Wyatt told her the address and then punched it into their car’s GPS. Instantly, the shortest route was presented and Holland made the first turn.
The limousine company was located in West Los Angeles. When they arrived at the building, Holland wondered aloud if they had been given the right address. The street itself was seedy: garbage in the gutters and a not-so-well-maintained macadam. The stores that were open looked rundown and barely still in business and there were a number with boarded up windows. There was no sign to indicate that the garage housed limousines for rent. Actually, it looked more like a warehouse. No one simply could walk in off the street either. There was a button to press to announce oneself at the windowless door.
‘This doesn’t look right, does it?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, this is it. This company does nothing but government assignments so there is no need to advertise.’
‘Who told you that?’ she asked.
‘No one. It’s simply a logical conclusion.’
‘Really?’ she asked dryly. ‘You mean, there’s actually logic involved here?’
‘Hold on,’ he said. She heard his palm computer buzz. ‘Well, what do you know?’ he said, as he read the small screen.
‘What?’
‘Landry’s given us the juror’s real name and juror identification number.’
‘It’s about time. I was wondering when, if ever, we would be told. What is his name?’
‘Harris Kaplan, 7Y48. There, don’t you feel more appreciated?’ he asked.
‘Why give us that information now and not before?’
‘I’m sure they’re evaluating our feedback and have now decided they’re afraid we’ll miss something, some reference to a Mr Kaplan.’
‘Why is it I feel like I was just promoted to adult or something?’ she asked. ‘Duh, that’s truly logical and we should have had it before we spoke to the guards. Next time you text-message Landry, do inform him. Put it in the form of a news bulletin.’
He smiled as if her request were as ridiculous as calling Santa. ‘Whom do you take after more, your mother or your father?’ he asked.
‘Why?’
‘You have a good sense of humor.’
‘Thanks. I wasn’t sure you’d noticed. My father,’ she said. ‘It’s what helped him survive.’
‘I admire that,’ Wyatt said.
‘Which? A sense of humor or survival?’
‘I sort of have this respect for survival,’ he said.
She shook her head and stepped out of the car. They approached the front door and Wyatt pressed the button. After a long pause, they heard a female voice ask how she could help them.
Wyatt glanced at his computer again. Holland wondered if he could breathe without it.
‘We’re here to see Mr Applebaum,’ he said, speaking into the microphone embedded in the wall. ‘Please tell him it’s Special Agent Wyatt Ert and Special Agent Holland Byron of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.’
There was another long pause.
‘Wyatt what?’ the voice came back.
He looked at Holland. ‘Ert,’ he said.
‘Just a minute,’ the voice replied. A moment later there was a buzz, but when they opened the door, they entered a very short entryway with another door with a one-way window.
‘This is like a maximum security prison,’ Holland noted.
The same female voice asked them to place their IDs up to the window. They did so and then another buzzer released the lock on the second door and they were inside.
To their left was a metal stairway that led up to an office and to their right was the garage itself. Three vehicles were being washed and serviced in their bays. Three others were in place for assignments. They saw two chauffeurs standing beside one, chatting. The chauffeurs turned to glance at them and then continued their conversation.
As Holland and Wyatt walked toward the steps, a short, bald-headed man in a brown shirt, dark brown tie and dark brown slacks stepped out of the office. He gestured to them and then moved forward to extend his puffy right hand, the pinky finger of which looked choked by a gold ring covered in diamonds. His eyes were small, dark and crowned with eyelashes so light, they were almost invisible.
‘Hey, how ya doin’? I didn’t expect you guys for another two weeks,’ he said, shaking Wyatt’s hand but just smiling at Holland. ‘Moe Applebaum.’
‘I’m Special Agent Ert and this is Special Agent Byron,’ Wyatt said. ‘We’re not here to do a routine review. We’re here to check on a run you made a few days ago to the Los Angeles courthouse.’
‘Oh? Sure, sure. Come into my office.’
They followed him into an office that had a desk, a chair in front of the desk, a wall calendar and two walls of shelves that held automobile manuals. The desk was messy. Paperwork was spread across it, notes were scribbled on small sheets and there was a calculator in the right corner.
‘I was just getting organized,’ he said, smiling. ‘Can I get you something, some coffee, soda?’
‘No, we’re fine,’ Wyatt said. ‘Your schedule book handy?’
‘Oh, yeah, right,’ Applebaum said. He continued to steal glances at Holland at every opportunity. He smiled at her and then knelt down to open the drawer of a file cabinet, reach in and pull out a thick, black-covered book. ‘Regular courthouse run, you say?’
‘Four days ago,’ Wyatt added.
