Where Are You Now?

75

D erek Olsen, camp chair in hand, was about to go out and walk down the block to see the wrecking ball destroy his old town house. Irritated at the second phone call from the detectives, he was even more irritated at the reason for it. “Sure Howie has a cell phone. Who doesn’t? Sure I know his number. It’s 917-555-6262. But I’m telling you something. That’s the one I pay for. I get the bill. I watch it like a hawk. Business only. I guess he has another. How should I know? I’m on my way out for some excitement. Good-bye.”

As Barrott waited on the line for Ahearn to check with Olsen, Detective Gaylor moved swiftly to secure the premises. With one hand he locked the door of Wallace’s office and with the other dialed 911 on his cell phone.

Then he heard Barrott explode as he reacted to what Ahearn was telling him. “The business cell phone that Olsen gave you for Altman is turned off! But wait a minute. Wallace would never have been stupid enough to call Altman on that line anyway. There must have been another number that he used to reach him. Hold on, Larry.”

In two strides Barrott was across the room and kneeling beside Wallace’s body, rummaging through his pockets. “Here it is!” He yanked out a small state-of-the-art cell phone, opened it, and scrolled through the directory. This has got to be it, he thought, as he spotted the initials “H.A.” He pushed 5 and then the send button and, breathing a prayer, held the phone to his ear.

It rang twice and then was answered. “Uncle Elliott,” an edgy, high-pitched voice said, “we did our good-byes last night. I don’t want to talk anymore. There’s only a few minutes left.”

The connection broke. Within seconds, Barrott was back on his own phone, giving Howard Altman’s number to Ahearn, who was frantically waiting to pass it on to the phone technicians who would trace it.