of the day. You owe me a lot of money.” The driver seemed uneasy, after Gaspar threatened him. And then he shrugged again. “I guess you’re not going to pay me now, so I’ll wait.”

Otto was skeptical by nature, which made her a good lawyer and a great cop. But that same skepticism complicated her life every day. Should she trust this guy? Probably not. “Pop the trunk. I need my laptop.”

The laptops were encrypted and stored classified data. They could not be left unattended. Not if Otto and Gaspar wanted to stay out of prison.

He pushed the trunk release, and they climbed out of the taxi. She scooped up her laptop case and slung the strap over her shoulder. Gaspar grabbed his before he slammed the trunk closed and slapped the lid twice with his palm as a signal to the driver.

As they walked toward the Dakota’s grand entrance, Gaspar grinned. “Ten bucks says he’s there when we come back.”

“You’re on. Did you see his face when you flashed your badge? That guy’s halfway to New Jersey by now.” She slung the black leather strap over her shoulder, hunched into her coat, and hurried through the biting wind.

Gaspar said, “Nah. He wants to get paid and avoid prison. He’ll wait.”

Otto placed a hand on his arm and paused. “So that guy is a Treasury agent. He says they’re looking at Brewer. He saw us, didn’t know who we were, tried to find out. Why is Treasury interested in Brewer?”

“I have no idea. But it can’t be a good thing.” Gaspar’s teeth were chattering already.

“You didn’t recognize the guy, did you?”

“No. But can we talk about this later?” His lightweight suit and overcoat weren’t doing the job. “How can it be so cold in the middle of the day with the sun shining?”

“Global warming,” she said.

He laughed, and they continued toward the entrance.

The doorman waited inside the warm lobby until the last possible moment, when he opened the door and stepped outside. They hustled past, and he pulled the door closed behind them. “January weather in New York is the worst, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” Gaspar replied, shivering and blowing warm air on his cold hands. “That’s why I live in Miami.”

“Lucky dog. Why aren’t you soaking up the Florida sunshine today?” The doorman smiled. “I’d be there if I had that option.”

“I’m FBI Special Agent Otto. This is FBI Special Agent Gaspar.” Otto pulled out her badge and flashed it. Gaspar did the same. The doorman peered briefly at both badges and nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Will Bishop.” He pointed to the gold bar pinned to his jacket. W. Bishop, it said.

“Mr. Bishop, how long have you been the doorman here?”

“About eight years, I think, give or take.” He closed his eyes to concentrate. “I started off on the night shift, but I’ve been on the day shift five days a week, oh, I guess maybe five years or so.”

“So that means you see everybody that comes in and out the front door?” Gaspar asked.

“Pretty much. I mean, I have a couple of breaks during the day. But mostly, I’m right here.” Bishop nodded. “We have the kind of residents who don’t want to open their own doors, you know? Which is a good thing for me. Otherwise, I’d be out of a job.” He smiled revealing teeth so perfect they had to be fake.

Otto nodded. “We’re looking for a man who might have been visiting with one of your residents a while back.”

She flipped through a few screens on her phone and found the photo of Reacher from his Army days. She had edited the photo to a tight headshot to remove all indicia of his military service, to avoid influencing the witnesses.

“This is the man we’re interested in.” She showed Bishop the photo.

He studied the picture for a couple of moments.

“Do you know this guy?”

Bishop shook his head. “Not really.”

Gaspar frowned. “Sounds like you mean you have seen him around.”

“But I didn’t know the guy,” Bishop nodded. “He wasn’t here long. He must have been an employee or something. He came and went a few times. Sometimes on his own and sometimes with others.”

“When was this?” Gaspar asked.

“It wasn’t wintertime.” Bishop looked up at the ceiling as if he was searching for a clue about the dates. “It was a while ago. Several months, at least. Maybe longer.”

“You’re certain it was him?” Otto asked.

Bishop held out his hand. “Let me look a little closer, but I think so, yeah.” Otto passed him the phone, and he studied the photo a bit before handing it back. “Yeah, that’s him. Like I said, he wasn’t here very long. But that’s the guy.”

“Who was he working for?” Otto asked.

“He might not have been working. I don’t know. He never talked to me.” Bishop shrugged. “Sometimes he came and went solo. Other times, he hung out with some of the guys, so I just figured.”

“What guys?” Otto asked.

Bishop shook his head. “I don’t know. Guys I’d seen around before that one came.”

Gaspar ran a hand through his hair. “Well he wasn’t visiting Yoko, was he?”

Bishop grinned and shook his head. “Not likely. He wasn’t her type.”

“What type does she go for?”

“You know. Famous people.” Bishop shrugged. “And she’s way more relaxed than that guy. Way too old for him, too.”

Otto was as exasperated as Gaspar was by now. “Who was Reacher visiting? We want to talk to him. Or her.”

