They Disappeared

50

New York City

Jeff had slipped away from the FBI.

Outside, he hurried along Forty-fifth Street until he was a safe distance from his hotel and stepped into the lobby of the Roosevelt where he used his phone to open Cassidy’s list of restaurants, cafes and coffee shops.

His knees nearly buckled and he sat in a wingback chair.

There had to be more than a thousand, no, two, no, more. It went on and on as the listings of every restaurant and coffee shop blossomed on his phone’s tiny screen.

He could scroll for an eternity.

Then he realized he could manipulate the list to display only those that started with L and resembled Lasa or Laksa. He exhaled. That brought the number way down to under a dozen for the five boroughs. After a few tries he was able to map the list on his phone, in order to make the most effective search of the listings.

As he started off his cell phone rang.

“Mr. Griffin, this is Agent Miller at the hotel. Sir, what is your location?”

“I’m outside at the moment. I needed some air.”

“Sir, we request that you return to your room, now.”

“I can’t do that, Agent Miller. I have some things to take care of.”

“Mr. Griffin, we respectfully request-”

Jeff ended the call and picked up his pace. The TV news report echoed in his mind. His fears were mounting; he sensed that he was running out of time as he arrived at the first candidate. The Cafe Lastanya was in the low twenties on East Forty-first Street. It had a small front with four tinted-glass panels. It was crowded. He made his way past the sandwich and pastry cases to the coffee area and studied the take-out cups. The logo bore no resemblance to the discarded cups he’d seen in the van.

He moved on.

Jeff went back to the street, checked his phone and started walking to the second possibility, the Lassoed Pony Diner, near Grand Central and Forty-second Street. It specialized in cheesecake and was a favorite of commuters catching trains at Grand Central. He examined the logo of the take-out bags and coffee cups-a distinctive horse’s head with the red-and-white stripe logo-and crossed the diner from his list.

Not even close.

Back in the street he flagged a cab for the next one but before he got one his cell phone rang again.

“Jeff, it’s Cordelli. We need you back in the hotel room.”

“Is there a break in the case? If there is, tell me over the phone.”

“Jeff, were you contacted again?”

“No. I’m just looking for my family.”

“Do you have information we should be aware of?”

“No.”

“Because you shouldn’t keep information from us. It leads to problems.”

“Am I under arrest, Cordelli?”

“No.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“No.”

“Am I in custody?”

“No, but for your safety we want you to-”

“My safety? The bastards who took my wife and son may be planning to kill them.”

“Jeff, we’re on your side, you have to let us do our jobs.”

“I came within a heartbeat of rescuing Sarah and if you think I’m going to sit on my ass and do nothing, you are wrong. Dead wrong! I’m going to find the people who took my family and I’m going to kill them!”

“Jeff, I know this is difficult-”

Jeff hung up and waved until he succeeded in getting a cab.

As his taxi navigated through traffic he accepted that there was no logic to what he was doing. How could he possibly find the exact same diner or restaurant where the killers bought their coffee, simply from his memory of the vague image of a take-out cup’s logo? Was he not just going on the blind hope that somehow, someway, he’d find his family again?

All he knew was that he had to keep searching.

The next possibility on his list was Lake of Dreams Cafe on Seventh Avenue.

Plain white take-out cups, no luck there.

Looking at his map Jeff saw how the other locations on his list webbed across New York City. Before resuming, he went to an ATM for more cash, then flagged a taxi and negotiated a flat rate to hire the driver to take him to every location.

They crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and went to the Lasagne Table in Brooklyn. Take-out cups bore no logo. It was the same at Laserinta Cafe. Then they moved on to Queens and Uncle Lassiter’s Bar and Grill. Nothing. Then on to Lasha’s Ukrainian Roadhouse without success before going to the Bronx and Lakeshi’s Gourmet Diner. Nothing there. Then to uptown Manhattan, striking out there before working their way to the Village and down to Battery Park where Jeff paid the driver, then queued up for the Staten Island Ferry.

He had two final places to check on his list, the Last Drop Coffee Den and Lakasta’s Eatery. He got a cab at the dock, headed to the locations, struck out in both cases and returned to the ferry.

During the twenty-five-minute ride across New York Harbor back to Manhattan, he looked at the Statue of Liberty and thought of how badly Cole had wanted to visit the landmark.

Jeff took in the view of Lower Manhattan’s bridges and the skyscrapers. The enormity of the metropolis overwhelmed him. But fear was driving him, fear and the unshakable faith he could not, would not, ever give up looking for Sarah and Cole.

He searched the majestic skyline for hope.