Conspiracy

123

Amanda Rauci’s credit card had been used the day before to rent a car in Buffalo, New York; the information was flagged and passed along to the Desk Three analysts as soon as it reached the credit card company from the pro cessing firm, roughly eight hours after the transaction itself. The information led the analysts to request the tapes from video surveillance cameras at the two train stations that served Buffalo, Exchange Street and Depew. Neither station was very large, nor did many trains stop there. But Amanda Rauci had not been spotted.

A man who might have been Chief Ball, however, had gotten off at Depew, a suburban stop within a few miles of the rental outlet and the Buffalo Niagara International Airport.

“Why would they be traveling together?” Lia asked Rockman when he briefed her after she got up.

“No idea. There’s a slight possibility that they’re working together to solve this.”

“I doubt it,” said Lia. “What about the rental place? Did they have a video?”

“Don’t you think that was the first thing we checked?” said Rockman testily. “Clerk doesn’t remember her. Probably didn’t even look at the card. We’re checking to see if there are other video cameras in the area.”

“Did the FBI forensic team find anything in her car? Like blood?”

“Nothing. The car was vacuumed recently; that was about it. You can interpret that any way you want.”

Lia thought back to Amanda Rauci’s condo. She hadn’t struck Lia as a neat freak. Then again, maybe Amanda had cleaned the car before leaving on a long trip. Some people were like that — they wanted to start fresh.

Amanda checks out the police chief; then she leaves her car at a train station.

Maybe she didn’t leave it there — maybe Ball left it there after he got rid of her.

“You with me?” asked Rockman.

“Yeah, I’m with you,” said Lia.

“We’re going to send the clerk an e-mail with Amanda Rauci’s photo and see if he can remember her. You may have to go up there and talk to him. We’ll let you know later.”

“Peachy.”

“In the meantime, do you think you could get a sample of Chief Ball’s DNA?”

“As soon as I see him I’ll ask him to spit into a cup.”

“A few strands of hair would do it,” said Rockman. “Ask his wife.”

“You think she keeps it in a locket?”

“Hair in a comb. Listen, even a sweaty shirt will do.”

“All right.” Lia dreaded going back to the house and talking to Mrs. Ball; the woman’s pain registered transparently on her face. What ever the truth, this was going to end very badly for her. Lia, so stoic about pain when it came to herself or the sort of enemies she usually dealt with, suddenly found she had no stomach for inflicting it on a bystander.

“Check in every hour,” said Rockman. “We’ll call you if there’s anything new.”

“Fine,” said Lia. She pretended to turn off the sat phone, then signaled the waiter for another cup of coffee.