“Oh, they’re gone. Left the same time that guy did.” He nodded toward Otto’s phone. “Never came back. The place is empty a long time now. The condo board had to foreclose on the place because they didn’t pay their maintenance fees for a whole year.”

Otto said, “And the owner of the apartment was?”

“Didn’t I say? Well, really, I’m not sure. I just assumed, you know, because of the timing and all. Retired military. I think he was a colonel. And his family. Nice family.” He paused while a slight grimace crossed his face. “Well, the wife was nice, and the little girl was adorable. He was all business. Lived here for years and never said a word to me. Not once. But they were good residents. No trouble. Quiet. Traveled a lot.”

Otto held on to her patience, but barely. “So no one has been inside their apartment in sixteen months?”

“Well, come to think of it, there was a guy here this morning. Heard him say he was the Colonel’s brother-in-law. He had an appointment with our co-op board president.”

“And what was his name?” Otto asked.

Bishop cocked his head and thought it over. “Fred Kern, I think he said. You could ask Mr. Peck. Simon Peck. He’s the board president. He would know.”

“Is Mr. Kern still here?” Gaspar asked.

“I don’t think so.” Bishop wagged his head. “I’d call Mr. Peck down for you, but I know he’s not around. I tried to reach him a little while ago, and the call went to voicemail. You can come back when Mr. Peck is here. I’m sure he could answer your questions.”

“You have a card for Mr. Peck?” Gaspar said, annoyance plain in his tone now.

“Yeah, sure. Hang on a second. I’ve got one in the desk drawer over here.” Bishop found the card and offered it to Gaspar, who glanced at it and stuffed it in his pocket.

“What did Mr. Kern look like?” Gaspar asked.

“Well, it’s weird. Because at first, I thought he was that guy.” Bishop’s face flushed. “But turned out it wasn’t him, I guess.”

Gaspar practically growled. “You thought he was what guy?”

“The one in that photo you’re asking me about.” He nodded toward Otto’s pocket where she’d slipped the phone when he’d handed it back. “Same build. Same look to him. The way he carried himself. Same military haircut. First glance, I thought it was him.”

“How do you know it wasn’t the same guy, then?” Gaspar leaned toward Bishop as if he might cuff him or something.

Bishop cocked his head and looked at Gaspar blankly.

Otto intervened. “You said you hadn’t seen the guy in a while and you never talked to him. How can you be sure Kern wasn’t him?”

“I guess you’re right.” Bishop shrugged. “I guess it could have been the same guy…” His voice trailed off, unsure now.

“Okay. Let’s be clear,” Otto said, making every effort not to lose her cool. “Since the family left a couple of years ago, you’re saying no one has been in that apartment except Mr. Peck and Mr. Kern who went in this morning?”

“Well, I’m not here twenty-four-seven, so I couldn’t swear to it. And now that you mention it, doesn’t seem very likely that nobody has been in that place for sixteen months, does it?” Bishop said. “But the only other person I know about is that NYPD detective. Brewer, his name is. Comes around from time to time to keep an eye on the place.”

Gaspar said, in the most official tone Otto had heard him use so far, “We’d like to see the apartment.”

Bishop’s eyes widened, and he wagged his head again. “You’ll need to talk to Mr. Peck about that. I don’t have a key to the place, anyway. Even if I had a key, I couldn’t let you into a residence. I’d lose my job.”

Otto took a breath. “When will Mr. Peck be back here?”

Bishop shrugged again. “He lives here. But I don’t know where he went, so how can I know when he’ll come home?”

“Right,” Gaspar said. “What did you say the apartment owner’s name was?”

Bishop’s eyes widened again. “I didn’t say, did I? I could get fired for that. Doormen at the Dakota are required to be discreet.”

Otto put a hand on Gaspar’s arm. He glared at her. She grinned. Gaspar rarely let anything get under his skin. Usually, he was the one pulling her off the ceiling.

She said, “Okay, Mr. Bishop. Thank you for your help. We’ll call Mr. Peck, as you suggested.”

Gaspar followed her outside. “Damn Brewer. He knew all along that Reacher was here. He knows a lot more about this whole thing than he let on, too. What the hell was he thinking?”

“Sorry. My crystal ball is cloudy on that one. When we see him, we’ll ask.” Otto stuck her hands in her pockets and walked toward the spot where the taxi should have been waiting.

As she rounded the corner, she stopped in her tracks.

When he looked at the empty spot where the taxi driver had promised to wait, Gaspar swore.

Otto laughed and held out her palm. “That’ll be ten bucks, Chico.”

“Yeah, yeah. Put it on my bill.” He practically snarled at her. “I’ll try to flag another cab.”

She looked for the black sedan. She didn’t see it hanging around. But then, if Lawton was really a pro, she never should have seen him in the first place.

Her fingers and toes had lost all feeling before Gaspar finally persuaded a taxi to stop.

They climbed into the back seat, and Otto said, “Grand Central Station.”

Gaspar shot her a questioning glance, but she ignored him.