From my seat in the interrogation room, I watched Muller’s BMW negotiate traffic from Silicon Valley to San Francisco, where she got out of the car on Stevenson, a small alley parallel to Market Street.
She gave the valet several bills, and although Jad’s camera was out of audio range, I knew she was saying something like “Don’t bury my car. I’m going to need it fast.”
The video ended—no doubt Downey shutting it down in order to park his own vehicle. As we already knew, bugs had been planted in Chan’s room prior to his planned assignation with Muller.
Downey said to me, “That’s all. You saw the video from fourteen-twenty. Muller gets naked with Chan and the network goes down. End of story.”
“You mind making me a copy of that footage?”
Downey grabbed the laptop away from me and closed the lid.
“Look. I showed you what you asked for. I’ve put my life in danger for this bullshit. I haven’t committed a crime. Now, let me out of here, or I’m getting a serious, no-shit lawyer to sue you in federal court for violating my constitutional rights. Why don’t you think about that?”
There it was. The man had said “lawyer.”
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Downey. You’re free to go. I’ll walk you out.”
CHAPTER 84
BACK AT MY desk, I contacted Monterey PD and spoke with the squad commander, asking if he had new information on Muller. I said, “I’m hoping she’s been seen.”
“No sightings and not a clue,” he said. “The husband calls every day, and every day we have to tell him we’ve got nothing.”
I relayed this subzero news to Brady, who told me that a guy from the forensics lab would be at my apartment at eight the next morning to sweep it for bugs.
I said, “Could you get him to come tonight?”
As usual, our lab was overworked and overwhelmed. And now I was pleading for a tech to check my apartment for spy cams. It was just too freaking sad.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Brady.
At the end of the day, Conklin drove me home and stood watch as I went inside the building. Mrs. Rose brought me up to the last burp in Julie’s day, and after she’d gone home to her apartment across the hall, I ate dinner in front of the TV and had some quality time with my little family.
In the relative quiet, now that I had time to think, something about Jad’s recordings of the action in the hotel rooms started to bother me.
What was wrong with those pictures?
Was it something I’d seen or heard? Or was it something I’d missed? I thought about the two tech kids. I thought about Chan and Muller playing on the hotel sheets. I tried to home in on the nagging feeling and get it to come to Mama.
And then, just as America’s Got Talent was starting, the intercom buzzed and I let Dale Culver, our lab’s top bug-buster, into the apartment.
Julie and I sat in Joe’s big chair while Dale dismantled my phones and passed wands over the light fixtures and under the furniture. When he had finished and packed away his gear, he said, “Sergeant, you are certifiably bug-free.” I thanked the earnest young man for working overtime and put the baby to bed.
I was vigorously scrubbing a pot when my cell phone rang. I stripped off my wet rubber gloves and snatched up the phone without checking the caller ID. I wouldn’t have recognized the number anyway.
I just barely recognized the voice that said, “Lindsay. It’s me.”
“Lindsay’s not here,” I said.
I jabbed the Decline button and tossed my phone onto the counter, where it bounced and clattered. It rang again. After three rings, just before the call went to voice mail, I grabbed the phone and said, “What do you want?”
“I want you to listen to me. Please.”
I walked to the sink and turned off the faucet. “I’m listening,” I said with all the warmth of a frozen bag of peas.
“I found Muller. She’s hiding out north of Vancouver,” Joe said. “I’m flying up there tonight. You should come with me.”
“Why, Joe? Why should I do that?”