CHAPTER 45

The celebration was short-lived.

It took less than a minute to find out that the address in Queens didn’t exist. The name Wesley Varga was probably just as phony. Koprowski had pulled up five different passports for Alice. It stood to reason that Barbara would also have multiple identities. As for the RAV4, that was probably inside the jaws of a scrap-yard compactor within hours of the chase through Riverdale.

But one thing was real. One thing that Barbara couldn’t shake. The license plate on the RAV4. It was on the car’s registration, it had been entered into the computer of a parking garage six blocks from the stabbing, and with any luck, it was somewhere in the City of New York’s vast database of traffic and parking violations.

Koprowski, a two-fingered typist, pecked away furiously on his keyboard.

“Got him,” he said as the image of a summons appeared on his screen. “A month ago, his car was parked in front of Forty to Forty-Seven Seventy-Seventh Street in Elmhurst. Street-sweeping rules go into effect eight thirty in the morning, and he got the ticket at eight thirty-two.”

“Ah, the code of the NYPD traffic agent,” Kylie said. “Show no mercy.”

“Two months before that, the car got an expired-meter violation at Forty to Forty-Two Eighty-Second Street, also in Elmhurst,” Koprowski said. “Hold on.”

He brought up Google Maps and checked the street views on both addresses. One was in front of a bakery; the other was outside a small apartment building.

“How far apart are they?” Kylie asked.

Koprowski banged on the keys, and the map refreshed. “Three-tenths of a mile. Three minutes by car, six minutes on foot.”

“You think he lives in the neighborhood?” Kylie said.

“Or works,” Koprowski said. “It’s pretty commercial. Remind me again—what does this one do for a living?”

“All we know is that Barbara is the edged-weapons expert,” Kylie said. “Or as Theo puts it, ‘y’know, knives and shit.’ But we don’t have a confirmed occupation.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “He was a medic in the military. Theo said he knows exactly how to slash his victims’ throats so that they bleed out on the spot.”

“Doctor!” Kylie said.

“Surgeon!” Koprowski said, right on her heels.

“Elmhurst Hospital!” I said, tapping the screen just below the two markers where Barbara got the summonses.

“Great minds . . .” Kylie said. “I’ll get the car keys.”

“I’ll call the local squad and find out who’s in charge of hospital security,” Koprowski said.

It was an easy twenty-minute ride over the Ed Koch Bridge into Queens. We were halfway there when Kylie sandbagged me.

“What’s going on with you?” she said.

“Me?” I said. “Nothing.”

“Zach, you totally spaced out when I was explaining how the lab came up with a partial plate number on Barbara’s car. And don’t expect me to believe that crap about your brain being caught up with all the details about Alice. What’s really going on?”

There was no way I was going to tell Kylie about my relationship with Theo’s mother. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “All right. You want to know the truth?” I said, my mind racing to come up with a better lie. “Cheryl and I had a fight last night.”

“About what?”

“Our living arrangements,” I said, grabbing a totally plausible explanation out of thin air. “I think she should give up her apartment and move in with me permanently. She’s dragging her heels.”

Kylie laughed. “Jordan, you are such a bad liar. If that were really what was bothering you, you’d have dumped it on me as soon as we got in the car. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, fine. But don’t expect me to believe your—”

My cell rang. It was Koprowski. I put him on speaker.

“I talked to a friend of mine at the One-Ten,” he said. “The head of security at Elmhurst Hospital is Clayton Rayborn. Do you know him?”

We both responded with a quick no.

“Deputy Inspector Rayborn was the CO at the One-Ten,” Koprowski said. “He retired two years ago and stepped into the top spot at Elmhurst. I called him, told him what’s going on, and he’s expecting you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“One more thing,” Koprowski said. “Rayborn was well-liked. The word is, he doesn’t act like a boss, and when the shit hits the fan, he doesn’t hesitate to jump in the trenches with the troops.”

“Good to know,” Kylie said. “Because if it turns out that the man who murdered Curtis Hellman works at Elmhurst Hospital, DI Rayborn is going to need a very big shovel.”