They Disappeared

41

Manhattan, New York City

Images of the past few hours, the past days, fueled Jeff’s anger.

Sarah’s heart beating against me, almost free.

He held on to that moment as he and Ortiz stepped into the hotel elevator after returning from Central Park to resume working with Detective Lucy Chu, the forensic artist. Cordelli was still there, along with another man Jeff didn’t recognize. Another desk with more equipment, including a laptop and TV, had been set up. A trolley with sandwiches, sliced vegetables, coffee and soft drinks stood in one corner.

“Any word?” Jeff asked Cordelli.

“Nothing yet.”

“Nothing? What about the toy, what’s that all about?”

“We don’t know enough about it yet. It’s being analyzed at the FBI lab.”

“Bull. I think you guys know a lot about it.” Jeff shot his chin toward the TV. An all-news channel was running a report on the case and the United Nations meeting. “It’s tied to this UN thing and plot, isn’t it?”

“That’s a concern, yes.”

“A concern? I told you what the asshole in the van said-that he was going to show the world what it means to suffer. I think you guys know way more than you’re telling me. My wife’s and son’s lives are hanging by a thread. I deserve the truth.”

“Jeff, about twenty law enforcement agencies are doing everything humanly possible to return Sarah and Cole safely and arrest the people responsible.”

Cordelli told him how the FBI and TSA were analyzing Cole’s backpack, how the NYPD were following every tip called in since the press conference. He told him that the Secret Service, which oversees security for the UN event, was helping investigate.

“We’re pursuing every possible angle,” Cordelli said. “Now, Detective Ron Cassidy, here, is from IDENT.” Cassidy rose from his desk and laptop to shake Jeff’s hand. “Ron’s going to work with you and Lucy to get a package of material together for us to distribute to precincts so we can begin a canvass.”

“What sort of package?”

“I’ve finished the images of all the items you noted in the van,” Chu said while typing on her laptop keyboard, “the boots, the take-out bag, the walkie-talkies, the sweatshirt-the ones we worked on. We’re setting up an array and slide show that can also be converted to hard-copy stills.”

“Officers will canvass key areas with the images-” Cordelli nodded to Cassidy “-and Ron’s going to help us sharpen the material. Hang on, you’ll see.”

Chu entered a few commands and a new presentation appeared showing the items Jeff had described in the van. They were vivid images: take-out food wrappers and a take-out bag, take-out coffee cups, a black boot with a fine line of bright red trim, a duffel bag, walkie-talkies, folded maps, bullet tips in magazines, figures in sweatshirts, hoods up, dark pants.

“Hold it,” Cassidy said.

Chu froze the image of the take-out cups. They each had a logo starting with a cursive stylized L that capitalized the partial word Lasa or Laksa in dark lettering on a light-colored cup. Each cup had a black lid.

Cassidy began working on his computer.

“I have access to all of New York City’s licenses for restaurants, cafes, etcetera. I’ll get a list of every one starting with this description and narrow our search to those establishments. To expedite it, we’ll exclude fast-food chains.”

Jeff nodded his satisfaction, then Chu resumed the slide show, coming to other items with Cassidy again, explaining how they would attempt to narrow the canvass, as they did with the take-out containers, by directing police based on the details Jeff had provided.

When they arrived at the image of the boots, they stopped. They were dark boots that covered the ankle. They had rounded toes and they had a thin bright red line where the top was stitched to the sole.

Cassidy analyzed the sharpest one and entered notes into his computer. Then his computer screen split into two. One half held Chu’s image, while the other blurred as if searching.

“I’m using a program to seek a piece of footwear consistent with the sketch. We’re looking at databases of brands, and manufacturers’ designs and outsole producers, importers and exporters who might have something consistent with this impression.”

Minutes went by without any results.

“I was afraid of that,” Cassidy said. “The description is too broad, too vague. I’ll keep trying a few things.”

Cassidy and Chu continued searching, making calls, consulting with colleagues while refining and adjusting their work. By the time they’d finished, night had fallen. Before everyone left, Chu and Cassidy gave Jeff his own hard-copy package and an electronic version of the images to review.

Unable to sleep, Jeff stayed up for hours, examining them with fervor as one by one they flowed before him.

It’s here, he told himself, the key is here.