Amid the Shadows (5 page)

10

Griffin and Buckley
left the small building and walked back toward their car.
 
Other than a few pictures from Barbara
Baxter’s desk and a colleague thinking she was supposed to see someone in New
York, they did not have much more than when they arrived.

As they reached their
white unmarked car, Buckley’s phone rang.
 
He pulled it from his pocket and answered.

“Buckley here.”
 
After a moment, he mouthed the word
Roberts
to Griffin.

Griffin instinctively
pulled out his own phone to find it dead again.
 
“God dammit.”

“Yeah,” Buckley
replied.
 
“I’m with him right now…we’re
just heading back from Albany.”

“What?!” he said,
freezing with one hand on the driver’s door handle.
 
“When?”
 
After a long pause, he replied with a simple “Okay.” and hung up.
 
He looked immediately to Griffin.
 
“Get in the car, Danny!”

Buckley opened his door
quickly and jumped in behind the wheel.
 

“What is it?” Griffin
asked, peering through the passenger window.
 
The sound of Buckley starting and revving the engine was all he needed
to jump in.

Buckley floored it, and
the car shot out onto the four lane boulevard.
 

“What? What the hell is
it?”
 
Griffin instinctively grabbed the
siren, reached outside, and stuck it to the roof of the car.

Buckley was still
accelerating as he wove in and out of other cars.
 
“There’s been an accident at the Human
Resources Building on 8
^th
.”
 
He looked at Griffin.
 
“At Social
Services.”

11

Christine looked at
Sarah’s tiny figure and then returned back down the hallway.
 
“She’s asleep.”

Griffin and Buckley
nodded as she sighed and collapsed down onto her couch.
 
She was dressed in sweat pants and a large
Patriots T-shirt.
 
Her hair was a mess
and her eyes were red, betraying how exhausted she was.

“How are you?” Griffin
asked.

Christine closed her
eyes and shook her head.
 
“I just can’t
believe it.”
 
She was quiet for a moment
and then looked at Griffin, sitting across from her on a chair.
 
“It was so horrible.
 
Did they find anything yet?”

“They’re still
looking.”

She shook her head
again.
 
“I’ll tell you what, if it
weren’t for Sarah being afraid of elevators…I mean if she hadn’t insisted we go
down the stairs instead…god, it would have been us.”

Both Griffin and
Buckley looked at each other as she reached forward and picked up her tea
cup.
 
They were thinking the same thing.

“And Sarah.”
 
Christine made a halfhearted chuckle and
leaned back on the couch sideways, folding her feet beneath her.
 
“I can’t believe what that girl is able to
deal with.
 
I mean look at me, I’m a
total wreck.
 
While she’s six and already
asleep.”

Christine suddenly
remembered something and looked around.
 
“Where’s Cassie?”
 
She eyed the
cat’s food bowl which was still half full.
 
“Have you seen her?” she asked the detectives.

They both frowned and
looked around the room.
 
“Uh no.”

“She’s a tough cat,”
Griffin said reassuringly.

Christine remembered
how Griffin used to say that a lot.
 

Buckley took a step
forward.
 
“When we got here, you said you
had something to tell us?”

Christine looked away
from the food bowl as if coming out of a trance.
 
“Yes, I do.”
 
She took another sip of tea and set the cup down again on the table.
 
“Someone called me today, at the office.
 
Someone who wanted to say something but was
afraid of the police.”

They both looked at her
attentively.
 
“Who?” Griffin asked.

“I don’t know.
 
She wouldn’t say.”

“She?”

“Yes, she,” Christine
repeated.
 
“She said she was a friend of
Barbara Baxter.”
 
She looked at Buckley
who was already scribbling on his notepad. “She said they were friends and she
had been worried about Barbara.”

“Worried how?”

“She said Barbara had
been acting weird lately, when she suddenly decided to take some time off.”

“Jobs get stressful,”
Griffin said. “Maybe she needed a break.”

“That’s kind of what I
said,” Christine replied.
 
She picked up
her warm cup again and nestled it between her hands.
 
“But she told me Barbara had done some things
that didn’t make sense.
 
For one, she
yanked Sarah out of school in the middle of the day.
 
Then she disappeared with just a day’s
notice.
 
The caller said that Barbara had
never done either of those things before.”

