They Disappeared

10

New York City

The fleeting video images of Sarah and Cole vanishing with strangers were seared in Jeff’s mind as he hurried through New York’s streets to the internet cafe.

Seeing what had happened to them made it real.

Someone had taken them, pulled them from the street in a heartbeat.

Why? Who would do this? It’s insane!

His scalp prickling, he glanced at the directions to the cafe while rushing through a crosswalk against a red light. A Mercedes bumper came within inches of his knee-the horn blast startled him as the driver spewed obscenities. Jeff waved it off, took a deep breath and moved on.

What was he doing running around like this?

He should call Cordelli and Ortiz, alert them to the surveillance footage and the plate. He’d do that. But not yet, because when he considered the slip of paper bearing the license number, he knew he had more than hope in his hand.

This was his thread to Sarah and Cole.

Nothing was going to stop him from following it.

* * *

It was called Virtual Connections Online Coffeehouse.

Jazz music and the hissing gurgle of espresso machines filled the air of the packed cafe. At every table people had their noses in their BlackBerries, tablets, cell phones and laptops. All the rental computer terminals were in use. Jeff got his instructions and number from a girl in a white apron at the counter.

“Hit Enter, the rates come up. Swipe your credit card. Remember to log out. Three people are ahead of you but it won’t be long-we have twelve terminals.”

While waiting, Jeff went to the ATM next door for more cash. By the time he’d come back, a terminal in the corner had become available. The mouse was sticky and the keyboard was so worn off he had to strain to see what letters he was typing.

He took the half hour rate of seven dollars. He knew the detectives were monitoring his family credit card, so he used his company card for Clay Platt’s Auto Service. He’d explain the charges to Clay later. Once he was online he searched Google services that identified license plates. He submitted the plate number for New York State, then his credit card information.

A few seconds later the monitor displayed the data. The vehicle was a white 2010 GMC Terrain, the registered owner was Donald Dalfini and his address was 88 Steeldown Road, New York City. There was a vehicle identification number, title, registration date and other information.

Jeff printed it all off, then searched the address.

It was in the Bronx. The map put it near Neverpoint Park in the southeast section of the borough. The estimated travel time from midtown was about forty minutes.

Jeff collected his pages, folded them into his pocket and debated his next step.

Call Cordelli and Ortiz, tell them I saw the recording and now had a plate and address.

He took out Ortiz’s business card and pressed the number. The line rang, then went straight to her voice mail. He didn’t want to leave a message and he didn’t want to waste any time.

I’ll follow this on my own. I’ll take it as far as I can, then I’ll alert them once I have something.

Jeff worked his way through the crowd to the street and flagged down the first cab he saw.