Raymond Benjamin repeated both numbers to the woman on the other line. He was standing at a pay phone at Eighty-First and Columbus in New York City. Vince was
Uptown. He'd called frantically ten minutes ago, saying
Parker, the girl and some black guy had gotten into the same car they'd been driving the other night and sped away. Vince said they looked like they were in a hurry. And that made Ray Benjamin nervous. He had a feeling somehow Parker had found the Reeds. And if he had,
Benjamin would be in a world of trouble.
No, there was still time. But it meant Ray had to get creative.
The Ford Windstar had been bought in his name. He'd never used that stupid Pioneer system, since the last time he trusted a computer for direction he ended up somewhere with cows and silos. Not exactly what he was looking for.
The one thing he did have to be thankful for was reading the damn machine's instruction book. Just in case. He remembered reading that, in case of an emergency, you could call a Pioneer technician and receive help in either starting or locating your car.
When he signed the papers, he'd made sure to authorize Robert and Elaine Reed, as well. They'd be the ones driving it, and he didn't need them to be pulled over and have to explain their relationship. Thankfully he knew everything about Robert and Elaine Reed, from social security numbers to their son Patrick's birthday.
"Mr. Benjamin, how did you say you lost the car again?"
"Lost it?" Ray said. "Actually, we think our son took it out for a spin last night, got drunk and got a ride home from a friend. When he sobered up he couldn't remember where he left it. I'd really rather not get the police involved unless we have to. All I want is my car back."
There was a moment, and then Raymond heard the woman say, "Mr. Benjamin, according to our tracking system your car has been located in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. On Lindle Road, right by the entrance to I-283
North. It looks like it's right off of exit 2. Sir, you're sure you don't want us to contact the police? Our caller ID shows you're phoning in from NewYork City. That's quite a drive."
"No worries," Raymond said. "I'm a fast driver."
35
The Harrisburg Sheraton was right off of the Interstate, about a hundred yards down Lindle Road and a few miles east of the Oberlin College campus. Though the night sky had descended on the city, I could see that the trees were full, the grass lush. The town had a wonderful, oldAmerica feel. And we were less than ten miles from
Hershey Park. Unfortunately, this wasn't the best time to check out the chocolatey goodness.
Some terrible techno music was playing on the radio, but I hadn't been paying attention for the past hour. Every minute that passed we were closer to finding the Reed family and getting to the bottom of this bizarre triangle.
Dmitri Petrovsky.
Robert and Elaine Reed.
Raymond Benjamin.
Three groups of people that would never have any sort of interaction in a normal world, yet for some reason they'd become intimately involved in one another's lives and businesses. I hoped Curt's boys had done their homework at the precinct, and I hoped that, if this was the place, that the Reeds hadn't already packed up ship.
My eyes were weary. A three-and-a-half-hour trip doesn't sound like much, but after a full day's work in addition to the other stresses involving Jack and this story, it was all I could do to keep focus. I had to keep telling myself what the opportunity was here, both the truth to be revealed and the benefits for the Gazette. Things would be tough with Jack out. I liked Wallace, and the man had been almost endlessly supportive, but he was hardly a mentor.
I was on my own at work. Thankfully the two people in the car were my backup.
The Harrisburg Sheraton was a fairly quaint hotel, the low-slung roof lined with hanging plants out front. Lamps in the grass lit up a trail that went from the parking lot to the entryway, and the guest rooms, about eight floors of them, were just a few yards beyond.
I parked the car, turned off the ignition.
"How you all feeling?" I said as we exited the car. Curt stretched, his long limbs raised into the sky. I noticed the gun by his hip. He'd come in plainclothes. There wouldn't be much love for an NYPD cop in PA. Amanda had on a nice purple blouse. She wrapped her arms around her chest, looked slightly worried.
"I'm good," she said. "Could use a bathroom break."
We walked into the hotel. The floors were covered in beige tiles, and half a dozen overstuffed chairs surrounded tables. A few hotel guests were seated, reading books and newspapers, sipping coffee.
Curt said, "They're not just going to give us the room number. I thought about this. We need a way to find out what room the Reeds are in without alerting them to the fact that we're here."
"Oh, man," Amanda said, sighing. "You guys are seriously like troglodytes. Does everything have to depend on me?"
She walked up to the reception desk as Curt and I watched, curious, scared and feeling a little emasculated.
We trailed behind Amanda just enough that we could hear, but far enough behind in case her ruse specifically did not include us.
"Hi," Amanda said, sprawling her arms across the desk.
"Lissen, I need to see my boh-friend. He's staying in your ho-tel. I think he might be with his wife, so I guess this really is a ho-tel."
The receptionist, a guy with acne scars and a badge that read "Clark," who looked like his first day on the job was tomorrow, said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, what can I help you with?"
"My boh-friend," she slurred. "Robert Reed. He's in this ho-tel. I need to know what room he's staying in."
"Ma'am, we're not supposed to give out guests' information. If you'll just…"
Amanda dug into her purse, then slapped something down on the desk. Clark's eyes bugged open. Curt and I leaned in closer. When I saw what it was, I had the exact same reaction as Clark.
"M-Ma'am," Clark said, stammering now. "That's a condom."
"You're damn right. Robert promised me a good time tonight, so if you don't tell me where I can find him, I'm jus' gonna have to find someone else at this ho-tel to do what he can't." She looked around, a lascivious grin on her face. "Do you have a bar in this hotel?"
Clark gulped, then ran some digits into his computer.
He looked at Amanda as though to make sure she hadn't started propositioning guests. She hadn't, though she was licking her lips. I had to close my mouth, look away.
"Mr. Reed is staying in room 602. Now, if you'll please, just go find him. We don't need anyone causing a scene."
"Much obliged," she said, leaning over. "Clark."
Amanda headed for the elevators. We waited a moment before following her. When the doors closed, I said, "You sure you weren't trained at Juilliard?"
"God, you guys could use a set of balls sometimes.
Come on."
The door dinged open. We followed the signs toward room 602. The halls were lined with seashell-shaped lights, and the carpet was a zigzagging pattern of red-andblack squares. A few pieces of standard hotel art hung on the walls. Men fishing off piers. A windmill across a bay.
I had no eye for art. For all I knew these pieces could have secretly been worth millions.
When we came to 602, we stopped in front of it. Curt and Amanda stood to either side of me.
"I'll do the talking," I said. "Curt, if we need you…"
"I have my badge on me, Henry."
As I got ready to knock, I heard the ding of another elevator opening onto the sixth floor.
"Hold on a second," I said. "Just make sure they're going in another direction. Nobody needs to see three people hanging around the hallway."
They didn't respond. The footsteps appeared to be heading our way. No big deal, I thought. Hotel guests going back to their hotel room. Even if they were heading this way, they'd enter their room and be done with it. We'd be talking to the Reeds before anyone had a chance to get suspicious.