“Did she say anything
else?”

“Yes,”
 
Christine said slowly.
 
“And that is where it got a little weird.”

Buckley stopped writing
and looked up. “What do you mean?”
 

Christine took a deep
breath.
 
“She said that Barbara was
afraid for her.
 
For Sarah,” she quickly
clarified.

Griffin’s brow
furrowed.
 
“Sarah’s mother was afraid for
her?
 
How close is this friend?”

“Pretty close, I
think.”

“How do you know?”
 
Buckley asked.

Christine looked at
him.
 
“Because of what she said
next.”
 
She glanced back down the hall
and lowered her voice slightly.
 
“She
said there was something special about Sarah.”

“What does that mean,
special
?”

“I don’t know.
 
The woman said that Barbara Baxter had
brought it up a few times but would never go into detail.
 
I got the impression that this wasn’t
something Barbara would share with just anyone.
 
I could be wrong, but that was the feeling I got.”

“A woman we met today
at Barbara’s work said something similar,”
 
Griffin said.
 
“She talked about
how wonderful Sarah was; how she was a such an incredibly nice little girl.”

Christine thought about
it and slowly shook her head.
 
“I don’t
think that’s what this woman on the phone was referring to.”
 
She shrugged.
 
“It was a different…tone.”

“What kind of tone did
she use?” asked Buckley.

“I don’t know.
 
I can’t really explain it.
 
It’s just one of those things you feel.
 
I could be wrong.
 
It was just a feeling.”

Buckley’s phone
rang.
 
He excused himself and walked into
the kitchen to take the call.

While he was in the
other room, Griffin leaned closer to Christine.
 
“Chris, I’m getting a little worried, for you and Sarah.
 
I think there might be something else going
on here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he
shrugged.
 
“It’s just a hunch.
 
Something is not adding up.”

Christine did not
respond right away.
 
Instead she mulled
over what he said.
 
Finally she looked at
him.
 
“I don’t want to abandon her,
Danny.
 
I know that probably sounds weird
coming from me, but right now she has no one else.”
 
She paused.
 
“She trusts me.
 
I don’t know why
and I’m not even sure I want to know.
 
Maybe
everything changes tomorrow.
 
Maybe we
find some family or maybe you find whoever did it and arrest them, but, for
now, she
needs
me and it feels good to be able to help her.”
 
Christine stared down into her tea.
 
“I know it sounds strange, but it feels like
maybe I’m growing.”

Griffin stared at her
and smiled.
 
“It doesn’t sound strange,
Chris.”

Buckley could be heard
hanging up the phone.
 
He returned from
the kitchen with a grave look on his face.

Griffin looked up.
 
“What is it?”

Buckley looked at Christine
and then back to his partner.
 
“The
investigation team says it was not an accident.
 
The elevator was sabotaged.
 
The
explosion was not caused by a malfunction; it was designed to sever the
elevator cable.
 
And the emergency brakes
had been disabled first, which was the screeching you heard.”

Christine gasped and
dropped her cup on the rug, spilling the last of her tea.
 
She covered her mouth and looked at Griffin
who was now standing above her.

“That’s it,” he
said.
 
“We’re moving you.”
 

Thirty minutes later
they had three patrol cars waiting outside, and Christine had everything packed
for several days.
 
On Buckley’s shoulder
lay Sarah, half asleep.
 
Griffin held
Christine’s bag and stood behind her as she looked over the apartment one last
time.
 
She looked at the three bowls of
cat food on the floor, trying to decide if that would be enough.
 
Her cat Cassie was still nowhere to be found,
probably because of all of the recent visitors.

Christine closed the
door firmly and locked the deadbolt from the outside.
 
She turned around and looked at the others
waiting for her.
 
Three uniformed
officers stood on the sidewalk watching the darkened street.
 
She nodded to Griffin who turned and followed
Buckley and Sarah down the short walk.
 
As they neared the street, Christine noticed something on the far side
of the lawn area.
 
Something under the
hedge.
 
She froze and her eyes opened
wide.
 
“Oh no!
 
Is that-,” she started to cry.
 
“Is it…”

Griffin squeezed her
arm.
 
“Easy, it’s probably not what you
think it is.
 
Let me take a look.
 
Stay here.”
 
