“Unit One to Unit Two. Where’s Compton at, Lenny?” Sikes said. It took a couple of minutes for the answer to come back.
“Two here. She’s at her desk, nobody else in the room.” Neary nodded. Sikes got on the radio again and told all of Neary’s people we were placing the call to Compton. They acknowledged, and Neary looked at me. I flicked on the voice box and punched her number.
“Cheryl Compton.” She spoke quickly. I said my piece, and again there was a long silence, longer this time than with Vetter. But when Cheryl answered, it wasn’t with laughter.
“Who is this?” she said in a low, tense voice.
“Ten minutes, Cheryl,” I said. More silence.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” she hissed. I hung up. Neary looked at me.
“She wasn’t laughing,” I said. Sikes called Pressman.
“Talk to me, Lenny.”
“She’s just sitting there, holding on to the arms of her chair, looking at the walls. She looks… I don’t know, real stiff.” There was a pause. “Now she’s picking up the phone. She’s talking, now she’s hanging up. Looks like maybe she left a message for somebody. Okay, she’s getting up now. I’m moving.” There was another pause, longer this time, then Pressman came back. “She’s walking around the main corridor, to the north end of the building. She’s going down one of the aisles. She’s at a window, looking out. I got to keep moving, sorry.”
We waited for Pressman to come back. Neary was pale and rigid with tension, and maybe anger. He looked exhausted. Sikes looked bored. Then Pressman spoke.
“Okay, she’s back in her office now. She’s on the phone again.. talking… hanging up. Looks like another message. She’s just sitting there again.” Neary looked at me.
“I don’t know, Tom,” I said. “Give her some time.” He looked at his watch. It was three-forty and getting dark out. It was also getting closer to rush hour, which mostly worked against us. The bigger crowds made it harder to spot a tail, but they also made it much easier to lose your subject.
“Twenty minutes,” he said. Sikes spread the word. We waited. Pressman gave us reports every five minutes. He told us about Cheryl Compton sitting, staring at the walls, calling numbers that seemed not to answer, pacing around her desk, sitting back down, and staring some more. Twenty minutes came and went, and Neary gave it fifteen more. Five minutes before that deadline, Compton seemed to settle down and go back to work.
“Something’s sure as hell bugging her,” Neary said. “And I’d like to know who the fuck she’s calling.” His voice was tight with frustration. He shook his head. “It’s getting late; let’s move on. Where are Desai and Mills?”
“Keep an eye on her, Lenny,” Sikes said into the radio. “We’re moving to the fourth floor now. Unit One to Unit Three, where are your guys?” Sanchez’s voice came over the radio, telling us that Mills and Desai were in their respective offices.
“Desai first,” Neary said. Sikes nodded and picked up the radio.
“Unit One to Unit Three. We’re going with Desai. Tell me what you see, Sanchez.”
Sanchez’s voice came back quickly. “I’m looking at him now, Eddie. He’s working at his desk.” Neary gave Sikes the nod, and Sikes notified all units that we were live with Desai. Neary looked at me. I picked up the cell phone and did my thing.
“What? Who… who is this?” Vijay Desai said. “Who are you calling for? Is this some kind of sales thing?”
“Ten minutes, Desai,” I said.
“Ten minutes for what? Who is this?”
I hung up. I looked at Neary and shook my head.
“Either a great actor or completely clueless. My vote is clueless,” I said.
Sikes got on the radio. “What’s the haps, Sanchez?”
“He’s just sitting there. Looks kind of confused.”
“Give him ten,” Neary said, but before Sikes could get back on the radio, Pressman’s voice cut in.
“Unit Two to Unit One. Vetter is moving. He’s got his coat on, headed for the elevators.” He sounded out of breath.
Sikes spoke quickly. “Unit One to Unit Six. You hear that, Juan?”
“I heard,” Pritchard said. “I’m by the doors. What’s he wearing, Lenny?”
“Tan pants, brown leather coat, thigh length, blue-and-red-striped scarf,” Pressman answered quickly.
“I’ll let you know when I pick him up,” Pritchard said. While we waited, Sikes spoke to Sanchez. Desai was apparently back at work. After a few minutes, Pritchard came back.
“Got him. He’s headed up Water, toward William Street. I’m half a block back,” Pritchard said. “Victor, you close by? Can you flank him?”
“Can do. I’m at Broad and Pearl, heading up Pearl to William,” Victor said.
“Stay with him,” Sikes said. The minutes passed slowly. It was nearly four-thirty, and night had all but fallen. The crowds were thicker on the sidewalks and the traffic heavier. It was going to be harder and harder to keep a tail. “Talk to me, Juan,” Sikes said.
“Turning up William Street, now. It’s getting crowded out here, Eddie,” Pritchard said. Neary checked his watch. Desai’s time was up. It was Mills’s turn. Neary gave Sikes the nod.
“Sanchez, where’s Mills?” Sikes asked.
“At his desk. I’m looking at him now.” I flicked on the voice box, but before Sikes could notify the units, Pressman broke in again, breathless.
“Shit, Eddie, I lost her. I lost Compton. Goddamn, her coat’s gone. Eddie, she’s off the floor. She may be headed out. Shit.” He was short of breath and sounded scared. Sikes’s face furrowed in dismay. Neary let out a huge, disgusted breath.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he said in a harsh whisper. He took the radio from Sikes. When he spoke, his voice was calm and level.
“Take it easy, Len. Check with the uniform at the desk. Lorna, you hearing this?”
The woman from the Chrysler answered. From the background noise, she was on the street. “Copy that. I’m headed toward the building now.” Then Pressman came back.
“She signed out five minutes ago, boss. Shit.” Lenny was not having a good day. I moved around the back of the van, peering out at the crowds streaming by. Neary stayed calm. He spoke into the radio.
“Lorna, keep your eyes open. She could be on the street, headed toward you. What’s she wearing, Len?”
“Gray pants, some kind of parka, light gray and blue,” Pressman answered. I looked out the rear windows. I caught a glimpse of a blue and gray jacket and a head of thick, brown hair.
“Got her!” I said. “On Water, headed toward Whitehall. Must’ve just passed us by.” Neary got on the radio again.
“Where are you, Lorna?”
“I’m at the bank, boss. You guys are closer,” she answered. Neary thought about it for a second, then reached into the back and came up with a tiny radio. He stuffed it in his pocket and plugged an earpiece in his ear. He handed Sikes the big radio.
“Eddie, you coordinate. Make sure everybody stays in touch. And keep that dork Pressman away from any sharp objects. I’ll take Cheryl,” Neary said. He looked at me. “You and Eddie do Mills. Fucking Murphy’s Law.” He smiled ironically, shook his head, and was gone. Sikes and I looked at each other.
“Call the ball, chief,” he said. I nodded. He called Sanchez.
“Mills just went to the can, Eddie. I’ll squawk you when he’s back,” Sanchez said. We waited and listened to the jumpy chatter on the radio. Pritchard and Victor were still on Vetter, in Hanover Square. Neary was on Compton, who’d turned up Whitehall. DiLillo was running up Broad Street, as best she could in the evening crush, trying to cut over to Whitehall and pick up Compton. Sanchez came on again, telling us Mills was back. I punched the number, and Mills picked up right away. I flicked on the voice box and spoke.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Then silence. Then he hung up.
“What’s up, Sanchez?” Sikes asked.
“You freaked him out. The guy is sitting there, white as a sheet, running his fingers through his hair.” Sanchez paused. “He’s got his cell phone out. He’s getting up, now. Shit. He shut the office door, Eddie.”