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“Good,” Millstone said. “What’s your plan now?” he asked Thompson.
“What do you mean?” Thompson thought he was supposed to locate her, which he had.
“Now you need to find out how much she knows.” Millstone was tapping his pen anxiously on his desk.
“Gee, boss, I thought I was supposed to locate her, not interrogate her.” Thompson was trying not to whine. He had thought this was going to be an easy one.
“When I sent you out there, I didn’t need a positive ID. I needed information. That is what I’m paying you for.” Millstone was steamed that Thompson hadn’t thought ahead.
“OK. OK. But now I’m going to have to find out where she lives.”
“That shouldn’t be so hard. Follow her, you idiot.” Millstone slammed the phone.
Thompson stared at the dead air. “Guess I’ll be here for a while.” He knew Colette was working that day, so he would have to keep an eye out and follow her home.Then what?He wasn’t used to interrogating people. Maybe ask a few questions. Spying on them, yes. Beating them with a rubber hose? Definitely not. He had to come up with some ruse. But what? He couldn’t just knock on her door and say, “Hey, lady, fork over the document.” No, he had to be more subtle. He could say he was inquiring for the estate lawyer. They wanted a full accounting from her, since she had left abruptly after she found Randolph in the garage. She was the one who had called 911. “Yeah. That’s it!”
He changed into a suit, went back to the lobby, and asked the bellman where the employees parked. There was a parking garage on the lower level; the street entrance was on the next block. He gave the valet the ticket for his car and it arrived in a few minutes. Thompson pulled his car around the block and waited on the side street across from the garage exit. This was going to be a little difficult. He didn’t know what kind of car she drove. He decided to call Millstone. Big mistake. “How the hell should I know what she drives?” He sounded like a madman. “Just find her!” Again, Thompson’s phone went dead. He didn’t know how long he would be able to keep his car where he was parked, so he decided to wait until someone told him to move on. After several hours, he was getting hungry and had to go to the bathroom. Two things he hated about a stakeout: lousy food and no facilities.
Around five, several cars exited through the underground garage. Colette was not driving any of them. He was getting cranky and extremely uncomfortable. Finally, a Chevy Spark edged its way up the exit ramp. The woman put her ticket into the slot, and the gate went up. He was able to get a good look at her face and breathed a sigh of relief. His plan was to follow her home but wait until the next day to talk to her. Early. Daylight. He figured if he rang her doorbell at this hour, it might spook her. She would surmise that she had been followed. Too creepy. He thought about returning later in the evening and leaving a note at her door. Also probably creepy, but how else was he to connect with her without jumping out from behind the hedges. Then he had another brilliant idea. Send a note via a messenger service. Granted, it showed that someone knew where she lived. On the other hand, he was pretty sure that she hadn’t kept her home address a secret.
Thompson thought it was odd that the Millstones never asked her for forwarding information. What Thompson did not know is that the Millstones had simply given her a big pile of cash in an envelope and delivered a short exit speech.“Colette, we thank you for your service, but since Randolph is no longer with us, we need to reevaluate our needs. Here is a year’s severance in cash. We will not be informing the government about the payment. What you do is strictly up to you. We wish you the best.”
He shrugged and squirmed. He hoped she didn’t live too far away. He desperately needed to find a bathroom.
For the next twenty minutes, they dodged in and out of rush-hour traffic. Finally, Colette pulled into the driveway of a split-level house. As she was getting out of the car, a young boy flung the front door open and hurried down the front steps. He ran up to Colette and wrapped his arms around her knees.
Thompson watched from a few yards away. Careful not to look like a stalker, he pretended to look in his glove compartment. Once the two went inside, Thompson noted the address. His plan was to have a messenger deliver an official-looking letter and business card requesting she get in touch with Jacob Taylor. The card would indicate he was from Dunbar, Wilson and Chase, Attorneys-at-Law, Boston. He knew that if Colette had one ounce of intelligence, she would recognize that it was Randolph Millstone’s law firm. She had been constantly at his side.
He dialed the hotel and inquired about when the business center closed. They told him that it was open until nine. He had plenty of time.
On his way back to the hotel, Thompson stopped at Target, used their bathroom facilities, and purchased a small package of linen paper with matching envelopes and card stock. He hustled to his room, pulled out his laptop, and opened the Publisher program. He began to create a heading that looked official:
DUNBAR, WILSON AND CHASE, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW.
He included their address but used his burner phone number.
He typed out a letter introducing himself as Jacob Taylor.
Ms. Petrov:
This is to inform you that Mr. Jacob Taylor, representing Dunbar, Wilson and Chase, Attorneys-at-Law, needs to speak with you in order to ascertain Mr. Randolph Millstone’s state of mind prior to his heart attack. We are asking in order to have the final reading of the will,blah . . . blah . . . blah. Mr. Taylor will be in town for two days; please contact him as soon as possible. Thank you for your cooperation. . . yada . . . yada . . . yada.
Thompson saved the letter to his flash drive. Then he created business cards using the same font and information and put that on the flash drive as well.
He grabbed the bag with the paper, envelopes, and cardstock, and left his room. The hotel was a flurry of dog groomers coming and going to meetings, dinners, cocktail parties. He inched his way to the business center, which was also crowded with people. All he could do was wait his turn. He recognized the pimply-faced kid from the kitchen busing tables strewn with discarded glasses and plates. This would be a test of how well Thompson had disguised himself. The kid walked right past him. Not a blink. Not a second look. Thompson was happy he hadn’t lost his touch. It had been a long time since he had gone on a job that required a wig and glasses. Mostly, he had to meet people face-to-face, ask a few questions, and was done. But this Millstone thing was a little dicey. Thompson thought about how wound up Millstone had been the last few times on the phone. What did he have to be so freaked-out about? Heck, the old dude had beaucoup bucks and a hot young wife.
Then it hit him.Maybe Millstone was being blackmailed. But for what?In spite of his predilection for mystery, Thompson decided this was one he’d better stay clear of. He would do his job. Period. The real reason behind Millstone’s wanting to locate Colette Petrov and have her interrogated was none of his business.
By the time he had finished his project and gotten back to his room, it was after ten. He called the concierge and asked for a messenger service first thing in the morning. The letter needed to be delivered between seven and seven thirty. If the messenger missed her, it would have to wait another day unless someone from Colette’s house would phone Colette at work and tell her that a messenger had delivered something. It was a chance he had to take. It had to look legit. Not desperate. Let Millstone steam if he had to. This assignment was getting a bit shady. Shadier than usual.
His normal routine was tracking down disgruntled ex-employees who had sticky fingers when they had left the employ of Millstone Enterprises. One numbskull didn’t think anyone would notice a missing tractor from one of their home-improvement supply centers. He simply drove it off into the sunset. He was pretty crafty, though. Two days before, he rented a U-Haul and parked it on a side street. He pulled the tractor up the planks, into the truck, closed the back, jumped in the cab, and drove from Arlington, Texas, to Boise, Idaho, where he met up with a man who fenced stolen goods. He had heard of jewelry fences before, but tractors? That was a new one on Thompson. When he caught up with the tractor bandit, he discovered that the FBI had been looking into a black-market farm-machine ring operating in the Midwest.Who knew?
Thompson folded the phony letter, placed the card inside the official-looking envelope, and brought it down to the concierge.
Identified subject. Check. Informed employer. Check. Found residence. Check. Initiated contact. Check. It had been a long but productive day. He was about to call Millstone, but he knew that Arthur would probably be in a foul mood. Nope. The yelling could wait until morning.
Chapter Twelve
Buffalo, New York