Sarah lifted her head off of Buckley’s shoulder and watched Griffin
cross the grass.
 
When he got to the
hedge, he knelt down to look at the object.
 
The others watched from behind as he knelt motionless for several
seconds.
 
Finally his head dropped
forward in disappointment.
 
He slowly
turned and looked over his shoulder, back at Christine.

“No!” she cried and ran
toward Griffin. He quickly jumped up and raced back to stop her mid-way.
 
Grabbing her arms, he worked to block her
line of sight.
 
“Don’t Chris,
don’t!”
 
He looked at her tenderly.
 
“I think a dog got her.
 
And you don’t want to see that.”

Christine had been
pushing to get past him but now stopped and looked at Griffin, hearing what
he’d said.
 
She kept crying, but through
her tears she knew he was right.
 
That
would be her last memory of Cassie and it would be more vivid than she could
bear.

Christine lowered her
head onto Griffin’s shoulder and continued to cry.
 
Gradually her breathing became less labored,
and suddenly she felt something in her hand.
 
She looked down to find Sarah standing next to her, her tiny hand inside
of Christine’s.

Griffin touched
Christine’s shoulder gently. “We’ve got to go.”

12

The safe location was a
nondescript house in a suburban neighborhood, forty minutes outside of
Manhattan.
 
The property was larger than
usual for the area, and the half acre lot allowed most of the house to be
hidden by a large group of beautiful Northern Red Oaks.

The two cars that
transported them, now parked in front of the small house, were unmarked to
avoid attracting attention from neighbors.
 
Fortunately, it was late in the evening and few people noticed them come
in.

Christine stood in the
small living room looking like she was in a daze.
 
In less than forty-eight hours, she had been
assigned a young child to care for, been the target of a deadly attack, lost
her twelve-year-old cat, and been forced out of her apartment and into a safe
house owned by the city of New York.
 
It
seemed so surreal.
 
She struggled to
believe any of it had happened, let alone all of it.

“Christine?”

She shook herself out
of her daze and realized that her name had been spoken several times.
 
She realized Cheryl Roberts was standing
right in front of her.

“Are you okay?” asked
Roberts.

Christine focused on
her and nodded.
 
“Sorry…yes.”

Roberts looked at
Christine and then down at Sarah who was standing next to her, still holding
Christine’s hand.

“Look, I know things
have been moving fast and that it’s probably all a little disorienting for
you.
 
But don’t worry, we’re going to
help you through this.”

Help me through
this?
Christine thought incredulously.
 
What part exactly?

Griffin came into the
room from down the hallway.
 
He had
insisted on inspecting the entire house himself.
 
“How you doin’ Chris?” he said, falling in
behind Roberts.

“Okay, I guess.”
 

The small room was
filled with old, but relatively clean, furniture.
 
The carpet was about twenty years old judging
from the color and shag, and on the far wall was a fireplace that looked like
it hadn’t been cleaned since the carpet was put in.
 
A wide-open doorway led into the kitchen
where a nice granite countertop clashed with the old kitchen table.
 
Behind that was the back door with a window
and faded curtains.
 
Through the
curtains, she could see the outlines of the security bars on the outside.

Roberts hoisted a small
duffle bag up onto the old coffee table.
 
She unzipped it and pulled out several articles of clothing.
 
“I stopped at the store and got some things
for Sarah.”
 
She fumbled through some of
them.
 
“Some pants, shirts, undies, and
socks.
 
There should be enough to last
several days.
 
I also got her a jacket.”
She pulled it out and showed Christine. “Since we don’t know how permanent this
warm weather is.”
 
Roberts looked down at
Sarah.
 
“Do you see any outfits you like,
honey?”

Sarah just shrugged and
moved further behind Christine.

Griffin came
closer.
 
“Listen Chris, I know this all
seems crazy, but don’t worry.
 
We’re
gonna find out who did this.”
 
He
motioned to the room behind him.
 
“This
is just to keep you comfortable and out of sight.
 
Keep in mind that there’s over a thousand safe
houses in New York, which means if anyone’s looking, you won’t be easy to
find.”

Christine was sure
Griffin’s comment was supposed to make her feel better, but it didn’t.

Roberts nodded.
 
“That’s right.
 
And no one knows you’re here, except
us.”
 
