Dark Room (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 2)

Bingo.

Way at the bottom of the sheet, was the perp’s contact info, blacked out just like the rest of the data. Only here the marker had grown faint near the end of the line. Monty could make out the last four digits of the phone number: 0400.

Finally. Something to go on.

Monty replaced all the documents and laid the file neatly on Charlie’s desk.

THERE WAS NO time to waste in driving back to Queens, so Monty went directly to Lane’s apartment, flipped on the computer, and started his search. He punched in the 212 area code—the only one that existed in NYC thirty years ago—and tried every conceivable exchange. He knew damned well he could be royally screwed; if the phone number had been disconnected or transferred to another party decades ago, finding out who it belonged to back then would be a bitch.

Luck was on his side, because thirty minutes later, he hit pay dirt.

The number 212-555-0400 was still very much in existence. It belonged to a mega-successful real estate development company that had been thriving for many years—the same company Charlie Denton had mentioned before.

Kellerman Development, Inc. The company where, thirty years ago, Daniel Kellerman’s brand-new son-in-law, Arthur, had been corporate counsel.

Another solid indicator that the CI in question was George Hayek.

The timing of all this fit with Monty’s theory. Hayek had made the call after his gunrunning arrest. That explained how he’d become an informer for the D.A. Arthur must have contacted Jack, and they’d struck a deal. Jack got a great inside informer, and Arthur got Hayek off the hook—probably for Lenny’s sake.

Interesting. Arthur had lied to Monty about never having spoken to Hayek since he left Lenny’s.

That made two distortions on the congressman’s part: his unexplained shirt change at the Kellermans’ Christmas Eve party, and the phone call from Hayek and subsequent deal cut with Jack.

What else had he lied about?

Monty had all Denton’s paperwork to pore over; details, dates and times to match up. And after that, he and Congressman Shore were going to have a nice, long chat.

Hours passed.

Monty was deep into reading and note taking, when his cell phone rang.

Annoyed, he glanced down at the caller ID. He had no intention of answering, until he saw that it was Morgan.

He punched on his phone. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“I’m not sure.” Morgan sounded more emotional than scared. “I just got a very unnerving package.”

“A package?” Monty was on instant alert. “What kind of package? And what do you mean by unnerving?”

“It’s a Tyvek envelope. And I don’t mean dangerous, so don’t panic. There are no twisted threats. It’s only a card, a note, and a Post-it. It’s just that—” Morgan’s voice broke, then she resumed. “It’s not something I can get into on the phone. I’ll only cry, and that’ll waste time. I spoke to Arthur’s doorman. He said the Tyvek arrived by delivery service, specifying Friday-afternoon delivery. I’m not sure why, unless the sender knew Arthur would be away and Elyse would be at the gym. I’m pretty thrown, and I don’t want to discuss this with anyone before I talk to you. Jill’s on the phone dealing with a client. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“I’m at Lane’s, using his computer to run down some leads while he’s in the Poconos. I’m alone. Here’s what I want you to do. Slide the package into a Ziploc, just in case there are any discernible fingerprints on it—which I doubt there are. Then tell one of the security guys inside the apartment that you’re running out to do an errand—with your bodyguard. That way, Jill won’t be alarmed when she hangs up the phone and comes looking for you. Grab the package and head over here.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Morgan,” Monty added firmly. “I meant the part about taking your bodyguard. You’re not going anywhere alone.”

“Believe me, I don’t intend to.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Monty read the Post-it, handwritten note, and business card—not once, but twice. Then he glanced at the Tyvek. There was no return address.

He raised his head and looked at Morgan. “I assume this is your mother’s handwriting?” he asked, pointing to the card and the note.

“Yes.” Tears clogged her throat.

A nod. He patted her arm, lowering his head to study the items again.