Chapter 54

CHAPTER 54

AFTER brEAKFAST, POE and Holmes headed to One Police Plaza in Poe’s powerful Oldsmobile 442. The eye-catching ’65 sedan turned heads at stoplights and got a few respectful salutes from yellow-vested cops on traffic detail. It was impossible to build up any real speed in morning traffic, but the dual exhausts still rumbled with authority.

Gripping the wheel, Poe was determined to shake off his worries about Helene and concentrate on the case. He needed to find out if the task force had anything new on the hospital or the school bus situations. He also knew the cops wouldn’t hesitate to hold out on them—especially Duff, pompous prick that he was. Poe was happy to have Holmes along for support.

Poe pulled into a reserved space at the side of the building and brought a placard out from under his seat. OFFICIAL POLICE BUSINESS , it said. He tossed it onto the dashboard.

On their way to the task-force floor, Holmes and Poe shared the elevator with a couple of cops, one male, one female. They both stood as still and silent as mannequins. When the elevator door opened, Poe exited first and led the way down the hall to the war room.

They got as far as the door.

“Sorry,” said the mountainous cop at the entrance. “Task force members only.”

“That’s us,” said Poe. “We’ve been on this case from day one.”

“They know us in there,” added Holmes, reaching for the door handle. The cop bumped him back with his chest.

Poe peered around the guard into the glass-walled room where detectives and FBI agents sat at long tables, noses buried in their laptops. He could hear muffled conversations and the squawk of police radios through the glass. TV monitors showed rotating views of the St. Michael’s parents’ residences. Poe recognized the living room of the Cade penthouse as it flicked by.

Holmes pulled out his PI identification and held it an inch from the cop’s face. “Private investigators,” he said. “Open the door, please.”

“Where’d you get that,” the cop asked, “eBay?”

“Hold on,” said Poe. “There’s Duff!” He slipped past the cop and rapped on the glass. Duff was in the middle of a huddle at the far end of the room. At the sound, he looked up. The lanky captain extracted himself from his meeting and headed for the door. The huge cop stepped aside as the boss emerged.

“This oaf won’t let us in,” said Holmes.

“That’s because he’s familiar with the chain of command,” said Captain Duff.

“What’s going on in there?” asked Poe. “Any leads? New information?”

“Well,” said Duff, “we know that three pissant PIs had a meeting with the St. Michael’s parents the night before last and got them all riled up, telling them that their babies would never be found in this lifetime.”

Poe shook his head. “That’s not what we told them.”

“The point is, you shouldn’t be telling them anything,” said Duff. “This is an official investigation, not some parlor game.”

“Those parents are paying us to find the truth,” said Holmes.

“Right,” said Duff. “And the citizens of New York are paying me to do the same thing. So do me a favor. Get lost and let me earn my overtime.”

“We have a right to be in there!” said Poe, making another move toward the door.

Duff stiffened his stance, blocking the way. The captain had about three inches on Poe and he was all lean muscle. He looked down his long nose with an unsettling sneer.

“Let’s be clear,” he said. “Your key to this room was your bedmate, and I have it on good authority that she’s left town. Maybe you should spend your time trying to track her down.”

Poe balled his right hand into a fist and swung for Duff’s prominent jaw. He felt a jolt to his upper arm, stopping his momentum. Holmes had Poe wrapped in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides and spinning him across the hall in an awkward dance. He looked back. The officer now had his Glock out, and two more cops were hustling in from either side, one tall and sinewy, the other built like a linebacker. They pried Holmes and Poe apart, then manhandled them separately toward the elevator. The door opened. The cops pulled Poe and Holmes inside. One of them pressed the L button.

“Okay, okay,” said Poe, squirming against the linebacker. “Let go. We’re good.”

The cop tightened his grip. “I’ll tell you when you’re good.” Sparks of pain shot down Poe’s arm to his fingertips.

When the elevator reached the lobby, the cops shoved Poe and Holmes hard toward the exit. Harder than necessary. “Take the hint, assholes,” the linebacker muttered.

Holmes paused to collect himself and rub the wrinkles out of his suit. “Some people haven’t heard that violence is the last refuge of the incompetent,” he said.

“Arthur Conan Doyle?” said Poe, still catching his breath.

“Isaac Asimov,” said Holmes. “I’m branching out.”

“Are you calling me incompetent for taking a swing at a police captain?”

“That’s different,” said Holmes. “You were defending the honor of a woman with child.”

“Children,” corrected Poe, holding up two fingers.

They were through the revolving doors now and standing on the sidewalk in front of Poe’s car. A traffic citation was stuck under the windshield wiper. Poe swiped it up and read it. “A hundred and fifteen dollars?”

“Cost of doing business with cretins,” said Holmes.

“What now?” asked Poe.

“I need a lift to Penn Station.”

“Meeting a train?”

“No. Taking one.”

“To where?”

“Delaware.”

“To find what?”

“I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Poe pointed toward his illegally parked Oldsmobile. “If you pay the fine, you can take the car. I’ll Uber back to Brooklyn.”

“No, thanks,” said Holmes. “I’m in the mood for a little nineteenth-century transportation.”

“Make sure you take that new pocket watch,” said Poe. “You’ll fit right in.”