She moved past Buckley to the front
window and drew back the curtain.
 
“You’ll have two patrolmen watching from a car across the street,
twenty-four hours a day.
 
If you need
them, just flick this switch near the door.
 
It turns on the porch light.
 
If
they see that porch light come on, they’ll be here in
seconds
.”
 
Roberts looked back to them.
 
“You have nothing to worry about.”

Christine thought again
how every time someone talked about how safe they were, she felt more nervous.

After a few more
minutes of instruction on how things worked, what they should turn on, and what
they shouldn’t turn on, the three officers seemed satisfied.
 

Griffin gave
Christine’s shoulder a squeeze.
 
“Don’t
worry.
 
We’ll get this guy.
 
Just stay here and relax.”
 
He looked down at Sarah.
 
“And get to know each other.”

With that they backed
out and shut the door, waiting for Christine to lock the deadbolt behind them.

Once outside and back
to the cars, Roberts turned to Griffin and Buckley.
 
“Ramirez has an update on the technical
investigation.
 
You guys cover that, and
I’ll see if I can find any witnesses on the elevator job.”

Michael Ramirez was a
technical expert and one of the department’s best in computer forensics.
 
He had been with the NYPD for three years
after moving over from a stressful consulting position in the private sector,
culminating in a system meltdown which he had been warning his client about for
months.
 
He decided to try something a
little more fulfilling.

At six foot one inch,
with a barrel chest and shaved head, Ramirez did not fit the geek image by a
long shot.

Griffin and Buckley
walked into his lab, at almost 10 p.m., to find Ramirez at his desk with a hard
drive connected to a thick cable.
 
He was
slowly and methodically “peeling back” bytes from the drive that had been
written over several times in hopes of making the data unreadable, a common
situation during financial corruption investigations.
 
What he had been able to recover so far was
not going to help the banker’s case.

“Hey guys,” Ramirez
said, saving his progress and looking up.

“Hi Mike, appreciate
you staying late.
 
We were told you have
an update for us on the Baxter case.”

“I do indeed,” he said
and pushed his chair back from his desk.
 
Ramirez spun around and slid a few feet over until he was in front of
another keyboard and screen.
 
“So I took
a look at all of her stuff: credit card activity, financials, phone records,
the whole thing.”

Griffin and Buckley
knew what Ramirez had done used to take days with a warrant, but now could be
accomplished in hours or even minutes.
 

Ramirez logged into the
second computer and ran down a list of cases, until he got to the one with
Barbara Baxter’s name.
 
Typing in a few
commands, he brought up a list of line items.

“This looks like a
bill,” said Buckley.

“It is.
 
Her cellular bill actually.”
 
From the top he scrolled down several lines,
highlighting a few.
 
“I didn’t spot
anything unusual in her call records, but I noticed these lines in the
carrier’s system logs.”

Griffin looked closer
at the screen.
 
“Those don’t look like
calls.”

“They’re not,” Ramirez
replied.
 
He swung his chair around to
face the detectives.
 
“They’re
identification queries, or what you might call triangulation calls.”

“What are those?”

“A triangulation call
is when a carrier uses multiple towers to zero in on a cell phone’s
location.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“You can think of it like a cellular search light.”

Griffin looked at
Buckley then back to Ramirez.
 
“So what
does that mean?”

“It means someone was
looking for Barbara Baxter, as in her physical location.”
 
He turned back to the monitor.
 
“Normally, I would not have caught that, but
some strange characters in the logs got me curious.
 
But that’s not the best part.”

“What is the best
part?” Griffin asked for the both of them.

“The best part is when
I asked the carrier for more detail, they didn’t want to tell me, even though
they have to.
 
It was the first time I’d
run into that.
 
My guess is, whoever was
requesting these queries wanted it kept quiet.”

“Did the carrier reveal
who they were?”

“They did.”
 
Ramirez slapped his enter key and printed out
a few pages for them.
 
“Care to take a
guess who it was?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Griffin and Buckley
looked at each other and shook their heads.

Ramirez handed them the
printout.
 
“It was the State Department.”

They were both
surprised.
 
“As in the U.S. State
Department?”

“The one and
only.”
 
Ramirez looked at both of
them.
 
“And there’s something else.
 
These queries only started a few days ago.”