The Millionaires

36

Clutching the sides of the computer screen in his callused hands, Gallo glared down at the laptop that he balanced between his gut and the base of the steering wheel. For two hours, he watched Maggie Caruso make her lunch, clean her dishes, readjust the hems on two pairs of pants, and hang three silk shirts on the clothesline outside her window. In that time, she got two phone calls: one from a client, and one wrong number. Can you have it ready by Thursday? and I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name. That’s it. Nothing more.

Gallo cranked the volume up and opened the feeds from all four digital cameras. Thanks to their most recent interrogation, as well as her recent contact with her sons, they were able to expand the warrant and add one to her bedroom, one to Charlie’s room, and another in the kitchen. Onscreen, Gallo had views of every major room in the apartment. But the only person there was Maggie – hunched over the sewing machine on the dining room table. In the corner, an old TV blared midday talk shows. Up close, the sewing machine pounded like a jackhammer. For a full two hours. That’s it.

“Ready for some relief?” DeSanctis asked as the passenger door popped open.

“What the hell took so long?” Gallo asked, never taking his eyes off the laptop.

“Patience – haven’t you ever heard of patience?”

“Just tell me what you got. Anything useful?”

“Of course it’s useful…” Still standing outside, DeSanctis swung two silver aluminum attaché cases into the front seat, stacking them one on top of the other. Sliding in next to them, he pulled the top one onto his lap.

“They give you a hard time?” Gallo asked.

DeSanctis answered with a sarcastic smirk and a flip of the attaché locks. “You know how it is with a Delta Dash – tell ’em what you need, tell ’em it’s an emergency, and bing-bang-bing, the James Bond gadgets are on the next shuttle. All you have to do is pick ’em up at baggage claim.”

Inside the silver case, set into a black foam mold, DeSanctis found what looked like a pudgy, round camcorder with a wide oversized lens. A sticker on the bottom read “DEA Property.” Typical, DeSanctis nodded. When it came to high-tech surveillance, Drug Enforcement and the Border Patrol always got the top toys.

“What is it?” Gallo asked.

“Germanium lens… indium antimonide detector-”

“English!”

“Handheld infrared videocamera with complete thermal imaging,” DeSanctis explained as he peered through the viewfinder. “If she’s sneaking out late at night, it’ll home in on her body heat and spot her down the darkest alley.”

Gallo looked up at the bright winter sky. “What else did you get?”

“Don’t give me that look,” DeSanctis warned. Resting the infrared camera on his lap, he tossed the first case into the backseat and flipped open the second. Inside was a high-tech radar gun with a long barrel that looked like a police flashlight. “This one’s just a prototype,” DeSanctis explained. “It measures motion – from running water, to the blood flowing through your veins.”

“Which means what?”

“Which means it lets you see straight through nonmoving objects. Like walls.”

Gallo crossed his arms skeptically. “No friggin’…”

“It works. I saw it myself,” DeSanctis insisted. “The computer inside lets you know if it’s a ceiling fan or a kid spinning around in circles. So if she’s meeting someone in the hallway, or stepping out of camera range…”

“We’ll catch her,” Gallo said, grabbing the radar gun and pointing it up toward Maggie’s apartment. “All we have to do is wait.”