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Three cars behind them, Patrick turned onto the BQE and followed as they headed for the Verrazano Bridge to Staten Island.
CHAPTER 37
The Brando house
2:50 p.m.
“I don’t want you going in alone,” John Nickels told Lina as they pulled into her parents’ driveway.
Lina turned
to him, a resolute expression on her face.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Nickels,” she said. “But these are my parents, and I’m handling this on my own. They’re certainly not going to hurt me. If anything, they’ve gone to extremes to protect me. So I’m not in danger. You can wait out here if it makes you feel better. But I am going in alone.”
John looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. He’d stay put and keep his eyes wide open. Any sign of trouble, he’d be all over it.
Lina got out of the passenger side and leaned in the car window. “I truly appreciate your concern, Mr. Nickels. But I’ll be fine. And thank you for getting me here.”
With that, she turned and marched up to the front door.
2:55 p.m.
Marc and Patrick waited until Joseph’s car turned into the driveway before parking the van in a quiet alcove diagonally across the street. An average vehicle in this neighborhood would be too ho-hum to give a second glance to.
“Brando must be meeting Jimmy here,” Marc said, double-checking to make sure his pistol was loaded and ready. “We’d better start prowling around, in case our target got here first.”
As Patrick reached for his gun, his cell phone rang.
“Yeah, John.” His brows went up. “Already? That’s not good. I’ll explain later. Just stay where you are. I’ll call if I need you.” He hung up and turned to Marc. “Lina’s here. John dropped her off right before we drove up. He’s parked in the driveway. No need for concealment, since he’s her driver. And he’s on standby, just in case.”
“That still doesn’t make me happy,” Marc replied, already out of the van. “None of us know what Lina is walking into.”
“We’d better change that now.”
Office of Forensic Instincts
3:05 p.m.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed on his computer screen. He was getting really pissed.
Much as he’d try to dig into Jimmy Colone’s background, all he could find was what he’d already told Casey. Nothing further about his personal life, no family photos—not even of him and Angelo—nothing. It was as if he were deliberately being kept under the radar. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Angelo had found the right members of the press to separate Jimmy from him and from the mob. But the extent to which he’d gone was beyond extreme. And Ryan’s hands were somewhat tied, since Jimmy had disappeared over twenty-seven years ago, when there were no social media avenues to explore. He’d hit a fucking dead end.
Or had he?
Ryan sat up straight, his mind going a mile a minute. Angelo Colone had grown up in Brooklyn. The odds were that whatever high school he’d attended, Jimmy had attended, too.
Based on Joseph Brando’s age, Ryan quickly figured out the years that Angelo would be in grades nine through twelve. Then, as quickly as his fingers could fly across the keyboard, Ryan hacked into the New York City Board of Education office.
Brooklyn High School. That was Angelo’s high school alma mater. He’d graduated in 1982.
That meant Jimmy would have graduated in 1989.
No more hacking necessary. Ryan logged into e-yearbook.com and called up the 1980 Brooklyn High School edition. Exactly what he needed appeared. Pages of all the graduates, their nicknames, career goals, and photos.
He scanned through the pages until he got to the C’s. Several pages to get to Colone. But there he was—James “Jimmy” Colone. Baseball player with the goal of becoming a lawyer.
Ryan blinked. The kid looked familiar—too familiar.
