When I got to the coffee shop, Kenny Sanchez was sitting in a booth, eating a plate of ham and eggs. There was a large brown envelope on the table beside his coffee cup. I sat down opposite him and nodded a suitably discreet hello.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, ‘Eddie, how are you? You want something to eat?’
‘No, I’ll just have a coffee.’
He nabbed a passing waitress and ordered the coffee.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said and tapped the envelope.
I felt my heart beat a little faster.
‘That’s great. What is it?’
He took a sip from his coffee.
‘We’ll come to that, Eddie – but first, you’ve got to be straight with me. This designer drug thing – how real is it? I mean, how do you even know about it?’
Obviously – having gone off and had himself a little think – he’d concluded that I was trying to put one over on him, to finagle the information out of him without giving anything substantial in return.
‘It’s real all right,’ I said, and paused. Then the waitress arrived with the coffee, which gave me a moment to think. But there was nothing to think. I needed the information.
When the waitress had gone, I said, ‘You know all these performance-enhancing drugs you read about in the papers, and that are tainting sport – swimming, track-and-field, weight-lifting? Well, this is like one of those, except it’s for the brain – a kind of steroid for the intellect.’
He stared at me, unsure of how to react, waiting for more.
‘Someone I knew was dealing them to Tauber.’ I nodded at the envelope. ‘If those are Tauber’s phone records, then this guy’s name is probably on there, too. Vernon Gant.’
Kenny Sanchez hesitated. But then he picked up the envelope, opened it and pulled out a sheaf of papers. I could see straightaway that it was a print-out of telephone numbers, along with names, times and dates. He riffled through them, looking for something specific.
‘There,’ he said after a moment, and held a page out, pointing at a name, ‘Vernon Gant.’
‘So is there a Todd listed on there, as well?’
‘Yes. Just three or four calls, all around the same time, a period of a couple of days.’
‘And after which there are no more calls from Vernon Gant either.’
He looked back at the pages, flicking them over, one by one, checking what I’d said. Eventually, he nodded and said, ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He put the sheaf of papers down on the envelope. ‘So what does that mean? He disappeared?’
‘Vernon Gant is dead.’
‘Oh.’
‘He was my brother-in-law.’
‘Oh.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. He was a jerk.’
We were both silent for a few moments after that. Then I took a calculated risk. I picked up the sheaf of papers, and when they were firmly in my hand, I raised my eyebrows at him interrogatively.
He nodded his assent.
I studied the pages for a few moments, flicking through them randomly. Then I came across the ‘Todd’ calls. His surname was Ellis.
‘That’s a New Jersey number, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. I checked. The calls were to a place called United Labtech, which is somewhere near Trenton.’
‘United Labtech?’
He nodded, and said, ‘Yeah. You want to take a drive out there?’
His car was parked just up the street, so within a few minutes we were heading down the Henry Hudson Parkway. We took the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey and then got on to the Turnpike. Kenny Sanchez had given me the envelope to hold when we got into the car, and after a few minutes on the road I’d taken the pages out and had started examining them. It was obvious that Sanchez was a little uncomfortable about this, but he didn’t say anything. I managed to keep things ticking over by talking, and asking him questions – about cases he’d worked, about anomalies in the law, about his family, whatever. Then, suddenly, I was asking him questions about the list. Who were these people? Had he tracked all of the calls? How did that work?
‘Most of the numbers,’ he said, ‘are connected to the business end of Dekedelia – publishers, distributors, lawyers. We can account for them, and for that reason have eliminated them. But we’ve also isolated a list of about twenty-five other names that don’t check out, that we can’t account for.’
‘Who are they to? Or from?’
‘To and from – and fairly regularly, as well. They’re all individuals living in major cities throughout the country. They hold executive positions in a wide range of companies, but none of them seems to have any connection to Dekedelia.’
‘Like… er,’ I said, homing in on one of the few out-of-state numbers I could find, ‘this… Libby Driscoll? In Philadelphia?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hmm.’
I looked out of the window, and as the gas stations, factories, Pizza Huts and Burger Kings flitted past, I wondered who these people could be. I tried a few theories out for size. But I soon became distracted by the fact that Kenny Sanchez now seemed to be looking in his rearview mirror every couple of seconds. For no apparent reason, he also changed lanes – once, twice, and then a third time.
‘Anything wrong?’ I said eventually.
‘I think we’re being followed,’ he said, switching lanes again and then accelerating.
‘Followed?’ I said. ‘By who?’
‘I don’t know. And maybe we’re not. I’m just being… cautious.’
I craned my neck around. The traffic coming from behind was flowing across three lanes, the whole busy highway winding back serpent-like over a hilly, industrial landscape. I found it hard to imagine how Sanchez could have isolated one car from all of these and thought it was following us.
I didn’t say anything.
A few minutes later, we took the exit for Trenton and after driving around for what seemed like ages finally arrived at an anonymous single-storey building. It was low and long, and looked like a warehouse. There was a large parking area in front of it that was about half-full. The only identifying mark in the whole place was a small sign at the main entrance to the car park. It had the name ‘United Labtech’ on it, and underneath a logo that strained for scientific effect – a kind of multiple helix set against a curving blue grid. We drove in and parked.
It suddenly occurred to me how close I might be to meeting Vernon Gant’s partner, and I felt a rush of adrenalin.
I went to open the door, but Sanchez put a hand on my arm and said, ‘Whoa there – where are you going?’
‘What?’
‘You can’t just walk in there. You need some kind of a cover.’ He reached across me and opened his glove compartment. ‘Let me do it.’ He took out a handful of business cards, flicked through them and selected one. ‘Insurance is always good for this type of thing.’
Undecided about what to do, I chewed for a moment on my lower lip.
‘Look, I’m just going to establish that he’s in there,’ Sanchez said, ‘It’s the first step.’
I hesitated.
‘OK.’
I watched Sanchez get out of the car, walk over to the entrance of the building and disappear inside.
He was right, of course. I would have to approach Todd Ellis very carefully indeed, because if I blurted out something inappropriate as soon as I met him – especially if this was where he worked – I might easily scare him off, or blow his cover.
As I sat there waiting in the car, my cellphone rang.
‘Hello.’
‘Eddie, Carl.’
‘What’s up.’
‘I think we’re there. Vision lock. Hank and Dan. I’ve asked them both to dinner in my place this evening, and it looks like we could be getting a final handshake.’
‘Great. What time?’