‘Right, right.’ Applebaum put the book on his desk and stood over it as he turned the pages. ‘To the courthouse and then to the airport, six vehicles. Which one are we asking about?’ he asked.
Who’s we? Holland thought. There was something so smooth and oily about this guy.
Wyatt read from his pocket computer. ‘7Y48.’
‘OK. Sure, I’ve got it. Pick-up was at three thirty-two and drop-off was at the American Airlines domestic terminal at four twenty-seven.’
‘Who was your driver?’ Holland asked.
‘The driver was Pete Snyder. He’s not here,’ he added before they could ask to speak with him. ‘What’s the problem? Was he annoying or impolite? He hasn’t been with us that long. A part-timer, but he came with good recommendations. You can look at them if you like,’ Applebaum said, starting for a folder in the cabinet. He produced it quickly and Holland took it and began to read.
‘Did he say anything unusual happened?’ Wyatt asked while she read.
‘No. Milk run was what it was to be and what I assumed it to be. Why? Did something unusual happen?’
Without comment, Holland handed Wyatt the folder and he looked at the page she had turned to and left open for him. It was Snyder’s resume.
‘It says here that he is five eleven and has black hair. Is that correct?’
‘Sure,’ Applebaum said. ‘I mean, about five feet eleven, eleven and half. He could be six feet.’
‘Do you know which vehicle he used?’ Holland asked.
‘Of course.’ Applebaum looked at the book. ‘Sixty-six. It’s in-house at the moment.’
‘Has it been used since?’ Holland asked immediately.
Applebaum checked his book again. Whether he had something to be nervous about or not, he was, Holland thought. But then most people were nervous when agents from the bureau asked them questions, especially someone who was obviously so dependent upon reviews and analysis to continue making the good living he was making.
‘Going out today,’ he replied. ‘Five fifteen.’
‘We’d like to look at it,’ Wyatt said, putting the booklet down and glancing at Holland.
‘No problem. Follow me,’ Applebaum said, and moved quickly to the door. ‘So,’ he said, smiling weakly as they all went out and started down the stairs. ‘What’s the problem?’
Neither Wyatt nor Holland responded. Applebaum, now more nervous than before, nearly tripped over himself showing them to the limousine. They looked at the front and then the rear and at each other.
‘Anything wrong with it?’
‘Was there anything left in the vehicle?’ Holland asked.
‘Not that I know of. If there was, we’d have contacted the division immediately. The vehicle is in perfect shape. Every one of my limousines is a registered federal vehicle and has to meet division standards, as you know,’ Applebaum said.
‘Do you confirm mileage?’ Holland asked him.
‘Sure,’ Applebaum said. ‘No one’s pulling anything on Moe Applebaum.’ He opened his book, ran his finger down a column and then opened the driver’s door of the limousine, turned the key in the ignition and pulled back to look at them. ‘Just what it should be. Not a mile or more deviation. They have specific routes they have to follow. We don’t change anything without approval.’
‘This car went to the courthouse from here and went to the airport and back?’ Holland pursued.
‘That’s what I’m saying, yes.’
She looked at Wyatt.
‘Is Snyder on another assignment at the moment?’ Wyatt asked.
‘No, he called in sick last night. He sounded terrible, hoarse throat.’
‘OK, give us Pete Snyder’s address,’ Wyatt said.
‘Did he do something wrong? Because if he did, I’d like to jump right on it. I don’t tolerate any nonsense when it comes to this. I mean, all my drivers are checked out thoroughly, but that doesn’t mean one won’t have a drink when he shouldn’t or something.’ Applebaum waited, hoping to hear some clue.
‘We need the address,’ was all Wyatt would say.
Applebaum looked at Holland and then hurried back to the stairway. He glanced at the other chauffeurs as if he were annoyed with them all, and then charged up the stairs.
‘It’s a plum award, this limousine service,’ Wyatt said. ‘I don’t blame him for being a little terrified of losing it.’ He raised his eyebrows a bit, anticipating Holland’s agreement.
She looked up toward the office. ‘If that’s all that’s frightening him, yes.’
‘He looks like the nervous type. I don’t know as I’d make any more of it,’ Wyatt concluded. He had a tone so definite, it felt like nails being driven into concrete. Once again, the man’s arrogance annoyed her. How could he be so damn sure?
They watched Applebaum come charging down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet in haste. He handed Wyatt a slip of paper.
‘You’ll tell me if there is anything I should get right on, right?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely. You can count on it,’ Wyatt said. ‘The bureau tolerates nothing less than perfection.’
Moe Applebaum nodded, glancing at Holland. ‘Anything else I can do?’
‘You’ve been great. Thanks,’ Wyatt said and started out. Holland followed, glancing back to see Applebaum hurrying up the stairs.
