Page 13 of Holmes Is Missing
“All right. I’ll do it. This one meeting. For Helene.”
“Bravo,” said Marple.
“It’s the least I can do,” said Holmes. He stared straight at Poe. “The poor woman deserves one level-headed male in her life.”
CHAPTER17
BY THE TIMEMarple and her partners walked into the St. Michael’s task force war room at One Police Plaza, it had already been humming for over twenty-four hours. The place reeked of body odor and burnt coffee. Marple saw Holmes wince, and worried that his sensitive olfactory bulbs would be overwhelmed. She grabbed his arm. “Steady, Brendan.”
Most of the clearly sleep-deprived occupants were NYPD detectives or techs. A few wore blue windbreakers withFBIstenciled on the back. On one wall, scans of six newborns were lined up like yearbook photos, captioned only with a gender and the parents’ surname. “Girl Pickard,” “Boy Bronson,” and so forth. Otherwise, they looked pretty much interchangeable. Across the room, Captain Graham Duff looked up in annoyance.
“Again?”he called out. “Who the hell invited you people?”
He slammed a folder down and started across the room. Helene Grey stepped up from a table nearby and blocked his way. “I did, Captain. Maybe they can help. Fresh eyes.”
“Fresh brains,” added Holmes. “From what I can see, everybodyin this room is mentally depleted—including you, Captain. No offense.”
Duff stared for a second, then narrowed his eyes. “So this is the mighty Holmes. The missing link.” He leaned in with a faux-confidential whisper. “Where have they been hiding you?”
“I was taking a self-improvement course,” said Holmes. “I highly recommend it.”
“What are we looking at here?” asked Marple, diverting everybody’s attention to a huge monitor at the front of the room. The image on the screen was segmented into six rotating scenes of beautiful city apartments and luxury houses. It looked like the home page for a high-end realtor’s website.
“We’ve tapped into the parents’ laptops and phone lines,” said Grey.
“You mean the people who hired us?” said Poe. “Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?” Marple noticed that Poe and Helene were barely looking at each other.
“We have their permission,” said Duff. “On the basis of security and efficiency. Spared us the need for warrants. In my mind, they’re all persons of interest.”
“Agreed,” said Holmes. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a client in cuffs.”
The observation sounded cold, but to Marple, it showed that her partner’s analytical mind was at least partly engaged, which was a good thing. She took a step closer to the screen. The captions at the bottom of the images matched the surnames of the babies. As the visuals rotated, she recognized a few of the parents pacing through the frames. The scenes confirmed something else they all had in common:
Money.
Even seen through laptop lenses, the rooms were dazzling. One was a high-ceilinged loft filled with Craft Revival antiques.Another was surrounded by glass, with a stunning river view. A third sat near the top of a Manhattan high-rise, looking out over Central Park. The audio on the feeds was muted, but the faces that occasionally loomed into view all looked severe and drawn.
“The world’s most depressing Zoom meeting,” muttered Poe.
“The parents are sitting at home, waiting for ransom calls,” said Duff. “If we get a hit, we’ll trace it from here.”
Holmes turned away from the screen and swept his gaze across the busy room, his expression grim. “There won’t be any ransom calls, Captain.” He waved his hand toward the screen. “This is all a waste of time and money.”
Marple was encouraged to hear that Holmes’s intuition matched hers—even if their conclusions were equally bleak.
“Mr. Holmes is right,” said Marple. “These babies aren’t hostages. They’re merchandise.”
CHAPTER18
JUST THREE MINUTESlater, after a few more tense exchanges with Duff, Holmes had had all of the cramped war room he could tolerate. The smell in the crowded room was getting to him. Plus the apparent futility of the operation.
He turned to Marple. “This is worse than useless,” he said. “If you want my help, I need a firsthand look at the crime scene.”
“I agree,” said Poe. “Let’s start earning our fee.” Holmes could tell that his partner was eager to leave for reasons of his own. Grey had returned to her station near the front of the room. She was tapping on a keyboard, her nose close to her laptop screen. Holmes looked back when he reached the door with Marple and Poe. Grey didn’t even look up.
Poe’s blue ’73 Plymouth Road Runner was waiting across the street. It was a short drive from NYPD headquarters to St. Michael’s. Poe pulled into the small employee parking lot.
Marple pointed at a metal sign in front of the parking space. “Doctors only, Auguste,” she said. “You’ll get towed.”