The Delilah Complex

Sixty-Eight

The detectives and the local police stood in the parking lot of the Greenwich Hospital discussing how to go about finding the house.

“Big town, small population. We’ve only got 60,000 people living here, but the township covers more than forty-eight square miles, much of it backcountry. Big houses on lots of acres. Canvassing would take days.”

“And all we have is a first name, and we’re not even sure it’s a real first name.”

Butler approached. With her was a uniformed cop from Greenwich along with a man wearing black pants, a white shirt and a black jacket with a hospital insignia on it. She introduced the man to Jordain and Perez.

“We’ve got something,” she said. “Mr. White here saw the woman who dropped off Phil Maur. He noticed the car because of the way it came careening into the lot. And like he does with all the cars that park in Emergency, he took down the license plate.”

“You are a good man,” Jordain said as he took the piece of paper with three numbers and three letters written in black ink. He looked at it and handed it to the local detective.

“Shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.”

“Make it three,” Jordain said.