To her he looked like a man fleeing from something more than just the fear of losing his business. Was it her imagination or did she just want to prove her partner wrong so she could wipe that smug confidence off his handsome face?
He got into the car and looked at the address on the paper Applebaum had given him. She watched as he fed the information into his pocket computer.
‘Does it tell you when we can have lunch and where?’ she asked.
He shook his head and then he looked up at her and smiled. ‘No, but I am starting to get hungry. If this guy’s not at home, let’s get something to eat.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that’s in the manual.’
He looked at her as if he wasn’t sure she was kidding and then he laughed. ‘That’s good,’ he said.
She grimaced. ‘It wasn’t that good.’
At times he suddenly seemed like a little boy, inexperienced, innocent and quite unsophisticated. He was right. He was more complicated than this case.
She started the engine and followed the directions on their map to what was known as the Maple Wood Apartments. It was one of those West Los Angeles complexes that was once upscale, with attractive gates, elegant pilasters, maroon cement walkways, fountains and greenery. The lack of maintenance was immediately apparent in the rusting ironworks and gates, the chipped walkways and browning grass and bushes. The units wrapped around into a u-formation, with the directory at the right of the entrance. Once, the gates were secure and required a visitor to be buzzed in, but now one gate hung slightly ajar making it impossible to use the lock.
They found Pete Snyder’s name and Wyatt pushed the button next to apartment 103. They waited and heard nothing. Wyatt toyed with the button a bit and it came too far out. He smirked at Holland.
‘Useless.’
‘I guess the homeowner’s fee here is minus ten dollars,’ she said.
Wyatt pushed the gate open and they walked through the garden area to the front entrance. This door was also unlocked. After a moment they knew where to head to find 103. Instead of a door buzzer button, the apartment had an old-fashioned knocker shaped like a tiny cannon ball to be tapped against a pewter plate. Wyatt did so sharply and they waited.
‘He sounded terrible, hoarse,’ Holland reminded him when no one answered the door.
Wyatt rapped the knocker harder. Then he looked about and produced a universal key. It was a registered tool of the agency. Once insertion began, the metal element molded itself to the lock’s formation, hardened and worked perfectly. The door opened and they entered.
All the lights were on and the television was tuned to a cable news network, but the sound was muted. The phone on the table to the right of the sofa was off its cradle. The apartment was neat and clean-looking—there was a small stack of car magazines on the coffee table with one opened, but other than that and the phone, nothing was disturbed.
‘Mr Snyder?’ Wyatt called.
They listened.
Holland moved to his right and looked into the kitchen. Wyatt stepped to the left and slowly pushed open the bedroom door. He looked at her first. She shook her head and started toward him. He moved the bedroom door further open and peered into the room. She was at his side.
The bed was made and the light flowing through the open curtain also revealed a relatively neat and well-kept room. The closet door was closed, as was the bathroom door.
‘Looks like he’s gone,’ Wyatt said. ‘Playing hooky, you think?’
They heard a strange crackling sound from inside the bathroom.
She moved toward the bathroom door, her pistol now drawn. He took a position and waited as she knocked on the door.
‘Mr Snyder?’
Silence brought her hand toward the door. Wyatt moved closer and nodded. She slowly opened it.
The bathtub was filled to the point where it would overflow if a few more ounces of water were added. Pete Snyder was twitching in the water. He was naked and there was a hair dryer in the water, the wire plugged into an outlet over the sink. His eyes were open and bulging like two small bubbles soon to pop and his black hair looked the way the hair of people shocked in cartoons looks.
Wyatt moved in quickly and unplugged the hair dryer.
‘I thought this kind of accident couldn’t happen anymore,’ Holland said.
Wyatt thought a moment and then went out to find the cabinet of circuit breakers.
‘Not an accident,’ he shouted.
She stepped out. ‘Oh?’
‘The breaker has been sabotaged, so there was nothing stopping the flow of electricity.’
‘I doubt that we’ll find anyone else’s prints on the hair dryer,’ Holland said.
‘Probably not. We’ll get a bureau forensic team in here to go over it all anyway.’
They both stared at Snyder, whose head was now turned in their direction.
‘He meets the courthouse guard’s description,’ Wyatt said. ‘No doubt about that.’
Snyder’s mouth was open and his eyes were turned in their direction in an eerie way.
‘He looks like he’s trying to tell us something,’ Holland muttered.
‘Yeah, cleanliness is truly next to godliness, at least for me.’
Holland raised her eyebrows.
Wyatt shrugged and smiled. ‘Looking on the sunny side of it,’ he added.
I guess he does have a sense of humor after all, she thought.