“Major exception here, Mike,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s hard for a human being to have more enemies than a career prosecutor,” Mercer said, taking his time to speak. “Alex has to be up top on a lot of hit lists.”
“She knows that. Knows that her specialty attracts some mean motherfuckers. Rapists, child molesters, wife-beaters.”
“She’s been threatened before. Big-time.”
“Comes with the territory. Most of her colleagues have also.”
“She’s in the middle of a huge screw-up right now,” Mercer said. “Antonio Estevez. And what did Drew Poser tell Alex when they discovered the computer hacking? That somebody was trying to bring her down.”
I kicked the base of a huge terra-cotta planter that held some kind of tall, exotic plant. “Makes no sense, Mercer. If they were out to kill her,” I said, not meaning the words to be as cold as they sounded, “she’d have been dead on the street. And if it was a kidnapping, there would already be signs of it-someone claiming credit or demanding ransom.”
Mercer took a minute to think about those points. I had gone from unconcerned throughout the day, to pissed off when I learned about her date with Jake, to beginning to lose my mind at the thought of Coop in the hands of the bad guys.
“Unless,” Mercer said, “it was a kidnapping gone wrong.”
I lowered myself onto a chair, put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands.
“Look at the time I’ve wasted, Mercer.”
“We’ve got to stay cool, Mike. Not going to help her if we don’t think it through. I was just throwing out a far-fetched idea, a reason why no one has claimed to have her yet.”
I picked up my phone again and continued dialing.
“TARU,” the voice on the other end said after three rings. “Detective Bowman.”
“Bowman? It’s Mike Chapman here,” I said, giving Mercer a thumbs-up. “I need a favor.”
“Again? Dude, you are like deep into me over here. We’re swamped this week. Haven’t you honchos at homicide ever heard of terrorists?”
“Can’t stand those guys. Wish they’d just stick to blowing each other to bits,” I said. “But I’ve got something more urgent. I need you to find a cell phone for me. Stat.”
“Like a where’s Waldo situation?” Bowman said. “Who’s Waldo and where’s his phone, right? Like, whatever happened to good old pounding-the-pavement detective work?”
“Love to chew the fat with you, Bowman, but this time Waldo’s a prosecutor who hasn’t been heard from in almost twenty-four.”
“Didn’t hear it on the nightly news.”
“Still under wraps.”
“Like he’s pranking you, maybe?” Bowman asked. “A pranking situation?”
“Like she’s taking a breather.”
He whistled into the phone. “She? Is it your main squeeze, buddy?”
“Good news travels fast,” I said.
“I just did a ton of work on that today for Drew Poser. DA’s squad. Alex Cooper’s computer. You know it got hacked?”
“Yeah. Heard that. I want to talk to you about what’s on it-at least, I’m sure she’ll want to-but she took the day off and we can’t raise her now.”
“Difficult broad, Chapman. Always has been,” Bowman said. “Hope nobody snatches her, because he’ll live to regret it. ‘Ransom of Red Chief’ situation. They’ll be wanting to give her back to you faster than you can say Alex Rodriguez.”
“Here’s the phone number,” I said, reciting the ten digits of Coop’s phone. “How fast can you get me a location?”
“Depends. The DA puts all kinds of blocks on their phones. And it depends how far she’s traveled. These e-mails I downloaded today from her account talk about her place on Martha’s Vineyard, and that can take longer because it’s out of range, so-”
“Forget about reading those personal e-mails, Bowman,” I said.
“How’s life in the fast lane, Chapman? Didn’t know you could write poetry like Shakespeare.”
“Lose it, man. I don’t send her e-mails. Just lose your plan to play with me,” I said. “When will you have an answer?”
“Consider it done. Cover me with a subpoena tomorrow, okay?” Bowman said. “I’ll call you back.”
I hung up and waited until Mercer finished his conversation.
“I got Bowman at TARU. He’ll do a GPS search on Coop’s phone,” I said. “What did you get?”
“That was the main business office at Uber-the night manager,” Mercer said. “I gave Alex’s name and the fact it was charged to her American Express account. Date, time, location of pickup, and supposed drop at 46th Street at Patroon.”
“He’ll do a search for you?”
“Yeah. He may or may not give me the info depending on whether I can back it up with a subpoena.”
“Of course we can. Call Catherine. She’ll cut them tonight.”
“Look, Mike,” Mercer said. “I’ll stick with you until midnight. I’ll give you four more hours before we make this an official report. I’ll call anyone you say and poke my nose in any place you tell me if you think it will lead us to Alex. But don’t go dragging anyone else into this phony operation and put their jobs at risk.”
I looked at the time on my phone. “Fair enough,” I said. “Four hours it is.”
I searched for the number of the Midtown Manhattan Security Initiative and hit CALL when I found it. The networked surveillance project-a joint venture of private businesses and public agencies-was staffed by NYPD officers 24/7.
I didn’t know the guy who answered the phone. “I’m Mike Chapman. Manhattan North Homicide.”
“How can I help you?”
Teams of these cops sat in front of banks of monitors that streamed video of streets and avenues all throughout the day and night. It seemed like a thankless job to me, but it had become a popular counterterrorism tool and in the meantime captured crimes in progress and countless traffic violations.
“I’d like you to check video for a particular location last night.”
“Okay. If we’ve got it covered on camera, I can get a guy to do it. You say it’s about a homicide?”
I was chewing on the inside of my cheek. “A possible lead. Just that.”
“What location?”
“Second Avenue. Start at 63rd and go up to about 68th. I know you’ve got Second ’cause of the bridge. Seven P.M. till midnight.”
There was nothing out of the ordinary about this request. And since bridges and tunnels were such vulnerable locations for terrorist activity, I knew there would be cameras all along the busy avenue leading downtown to the 59th Street entrance.
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything unusual. A car parked too long, with someone waiting in it. Thugs on the sidewalk, maybe with weapons they draw on a pedestrian. Scene that looks like an abduction,” I said. “Person being yanked off the street.”
“Man? Woman? Kid?”
“Woman,” I said, pausing for a deep breath. “Tall blonde in her late thirties, maybe in a trench coat. Possibly on the east side of Second, heading north.”
“Alone?”
“You tell me,” I said, giving the cop my name and number. “How about those side streets? Have you got cameras on them?”
“Mostly no. Sixty-Sixth and 67th are the streets with crosstown buses. They’re covered, but the others aren’t.”
“Okay,” I said. I didn’t like the answer. “I need this as fast as you can do it.”
“On it, Detective Chapman. Call you back.”
I turned to Mercer. “You’ve got to be patient,” he said. “Now you’ve set some things in motion, we wait for the responses.”
“We wait for nothing,” I said, grabbing my steno pad. “Let’s hoof it down to the restaurant. Retrace Coop’s steps. Maybe we can scare up a witness or two.”
TWENTY
A light drizzle had begun to fall. Mercer and I were on Second Avenue, just outside of Primola restaurant.
Giuliano told us Coop had slipped out after saying good night. He hadn’t seen which way she went.