Vector (41 page)

As soon as Jack saw Oceanview Avenue, he pulled over and asked directions to Oceanview Lane. It wasn't until he'd asked three people that he found someone who could tell him where to go.

Jack was surprised by the neighborhood. Just as Flash had described it, there was a whole section of small wood-frame houses jammed together in a cheek-by-jowl hodgepodge. Some were reasonably maintained while others were dilapidated. Fences constructed of a melange of materials separated individual properties. Some yards were clean and planted with fall flowers, while others served as junk heaps for doorless refrigerators, TVS with their guts hanging out, broken toys, and other discarded refuse. Roof lines angled off in bewildering juxtapositions, a testament to the uncoordinated way the original structures had been enlarged. A forest of rusted TV antennae sprouted like dead weeds from the ridgepoles.

Jack slowed and looked at individual buildings. Some still had definite Victorian embellishments. Most were in sore need of paint and repair.

About half had freestanding garages. There were a lot of dogs that barked and snarled as Jack rode past. Very few people were in evidence and no children save for a few infants in the care of their mothers.

Jack remembered that it was a school day.

The area had a grid of normal streets, but also numerous lanes, some named, some not. The lanes were narrow, some so narrow that they permitted only pedestrian traffic, and the houses on them could only be reached by foot. Across all the lanes stretched a spiderweb of telephone and electric wires.

Jack located Oceanview Lane with the help of a hand painted sign precariously nailed to a telephone pole. He turned into the lane and immediately had to pay attention to the large cracks in the concrete pavement or his bike would have toppled over.

Few of the houses had numbers on them, although Jack did see number thirteen written on a garbage can. Assuming the next building was fifteen, he continued until he was abreast of it. The structure was similar to the others although it sat on a full foundation rather than the more typical cinder-block piers. It also had a two-car garage.

The roof was asphalt shingle, a number of the shingles were missing.

The screen door was torn. The downspout at the corner was broken, and the top part angled off precariously. The whole thing looked as though it might fall over if the front door was slammed hard enough.

A waist-high chain-link fence separated the tiny, overgrown front lawn from the concrete alleyway. Jack locked his bike to it. He opened the gate and approached the door. Venetian blinds in the windows on either side of the door were closed shut, so Jack couldn't peek in.

After vainly searching for a doorbell, Jack opened the torn screen door and knocked. When there was no response, he knocked harder. After one more attempt with sustained knocking, Jack gave- up. He allowed the screen door to close with a thump. He was discouraged. After making such an effort to get there, he still was not going to be able to contact Yuri Davydov.

Jack was about to walk back to his bike when he became aware of a continuous, low-pitched hum. Turning back to the door, he listened.

Now that he concentrated on the sound, he realized that it wasn't continuous but rather modulated, like a very distant helicopter or a fan with very large blades. Jack eyed the house warily. It didn't seem large enough for the size fan that would yield such a vibration.

Jack glanced around at the other houses in the immediate neighborhood.

All seemed shuttered as if their owners were at work or at least not at home. The only person in sight was an elderly gentleman sitting in his yard who was totally unconcerned about Jack's presence.

Jack walked across the lawn to peer down between Yuri's house and his neighbor's. The separation was only about six feet, and it was bisected by the chain-link fence. After another glance at the elderly man, Jack walked between the buildings to emerge in Yuri's tiny backyard. There he found what looked like a metal furnace vent issuing forth from a recently patched hole in the house's foundation. The vent angled upward to extend higher than Jack could reach. By touching the vent and feeling the vibration Jack could tell he'd at least found the exhaust for the fan. Considering the size of the house, the kind of furnace the vent suggested seemed like overkill.

Jack continued to circle the cottage. On the side facing the garage was another door where Jack again knocked. Cupping his hands around his face, he peered through one of the small glass panels. He could see an Lshaped room that served as both living room and kitchen.

Leaving the door, Jack walked along the garage toward the front of the house. As he arrived at the patch of lawn, a bearded man appeared walking along the alleyway carrying a bag of groceries. Jack hadn't seen him until the last possible moment because the garage had blocked his view.

