Part 47 (1/2)
”Marvelous,” Eli said. He'd put this woman on the back burner, but now he was remembering what she'd said and his anger flared anew. ”Who is she?”
Strauss pulled out a note pad. ”Name's Gia DiLauro. Works as some sort of artist. But things don't add up with her. I ran a check on her state income tax and she doesn't make the kind of money that would put her anywhere near the ultra-tony neighborhood she lives in.”
”An artist, hmmm?” Eli said. ”Well, we'll find out where she sells her paintings or who she works for and see that her showings and sources of income dry up. That'll be for starters. Then-”
”She's got a kid,” Strauss said.
Eli caught his breath. A child. Oh, this was too good to be true.
”Go on.”
”It's another of the weird things about her. She's got a daughter she claims as a dependent but the kid's got a different last name: Westphalen. Victoria Westphalen.”
”And her age?”
Please say under ten, Eli prayed. Please.
”Eight.”
Silence in the room as the three men exchanged glances.
”Eight,” Adrian breathed. ”That's... perfect.”
More than perfect, Eli thought. If they could get hold of the child in time, she could become the lamb for the next Ceremony. And her sacrifice would offer the lagniappe of crus.h.i.+ng her bitter-tongued mother.
How wonderful. The mere possibility made his blood tingle.
”Find out everything you can about this child, Freddy. Everything. Immediately. We don't have much time.”
6.
Jack reached the office of Kristadoulou Realtors a little ahead of schedule. Since it was on Steinway Street he'd decided to get a two-fer out of the trip by stopping by his Queens mail drop on the way. He rented boxes in Hoboken and Manhattan as well, but every two weeks they forwarded all his mail to the Astoria drop. With a pair of manila envelopes under his arm, he figured he'd kill the ten minutes to appointment time by checking out the hood.
Kristadoulou Realtors sat in an old stone building in the heart of one of Steinway's most commercial blocks; its windows were filled with photos of properties they had listed. The rest of the street was lined with triple deckers-stores at ground level, two floors of apartments above.
He walked south on the west side, pa.s.sing little old Greek ladies with shopping bags, lots of guys with black mustaches yammering into cell phones, couples laughing and talking, hardly anyone speaking English.
The businesses were like a poster for ethnic diversity: a storefront touting ”Immigration Medical Exams” next to the Kabab Cafe next to the Nile Deli, then an oriental rug merchant, and something called Islamic Fas.h.i.+on, Inc. A little farther on was the Egyptian Cafe, the Arab Community Center, and the Fatima Pediatric Center; farther still was a Colombian bakery and a Chinese Qi Gong center specializing in back and foot rubs.
He crossed the street and turned back north, pa.s.sing Sissy McGinty's Irish pub, the Rock and Roll Bagel restaurant, an Argentinean steak house, an Egyptian coffee shop right next door to an Italian espresso place. He stopped before the window of an Islamic religious shop offering prayer rugs, incense, and a special clock: ”5-Full Azan Talking Alarm Clock-Jumbo Display With 105-Year Calendar.” Jack had no idea what any of that meant.
He spotted Lyle getting out of a cab. He looked every inch the African today-blue-and-white batik kaftan, white cotton pants, sandals, and a brightly colored knitted tarn. He blended in with the rest of the exotically dressed locals. Jack was the stick-out in his Levis and golf s.h.i.+rt.
”You made it,” Lyle said when he spotted Jack. ”I wasn't sure if you got my message.”
”I got it.” He gestured at the surrounding stores. ”Do all these folks get along?”
”Pretty much.”
”Ought to bring the UN here for a look-see. Find out how they do it.”
Lyle only nodded. He didn't look so hot. Even with his eyes hidden behind dark gla.s.ses, his face looked strained.
”You okay?”
”Me? Okay? Not even close.”
”Uh-oh. What happened?”
Lyle glanced at his watch. ”Tell you later. Right now we're due to see Mr. K. But before we go in, I want you to know how I'm going to play this, okay?”
”Sure. This is your show. Shoot.”
”I'm going to let him him think that think that I I think the house is haunted.” think the house is haunted.”
”Well, it is, isn't it?”
”Yeah, but I don't want him knowing how how haunted. And no mention of Tara Portman or whatever it's calling itself.” haunted. And no mention of Tara Portman or whatever it's calling itself.”
”Tara Portman was a real person,” Jack said. ”Gia and I looked her up on the Internet last night.”
” 'Was'?”
”She was nine when she was abducted in the summer of '88. Never seen again. Her picture matches the girl Gia saw.”
”Oh man!” Lyle clapped his hands and grinned. ”Oh man, oh man, oh man!” man!”
Jack had expected astonishment, or at least a touch of awe or wonder. Not this outright glee.
”Why is this good news?”
”Never mind,” Lyle said. ”Let's go see the Big K.”
Jack wondered what was going on in Lyle's head. He seemed to have developed a personal agenda. That was okay with Jack-he had an agenda of his own. He just hoped they didn't cross each other.
Inside, Konstantin Kristadoulou was expecting them and a secretary led them to a rear office where they met the head man. Jack fully appreciated the 'Big K' remark as Lyle introduced him. They seated themselves in the two rickety chairs on the far side of his desk.
Kristadoulou Realtors looked to be a no-frills operation. Maybe because its owner ate all the frills. At least he looked like he did. Konstantin Kristadoulou dwarfed even Abe in the waistline category. Jack figured he was pus.h.i.+ng seventy, but the puffy face and quadruple chins stretched out all the wrinkles, so it was hard to tell. His longish, thinning gray hair was combed straight back to where it flipped up at the collar.
”So,” he said, glancing at Jack with his dark, heavy-lidded eyes, then fixing them on Lyle. His voice was lightly accented. ”You wish to know about the house you bought, Mr. Kenton. Why is that? No trouble, I hope?”
”We took some damage from the earthquake,” Lyle said.
”Serious?”
”Just some minor cracks.”