Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie
Thirty
Sadie
The moment we enter BB&E’s offices, I sense a tenseness in the air. Employees cluster in small groups throughout the lobby, heads down, and the hum of conversations fills the vast marble interior. When the elevators open onto my old floor, the silent television monitor behind reception streams news. Both receptionists are turned, reading the news alerts, although at the moment the scroll announces earnings for Apple.
Neither of the receptionists gives either Agent Connor or me a second glance as they converse in hushed tones. As I roam the hall, the first thing I notice is that no one is sitting in the cubicles. Clusters of employees gather in groups. I bypass my dark, empty office, and when I reach Chase’s, his door is closed, and it’s clear from the interior window his office lights are off. I knock anyway and twist the knob. The door is unlocked.
Rhonda comes around the corner with a cell phone to her ear. She sees me and presses the cell to her chest.
“Sydney…he’s not here.”
“I brought Agent Connor. We’re going to fingerprint the file cabinets. Where is he?”
“He stepped outside for lunch…but that was a while ago.” She checks her wristwatch. “He had an important meeting at twelve thirty. That’s where he must be.”
Her desk phone rings, and I point inside Chase’s office. “Do you mind if we go in?”
“Not at all. Go ahead.”
I push the door to Chase’s office open, turn on the lights, and Agent Connor opens his bag and withdraws the items he’ll need to fingerprint. It’s unlikely we’ll find anything, but it’s worth the time it’ll take to dust the cabinets. Surveillance has obtained video footage from the building. We weren’t monitoring the building security cameras for this case, but we should be able to figure out who took the files from the footage, at least, if the files are no longer in the building. Even if they carried them down the stairs instead of using the elevator, which is unlikely given the number of boxes the files likely required, we’ll see them in the parking garage footage.
“Syd…Agent?” Rhonda stands in the doorway, gripping her cell phone, her gaze flitting between me and my colleague.
“You can call me Sadie,” I offer.
“Chase didn’t join the 12:30. I assumed he must have gone up to sit with one of the executives for the call, but he never called in. Everyone’s executive assistant has been calling me to locate him. I can’t—he’s not answering his cell.” Her flushed skin color and fidgety stance says she’s nervous and worried.
“When did you say you last saw him?”
“He called me. He was with the PR team all morning. He called to ask if I wanted a falafel. He knew he had the twelve thirty. It was with the board. He wouldn’t miss that meeting.” My heartrate speeds along to the staccato rhythm of her words.
“Agent Connor, I’m going to look for Chase. Are you good doing this?” He was going to be doing it on his own, anyway, as he’s part of the forensics team. He nods, barely pausing preparing his brush for the task ahead.
I push Rhonda out the door. “Let’s start downstairs at the falafel place. We’ll make sure he made it there.”
Rhonda holds her cell phone out, hitting Chase’s name, hanging up when his voice mail answers, then dialing again. The repeated, frantic activity obliterates my focus. I want to tell her to cut it out. I refrain. If he’s somewhere out there on a con call, and he sees her repeatedly calling, he’ll at the very least take a moment to respond, even if via text.
We rush through the glass lobby doors. There’s a wider concrete pavilion in front of the office building, and street vendors line the edge along the street. There’s a coffee cart, a hot dog vendor, and then, to the far side, I spy the falafel guy. I take off to the shiny food cart then slow when I hear Journey playing Any Way You Want It.
The song stops, and I spin, searching the perimeter. The song plays again, only this time Rhonda hears it, and she holds her phone out like a beacon. The song ends once again.
“Call him again. Let it ring.”
She does so as pedestrians zip around us, oblivious. I close my eyes to focus all my sensory power on the ring tone, lifting one foot after another in the direction of the song that no doubt will be playing in my head for the rest of the day. Leave it to Chase to choose a ringtone that imprints.
The ringtone stops, and I spin to Rhonda. “Again.”
That’s when I see it. On the street, against the curb, partially hidden by the front wheel of a parked car. A few feet away is a mangled silver wrapper. Murky orange sauce splatters the sidewalk. Unsuspecting pedestrians must have stepped in it.
“Rhonda.” I point at the mess as I bend and pick up the phone. It rings, and I see Rhonda’s name flash on the screen. Rhonda’s mouth opens, and she covers it with her fingers. Her eyes water, and all her visible reactions are what’s playing out in my insides. Focus. Hold it together.
I dial Agent Hopkins. I’m not undercover, and he’s not my handler anymore. But of everyone on Operation Quagmire, I know him best.
He answers on the second ring. “Agent Keating.”
