would handle Dr. Steinwood personally. Eileen was a supersleuth and could plant a bug in the most highly guarded offices and homes. With occasional help from Alexis, master of disguise, Eileen could be anything from a Pakistani cabdriver to a school librarian. She would handle Marcus in London.
Sasha, another longtime operative of Avery’s, would handle Corbett. She knew the streets of New York better than most cops in the NYPD. Getting out to Long Island was a piece of cake. She would employ the services of Wings Air, an outfit whose helicopter pilot she knew, intimately. He never questioned Sasha about her work. It was his understanding that she was a photographer for a very high-end private detective agency, the identity of whose clients was confidential. Which, for the most part, had the virtue of being true. Of course, Sasha never mentioned the parts of her activity that would be considered illegal.
Avery would take Steinwood on himself. He tapped out the information and instructions he had on the three men, or “subjects.” Each operative would tail her subject for a week and would report to Avery every day. Avery would send their reports, as well as his own, to Charles, who would then share them with the sisters.
Day one was upon them. Dressed like a bike messenger, Sasha waited on the pristine sidewalk in front of Corbett’s apartment building. It was one of the very few sidewalks in the city that was clear of all debris, especially dog poop. There were CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR DOG signs everywhere. Most New Yorkers referred to the statute requiring people to clean up after their pooches as the pooper scooper law. She could never understand why someone would want to walk six or seven dogs at a time—which was not uncommon in the posh neighborhood Corbett lived in. Who in their right mind would want to carry that much dog poop on a hot summer day? It was a question she had once asked her friend Carlos, who had been walking dogs for years.
“You get paid by the walk. If there are dogs who get along, I walk as many of them as I can. I can clear six or seven hundred dollars a day,” he’d told her.
She’d shrugged. People in this part of town spared no expense on anything, and dog walkers were in high demand. Still, carrying bags of poop was not her idea of a good way to make a living. She also thought that having dogs in New York City wasn’t fair to the dogs. They needed a yard. A place to run. Not to walk on sidewalks along busy streets, with cars honking, sirens blasting. People were selfish. Sasha was glad her interaction with most of them was from a safe distance.
She pulled her phone out one more time to get a good look at the man she was going to track. Five feet ten inches, medium build, neatly cut brownish hair, impeccable suit, Brooks Brothers trench coat. It looked like rain. She quickly spotted the well-dressed man leaving his apartment building and waited to see if he was going to hail a cab or get in a private car. Neither. He started walking south on Madison Avenue. She’d let him get a block ahead before she began pedaling the bike. His pace began to slow as he neared the Bottega Veneta boutique. He stopped and glanced in the window, then back at his watch, and moved on. Sasha could only imagine the thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise sitting on display. She knew she was going to draw attention to herself if she kept riding her bike like she needed training wheels, so she opted to get off the bike and walk it partway down the street.
Corbett stopped and peeked at the window of the restaurant. He did not do it to see if his lunch date was waiting but to get one more good look at himself. Satisfied with his appearance, he swung the heavy door open and entered. Sasha anticipated that this was going to be a long lunch.
Gerardo, the owner of San Pietro, greeted Corbett in a manner that puffed up his already inflated ego. “Buongiorno, Dr. Corbett! So nice to see you! Your guest is already waiting. Follow me.” Manolo, the maître d’, gave Corbett a modest nod and bow. Yes, Corbett loved the attention. It was going to bode well for his financial prospects.