“Brett is just back from his first major crime workshop, and what do we drop in his lap? The case of missing celeriac.”
“It’s all the same kind of leg work, and it gets him out of his car and meeting people. How was Ann Arbor, by the way?”
“Ann Arbor is Ann Arbor. Saw a good movie, had some fantastic food, went to a jazz club.” She smiled, thinking that the real answer was she ate too much, drank too much champagne, and spent most of the weekend in bed making love.
28
Mackenzie had followed Ken Lee’s instructions carefully, and yes, there was a regular pattern. Mornings about 9 a.m., Sabotny and Rustova would leave their compound. After half an hour or so at The Espresso Shot, they would head for the Bayside Family Market, sometimes hand in hand like a loving couple, other times exhibiting some tension and distance. They would return about 20 minutes later with two or three paper bags, never plastic. Mackenzie speculated that they did European-style shopping, picking up what they needed for the day and not stocking a larder.
After several days of this, Mackenzie was ready to make her move. She positioned her car in an area of the parking lot used by the employees of the market, a far corner that afforded her a clear view of the entire area. From the moment they drove into the shopping area, she would have them in sight. Sipping on her own tall cappuccino, she watched them first enter the coffee shop and later head for the grocery store. She waited five minutes, then pulled into a parking place next to their vehicle. She’d rehearsed the placement of the GPS the evening before following Ken Lee’s step-by-step diagrams.
Taking several long, deep breaths, she glanced around to ensure that no one was in a position to observe her actions. Then, with the engine still running, she pushed her door open. After a quick second scan of the area, she moved to the rear of the SUV, dropped her purse, then quickly knelt to pick it up. In the process she slid the transmitter into position at the rear of Sabotny’s vehicle. Mackenzie slipped back inside her car, closed the door, and took one last look around before driving away.
That evening she and Ken Lee—2,500 miles apart—watched Sabotny’s movements from their separate locations, using Google Earth to get street-level views of his travels. Sabotny stopped at three spots: an Outback Steakhouse, a multiplex cinema, and a bar just south of Cedar Bay.
In the course of their conversation, Ken Lee reminded her that she needed to look again at the other guys who were in Sabotny’s company on the day of the attack. Her rational self knew that he was right, but her emotional self pushed back on the idea. The character she always saw in her nightmares was Richard Sabotny.
Before the conversation ended, Ken Lee mentioned that a friend in Florida had run the plates on the Range Rover and the Lexus. Both vehicles belonged to RS Investments, LTD, a company registered in Belize. “I had my friend do a little a more checking. RS Investments also has a couple of Visa debit cards and a merchant account at Belize Caribbean International Bank. That’s probably how Sabotny is getting around U.S. currency and tax laws. He has total access to his fortune because these transactions are currently almost untraceable.”
“How much is all this research costing me?” asked Mackenzie.
“Nothing. This was a quid pro quo. I’ll let you know if and when the meter is running. By the way, did you put the GPS transmitter in your Subaru?”
“Yes, and if you stay up a few more hours, you can watch me go to a 7 a.m. yoga class in Traverse,” she answered. “I’m taking a vacation day tomorrow. Living like a real person.”
“Good idea. Have fun,” he said. “I’ll watch your travels with my morning tea.”
Mackenzie woke at five, made coffee, and searched her almost barren cupboards and refrigerator for something appealing to eat. Her choices were one large brown egg, a navel orange, assorted energy bars, and some wilted celery. She opted for the egg and orange, tossing the celery in the garbage.
Lingering over her coffee, she used her iPad to check the web for times and locations and quickly came up with a schedule: yoga at 7 a.m., and a massage at nine to be confirmed by e-mail. She thought about having her nails done, maybe some shopping. She would ask the women in her yoga class to recommend places. She’d find a bookstore, too, and take time to browse—sheer luxury.
Several hours later, Mackenzie drove back north with new books on the passenger seat and bags of food and wine from the organic co-op filling the back hatch. The tension building for weeks had finally dissolved. Just doing a few routine things had pulled her away from the cloak and dagger world in which she had immersed herself.
A late season storm had rolled in the day before from the southwest, bringing a mixture of heavy rain, sleet, and snow, but this afternoon the drapes of her great room opened to a brilliant, sunlit landscape. The bay had only a modest chop and yesterday’s snow had all but disappeared while she’d been in Traverse. Even the grass on the hillside above the shoreline was starting to show the first signs of green.
Mackenzie pivoted back and forth in her desk chair as she studied at the names on her computer screen. Ken Lee was right. She had focused on Richard Sabotny as the main perpetrator and let the other boys who were present that day slide into the background.
Restless, she pushed back from the desk and walked to the wall of glass. There was his house across the bay. She looked through her telescope, zooming in on the windows. In the bright daylight, her scope couldn’t probe the interior, but she took some satisfaction in knowing that the mirrored glass on her windows provided a similar barrier to prying eyes.
Mackenzie returned to her computer and looked again at the file that contained the names and rather limited information she had been able to collect on the four boys, now grown men. Each entry included her personal memories of them.
Richard Sabotny, aka Rich. Leader of the group on the day of the assault. Known as the toughest kid in the school, even some of the teachers seemed to be afraid of him. Often involved in fistfights in the parking lot after school hours. Known for bullying people. According to Classmates bio, he was career military. Recently resettled in Cedar County. No hits on Google other than the Classmates piece. See more extensive note on Sabotny in Ken Lee file.
Zed Piontowski, aka Smokey, followed Richard Sabotny around, probably enjoying the status of being a buddy of the toughest kid in the school and also enjoying the protection that friendship probably afforded him.
Zed got on the bus several miles north of Sandville. He lived in an old trailer with a multitude of brothers and sisters from various fathers. His siblings had different last names.
At 15 or 16, he was short and rail thin. Like a small dog, Zed didn’t have a sense of his size. He was ready to throw a punch at the least provocation. What he lacked in stature, he made up for with his loud, obscenity-filled speech. He always smelled foul—lack of bathing, soiled clothes redolent with the smell of wood heat, tobacco, and greasy food. His jeans and tattered shirts were soiled, the holes genuine, not fashion statements. Away from school, he always had a cigarette in his mouth.
Listed in online yearbook at Classmates, but no photo available. No current phone listing in Cedar County or the surrounding area for anyone with the last name of Piontowski. Ditto for Facebook and Twitter. One hit on Google from the Galveston Daily News for a Zed Piontowski: homeless man identified by a former girlfriend, her name not given. No age given. Death caused by drug overdose. Deceased found with needle stuck in his arm.
Zed was with the other boys the day of the attack. He was hanging back, watching. In a strange kind of way he was a friend of Terry’s. Maybe it was a bond of poverty.