This sudden appearance of the individual within arm's reach made Jack start. He hadn't realized quite how uneasy his trespassing had made him.

But as startled as Jack was, it was apparently less than the stranger.

The man dropped his groceries while trying vainly to get his right hand out of his jacket.

"I beg your pardon, " Jack intoned.

The man took a moment to recover. Jack used the time to come out through the gate and help retrieve some of the man's purchases, which had fallen out of the bag.

"I'm awfully sorry to have startled you, " Jack said as he picked up several boxes of cake flour, a frozen dinner, a tin of cinnamon, and a bottle of vodka, which miraculously had not broken.

"It's not your fault, " the man said. He squatted down, righted the bag, and began repacking his groceries. At the same time his eyes kept nervously darting around as if he was afraid someone else might startle him.

Jack handed over what he'd picked up. He couldn't help but have noticed the man's strong Slavic accent. It seemed appropriate given his dark beard and Russian-style hat.

"Are you a resident of this enclave? " Jack asked.

The man hesitated for a moment before answering. "I am, " he said.

"Do you happen to know Yuri Davydov? He lives here in number fifteen. " The man made a point to look around Jack and study the building.

"Vaguely, " he said. "Why do you ask? " Jack struggled to get his wallet out of his back pocket. As he did so, he asked the man if he was Russian. The man said he was.

"I noticed all the signs up the street were in the Cyrillic alphabet, " Jack said.

"There are a lot of Russians living in Brighton Beach." Jack nodded.

He opened his wallet and showed the man his shiny medical examiner's badge. Jack appreciated that the official emblem generally made people more cooperative and willing to answer questions.

"My name is Dr. Jack Stapleton."

"Mine is Yegor."

"Glad to meet you, Yegor, " Jack said. "I'm a medical examiner from Manhattan.

Would you by any chance know where Yuri Davydov is at the moment? I knocked on his door, but he's not at home."

"He's probably out driving his taxi, " Yegor said.

"I see." To Jack, that meant that either Yuri was emotionally strong or there'd been the lack of domestic bliss Flash suggested. "When do you think he'll be getting home? "

"Not until late tonight, " Yegor said.

"Like nine or ten? " Jack asked.

"Something like that, " Yegor said. "Is there a problem? " Jack nodded. "I need to talk with him. Do you know what taxi company he works for? "

"He just works for himself, " Yegor said.

"That's too bad, " Jack said.

"I'd heard that his wife just died, " Yegor said. "Is that what you want to talk with him about? "

"It is, " Jack said.

"Would you like to tell me what it is in case I see him? " Yegor said.

"Just tell him we know what killed his wife, " Jack said. "But the important thing is that he call me because what killed his wife is very dangerous, and he could be at risk. Let me give you one of my cards, which you can give to him if you see him." Jack took out a business card. "I'll even include my home number." Jack wrote on the back and handed the card to Yegor.

Yegor examined the front of the card. "Is this the address where you work? "

"That's it, " Jack said. He tried to think if there were any other questions he could ask Yegor, but none came to mind. "Thank you for yourhelp."

"It was my pleasure, " Yegor said. "How late will you be at work? "

"Probably at least until six, " Jack said.

"I'll tell Yuri if I see him, " Yegor said. Then he nodded to Jack before continuing on his way.

Jack watched the receding Russian for a moment before looking back at Yuri Davydov's house. That was when he thought about leaving one of his cards under the door. The only potential downside was that when and if Clint Abelard came out and the card was brought to his attention, he'd have evidence of what he called Jack's interference.

Then Jack would undoubtedly hear about it from Bingham.

"Ah, who the hell cares, " Jack said out loud. He got out another card.

On the back he wrote a message for Yuri to call him ASAP. He included his direct extension as well as his home number. Then he went back up the front walk and slipped the card under the door.