“Chase Maitlin is missing. He had a board meeting at 12:30 he wouldn’t miss. I found his phone and his falafel outside by the street.”
“Why would they do that? We have his test—”
“I found his phone. On the curb. It’s the only explanation.”
“Shit. They knew we had agents outside his place at night, so they waited until he was at work. Where are you?”
“At BB&E’s office. I’m with Rhonda, his assistant.”
“Did anyone see anything?”
“I found his phone and called you.”
“Okay. Let me go update the team. Ask around. See if anyone saw something.”
I hang up and survey the area. The falafel cart is obviously first. But who to ask next? The coffee cart directly across the pavilion. But if they saw someone getting kidnapped, wouldn’t they call the police? Then I remind myself someone could have called it in. Even if someone did, it wouldn’t reach the FBI, not yet.
Rhonda stands still, an expression of shock plastered on her open-mouthed face. I redirect my attention away from her. My chest pounds. Adrenaline courses through me. I breathe deeply. Focus. I recognize the dark haired, middle aged man Chase and I have bought lunch from more than once over the last few weeks. The cart is essentially a pull-behind kitchen, and the side of the cart is maybe five to six feet wide. If he was inside, he wouldn’t have had a line of sight to the location on the curb where I found his phone.
He’s wiping down the narrow stainless-steel counter when I approach. A smile spreads when he looks up and sees me.
“Sydney!” He beams. I’ve bought from him maybe twice. He must be a savant with names. And I do not have a matching skill set.
“Hi. Was Chase Maitlin here earlier?” Yes, I would’ve used his name to address him if I remembered it. Yes, I should say more, but my gut tells me I don’t need to warm him up.
“Yes. I gave him a free falafel. You want one? I give you one, too. After all, you are a hero. You shot the bastards.” He’s already whipped out the bread, placed it on a wrapper, and holds it out, expecting me to tell him if I want a spread.
“No, thank you. Maybe another time.”
He loses his smile as he sets the wrapper down.
“I’m looking for Chase. I’m trying to retrace his steps. Do you remember what time he came here?”
He shakes his head and pauses, squeezing his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, before answering. “Nah. Sorry. I don’t pay attention to time.”
“Was he alone or with someone?”
“He was by himself. Had his phone with him. Always busy on his phone, that guy.” He smiles, then frowns. “Did something happen?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I found his phone over there, and a smashed falafel isn’t too far away.”
He leans his body out the cart’s window, stretching to see where I’m pointing. As I thought, there’s no way he would’ve seen anything. He disappears in the back of his trailer. A moment later, the side door on the cart opens, and he steps out, walking over to the area I pointed. I follow him, and we both stare down at the smashed falafel.
“This is the falafel I gave him. Extra sauce. He likes it spicy.” He stares down at the falafel, then bends down to scrape it up, using the corners of the opened silver wrapper.
“Wait.” I bark.
He freezes.
“Let me take photos before you pick it up.” He nods and backs away.
I’m fucking this up. I should’ve taken photos immediately. It’s not exactly evidence, but it could be useful for showing the team what I found and where. I return Chase’s phone to the spot between the tire and curb where I located it and take photos with my phone, then send them off to Hopkins.
After I give the go-ahead, falafel guy bends and picks up his creation from the sidewalk. “Litter,” he mumbles. “We must take care of our city.”
He tosses it in a nearby trash can, somber. “You find him, okay? You find him, I give you both free falafels. I like that guy.”
I smile. “Me too. Thank you. Here’s my card. I know you couldn’t have seen anything, but if you think of anything at all that could be useful, call me.”
He runs his thumb back and forth over the card thoughtfully, nods, and returns to his cart.
I’m in route to the coffee and hot dog carts when Hopkins calls.
“Sadie, you’re not gonna like this, but we found the guy who stole the files. He told the agents who interviewed him that he was hired by Chase Maitlin to remove those files and dispose of them.”
“He’s lying.”
“I tend to agree with you. But right now we have two running theories. One, Chase Maitlin is being set up as the fall guy for this, and they plan to make him disappear so he can’t defend himself, or two, Chase Maitlin is guilty, and he’s done a great job of playing us.”
“He’s not guilty.” Hopkins is aware I have a personal relationship with Chase. I sound like a girlfriend, not an agent right now. But none of that matters. I’m right.
“Chase’s attorneys have been contacted. If he’s playing us, he’s playing them too. They don’t believe for a minute Chase stole those files, but they also shared he has copies of everything electronically, and he gave copies of those files to them. So, right now, as long as his attorneys follow through with willingness to share the files, it definitely seems the first case scenario is most likely. Why don’t you come back here to the office? You’re too close to this to be in the field. Come back here. We’ll find him.”
