The Millionaires

56

If she’d been ten minutes earlier, Joey would’ve seen the whole thing: the ruby red lights of the police car, the uniformed cops as they ran out, even Gallo and DeSanctis as they gave their hastily prepared explanation: Yes, that was us; yes, they got away; no, we can handle it fine by ourselves, thanks all the same. But even with everyone gone – even with Gallo’s rental car nowhere in sight – it was still impossible to miss the bright yellow-and-black police tape that covered Duckworth’s front door.

Jumping out of the car, Joey headed straight for the door and knocked as hard as she could. “It’s me – anyone there?” she shouted, making sure she was alone.

A glance over her shoulder and a flick on the lock’s pins did the rest. As the door swung open, she ducked and slid under the police tape limbo stick. Inside, the kitchen was untouched, but the living room was wrecked. Lamp shattered, coffee table overturned, books thrown from their shelves. The struggle was short – all confined to one space. At the bottom of the bookcase was a stack of old Wired magazines. Joey went right for them, grabbing the one on top and scanning the subscription label. Martin Duckworth? she read to herself, clearly confused. On a nearby shelf, she noticed the cracked picture frame with the photo of Gillian and her dad. Finally, something physical. Joey pulled out the photo and stuffed it in her purse.

Down low, glass blender shards sparkled against the pale carpet, which had a blotted dark stain by the door. Joey bent down to look closer, but the blood was already dry. Up the hallway, the blood continued – tiny drops trailing out like planets from a dark sun. The further she went, the smaller they got, eventually leading her toward the bedroom. And the sliding glass door.

Through the glass, a four-year-old Cuban boy in red underwear and a blue Superman T-shirt stared back, his hands stuffed down his pants. Joey smiled and slid the door open slowly, careful not to scare him. “Have you seen my brother?” she asked playfully.

“Bang-bang!” he shouted, pointing a finger-gun at the far wall on her left. Turning to follow, Joey noticed the jagged divot at the top of the concrete. At the base, the lounge chair was propped into place. Up and over, Joey thought.

Grabbing her cell phone from her purse, she went right for speed-dial.

“How was your flight? You get free peanuts?” Noreen answered.

“Ever hear of a guy named Martin Duckworth?” Joey asked, staring down at the rolled-up Wired.

“Isn’t that the guy whose name is on the bank account?”

“That’s the one. According to Lapidus and the records at Greene, he’s living in New York – but I’ll bet if we put him through the meat grinder, we’ll get something more.”

“Give me five minutes. Anything else?”

“I also need you to find their relatives for me,” Joey explained as she walked closer to the wall. “Charlie and Oliver – anyone and everyone they might know in Florida.”

“C’mon, boss – you think I didn’t do that the moment you stepped on a plane for Miami?”

“Can you send me the list?”

“There’s only one name on it,” Noreen said. “But I thought you said they were too smart to hide with relatives.”

“Not anymore – from the look of things here, they had a little surprise visit from Gallo and DeSanctis.”

“You think they got nabbed?”

Still picturing the stain on the carpet, Joey stood up on the lounge chair and ran her fingertips against the missing chunk of the concrete wall. No blood anywhere. “I can’t speak for both of them, but something tells me at least one got away – and if he’s on the run…”

“… he’ll be desperate,” Noreen agreed. “Give me ten minutes – you’ll have everything.”