Jack unlocked his bicycle and pedaled away. He had it in his mind to take a quick loop around Brighton Beach before heading back to the office. He was mainly just curious about the area, but he thought that if he happened to see a veterinary office, he'd stop in to ask if they had information about the rat die-off.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 20

12:15 r. M. Yuri had never been more agitated in his entire life. The moment he'd come face to face with Jack Stapleton, it had felt as if his heart would leap from his chest. And to make matters worse, he hadn't been able to get the Glock out of his pocket, since it had gotten caught up in the lining of his jacket.

As it turned out, the vain struggle was for the best. If he had managed to get the gun out, his situation would be worse than it was.

Jack Stapleton hadn't caused him to panic so much as the fear that Flash Thomas was there as well. Gordon Strickland had said they'd been together at the funeral home.

As soon as Yuri was sure that the medical examiner was by himself, he'd collected his thoughts enough to deal with him. He'd been stunned to learn that Jack Stapleton had somehow seemingly made the diagnosis of botulism.

After walking away from Jack, Yuri had not looked back. He'd gone directly to a local bar. Only then had he dared to glance behind him to see if Jack Stapleton had followed him. Not seeing the doctor, Yuri had gone in, ordered a vodka, and slugged it down.

"You want another? " the bartender asked. Thankfully, it was someone Yuri didn't know. If he did, Yuri would have worried about his commenting about the beard. Yuri was afraid to take it off.

"A double, " Yuri said. He was still trembling. The other issue that bothered him was that Jack Stapleton had obviously been walking around his property. That meant that he'd seen the laboratory vent in the backyard. Yuri had no idea what the doctor might have made of that.

The other thing Yuri worried about was whether Jack had looked through the back window of the garage. If he had, he might have seen the pest control truck. That could be as potentially damaging as seeing the laboratory vent.

Yuri glanced at his watch. He didn't know if he'd allowed enough time for Jack to leave, but he couldn't wait any longer. He paid his bar tab, polished off his drink, and picked up his groceries.

Walking back to the mouth of Oceanview Lane, he hesitated. He Yuri pulled off the fake beard. The adhesive was driving him crazy.

When he looked into the mirror he saw that he had a minor rash where the beard had been. He washed his face. Unsure of how else to treat it, he put on some aftershave lotion. Unfortunately, it stung so much it brought tears to his eyes. When he looked in the mirror again, the rash was significantly redder.

It looked much worse.

Back in the kitchen Yuri got his car keys out of the cabinet. Ever since he'd been in the bar he'd been agonizing over what to do about Jack Stapleton's appearance on the scene. Much as he hated to, he decided that it was serious enough to warrant alerting Curt and risking his wrath. But he would do it in person.

First, Yuri went to the front windows. He surveyed the alleyway through the slats of the venetian blind. Except for a young woman in babushka pushing a child in a stroller, there was no one in sight. Nor were there any strange vehicles parked near his cottage. He didn't see anyone. Encouraged, Yuri went to the garage. Leaning against the door he let out a deep breath of relief.

Accelerating down the alleyway, he began to relax. He glanced around the interior which suggested that no one had been inside. He turned out into Oceanview Avenue and headed for the Shore Parkway, which was the fastest route into Manhattan at that time of the day. As he drove, Yuri got progressively annoyed that he even had to worry about Curt becoming irritated. It was ridiculous for people working together for a common goal to be so fearful of a partner's reaction. The only explanation was that Curt was anti-Slavic like he was anti everything else.

The Brooklyn Battery Tunnel left Yuri in lower Manhattan. Making sure his "off duty" sign was illuminated, he drove north on West Street to Chambers before turning right and working his way over to Duane Street.

Yuri slowed as he neared the firehouse. He didn't know whether to park or not. Seeing a foursome of firemen playing cards at a table on the sidewalk directly in front of the entrance made him opt to stay in the car. The firehouse's huge overhead doors had been thrown open to the glorious mid-fall day. Just the shiny red fronts of the ladder truck and fire engine could be seen.

Yuri pulled his cab up onto the ramp, then angled it off, putting him parallel to the building. The men at the table looked up from their game.

Yuri lowered his passenger-side window and leaned over.

"Excuse me! " he called. "I'm looking for Lieutenant Rogers."