“What’s the team doing? To find him?”
“We’ve sent agents out to Mitchell’s and Bennett’s homes to ask questions.”
I exhale my frustration. “That’s fine, but it’s not like either of them would have personally taken him. This isn’t a case where he willingly got in someone’s car. His phone and falafel were on the ground. If either of those guys is involved in this, they didn’t do it personally. They hired someone.”
“We know. But this is a logical next step. We might gain some valuable information.” His tone is calm. It’s a signature agent tactic to calm down someone who is frazzled. The buildings blur.
I re-focus. Scan the street for any cameras. “Do you have anyone checking street cams? He was taken on 38th near 6th. About thirty yards from the intersection.”
Taking in the distance, my emotions tank, as I realize the chance that any intersection cam probably wouldn’t pick up what happened here. The BB&E cameras by the front entrance are angled to view those coming in and exiting the building. It’s doubtful the view would extend to the street.
I glance across the street at the buildings but know any cameras would be designed for security for the building, and the cameras would be focused on the storefront, not across the street.
“Come on back to the office.”
“I haven’t yet asked the other vendors if they saw anything. Let me finish surveying the area.” I don’t tell him I’ll come back to the office. After all, I don’t plan to.
The team will take this seriously, as Chase Maitlin is a key witness. The team will want to recover him, for many reasons. It doesn’t look good when something happens to a witness. But I can’t sit behind a desk. I need to be physically doing something to locate him. Time is ticking.
The woman inside the coffee cart seems confused by my questions. “Did I see what? When?”
“Did you see anything suspicious across the way, within the last hour or two?”
She looks in the direction I’m pointing, then back at me.
“I see nothing. We stay pretty busy. And when we’re not busy, I read.” She holds up an eReader and shrugs.
The hot dog guy shakes his head. I step behind his cart. It’s the smallest of the three carts, and the only one the vendor stands beside, not inside. Where the man stands, he’s angled with a view more to the entrance of the building, but he still could have easily seen something. The problem is during the height of lunch the now sparse concrete area is filled with human bodies, and it’s likely even if he had looked at the right time, he wouldn’t have had a direct view.
“I see nothing,” he spits out. He sounds more annoyed than defensive.
My next call is to Hopkins.
“Can you check to see if any 911 calls were made from this area earlier today?”
“Come back to the office, Keating. You know we’re on it.” The call ends, and I stare at my phone. It’s not like Hopkins to hang up on me. Our whole team would be swamped without this happening, given we’ve issued indictments and have an indictment for one individual we can’t locate. Chase’s disappearance has probably become priority number one, stacked onto a full list of other mission-critical priorities as we prepare for court with the rich and powerful.
He’s been missing now for over an hour. They don’t really have a reason to keep him alive. My eyes burn. Panic rises. My throat closes.
Rhonda touches my arm, and I jerk back, arms up in a defensive stance. When it registers she’s friendly, I lower my arms.
“Any luck?”
“No. Go back up to the office. Can you let me know who comes looking for him? Create a full list of every single individual who has asked for him, including the number of times.” I’m not as interested in who is asking as who isn’t, but I don’t tell her that. She nods but doesn’t move.
“Call me if you find out anything.” Her eyes are glassy. A mirror image of mine. I turn to leave.
“Where are you going?” she calls.
“I’m going to get my car and drive over to check out a hunch.”
“What should I tell that man you came in with?”
I snap my fingers. “I completely forgot about Connor. I’ll go up with you.”
I’ll return to the office, but only once I run out of things to do on the ground. The abandoned area in New Jersey lurks in the back of my mind. I don’t believe they’d take Chase to the sex club. That’s not the kind of place you take a kidnap victim. But those streets held many abandoned buildings. In the New York metro, there are tons of spots just like that one. But these men are familiar with that particular area. It’s the only shot I have. It’s a long shot. Other agents haven’t been there before, and I’m not entirely sure I can talk someone else through the area. I’ll visually recognize it.
I don’t give Agent Connor all my rationale, but he doesn’t seem to mind going for a car ride. “Sure, I’ll go.”
“Any prints?” I ask him as we exit the building.
“Prints are all over those cabinets. Any useful ones? Don’t know yet.”
Hopkins calls as I’m pulling out of my parking garage. Yes, we could use an FBI squad car, but since I don’t have one assigned to me, it would be a process and take time I don’t have.
“Where are you?” he asks without preamble.
“On my way to Jersey. Agent Connor and I will come back to the office after we check out some empty warehouses. It’s a long shot.”
“Go for it,” Hopkins says, then the line goes dead.