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“I’m not sure, but I intend to find out.”
???
The next morning at approximately 0920, I drove back up to Baltimore to visit MICA again. I stopped in at Java Joe’s first to check out one of my hunches. I didn’t recognize the man behind the counter, but the woman seemed familiar. As I approached, the man moved to the register.
I ordered a medium cappuccino, and after paying the cashier, I approached the woman who would be making
the drink.
“Remember me?” I asked.
She gave me a blank, I-see-a-lot-of-people look. After a moment, her eyes sparked with recognition.
“You were looking for Melissa,” she said.
I nodded and checked her name tag. Elle.
“That’s right, Elle,” I said. “I assume you still haven’t seen or heard from her.”
She shook her head. “I wish I could help.”
“How about this guy?” I held up my phone and displayed a photo I’d taken of Kandinsky and the young man I assumed was his son.
“Just a sec.” The espresso machine roared as she fixed my cappuccino. She handed me the drink and stared at the image.
“The older one. That’s the guy I told you about—Mr. Macchiato.”
“How about the younger man?”
She looked at the photo again, this time more closely. “He does look familiar. May I?” She reached for the phone, and I handed it off.
Elle studied the picture. “I think I have seen him. Maybe. The guy I’m thinking of was a bit older than this.”
“Could the man in this picture be the one you are thinking of when he was younger?”
She nodded and handed back my phone. “Definitely.”
Now that was interesting. “Where have you seen him? Was he with Melissa by any chance?”
“I’ve seen him here and at the art school. Sometimes with Melissa.”
Interesting. Make that very interesting. As I tucked my phone into my shoulder bag, Elle added, “I don’t know if that’s much help.”
“More than you know,” I said. Assuming my developing theories panned out.
Chapter Forty
I speed-dialed Nick again to see what he had learned from his sources. According to his DOJ contacts, artifact smuggling was not only linked with the Mob, but was definitely being used to finance terrorist activities. All the federal intelligence agencies—CIA, NSA, Homeland Security (that big umbrella that seem to include everyone else)—were on this.
“Here’s a hypothetical,” I said. “Suppose someone involved in ripping off terrorists wanted to disappear. Any idea who could help them do that?”
“Other than witness protection?” Nick said. “There are actually people who do this for a living. Help other people stay under the radar, that is.”
“I know that.” A hint of annoyance crept into my voice. The words that came out of my mouth were sharper than intended, so I stopped for a few seconds and then continued in a more reasonable tone. “Do you know anyone in particular who does this?”
Nick gave me the name of a private eye in DC—Alex Kingsley. I had to give the woman props in the cool name department. Alex Kingsley, P.I. Could have been a new Netflix series. I gave her a call.
After introducing myself and explaining who had referred me, I told her I needed to find someone who I suspected was taking great pains to stay hidden. “I’ve done a bit of skip tracing and repo work, but I could use your advice as someone who helps people stay off the grid. Any tips at all on how to discover them.”
