walker in forty-five minutes. Only the light but consistent traffic from the busier thoroughfares of Cretin Avenue, a half block to their west, and St. Clair, a block to the north, provided any sense of activity.
The van was parked two houses down from the white stucco two-story Colonial Revival styled home of Sebastian McCormick. The van blended with the assortment of cars, sports utility vehicles and minivans parked along the sleepy boulevard of the decidedly upper-middle-class neighborhood filled with Queen Anne, Craftsman Bungalow and Colonial homes.
The temperature outside was plunging south steadily with a predicted low of twenty-eight degrees. Given the dropping temperatures, both men were thickly dressed in black, with turtlenecks, fleece pullovers and thickly lined nylon jackets.
Moriarity worked the audio surveillance equipment while Holmes handled the video equipment.
“So what are you hearing?” Holmes asked.
“Lots of dinner planning, an occasional cell phone ringing and now he’s opening another bottle of wine,” Moriarity replied, handing another set of earphones to his partner. “You can listen in as well.”
* * *
McCormick looked at the display on his cell phone and didn’t recognize the number. It was the second time the number appeared and for the second time, he let it go. Whoever it was could leave a voice mail, although the icon for a voice mail message had yet to appear.
Ignoring the phone, he went back to work on the bottle of Cabernet, pulling the cork out of their second and setting it on the counter to breathe for a minute or two. Next, he pulled open the oven door and looked inside at the two filet mignons sizzling on the broiling pan, nearly cooked to perfection. He poked at the steak with a long fork. They both liked their steaks medium and the steak still felt a little rare in the middle yet, so in his estimation, the cuts needed another minute or two.
With the oven closed, he moved back to the kitchen counter and poured another glass of wine for himself. Kate walked back in waving her long-stemmed wine glass looking for more.
“Can you give that salad an extra toss?” he asked. “While I give you a refill.”
Kate smiled and did as asked, using the salad spoons to work the Caesar dressing into the mixture of lettuce, tomatoes, croutons and parmesan cheese. They were following orders from the Judge, which were to go have a good meal, enjoy some quiet time and get a good night’s rest. Then tomorrow, come ready to be on the road through Monday. It would be a campaigning marathon.
McCormick opened the oven door again; poked at the filets and decided this time they were ready. He grabbed his long serving fork and placed the cuts onto the large serving plate, along with two baked potatoes, which had been cooking in a smaller countertop oven. Along with the Caesar salad, they would have a good healthy meal, a rarity for them as of late. Kate grabbed the salad bowl and the wine and the two of them moved through the archway and to the dining room.
“I can’t remember the last time I did this,” Sebastian said, as he sat down and grabbed his steak knife and immediately dug into the filet.
“Me neither,” Kate replied, sipping her wine. “This is a great Cabernet, by the way, super smooth,” she added, taking another deep sip. “God that beats the beer we’ve been drinking every night.”
“No kidding,” Sebastian answered, and then raised his wine glass for a toast. “To winning on Tuesday.”
“To us,” Kate replied and leaned over and kissed him on the lips.
“I like that kind of talk,” Sebastian answered. He liked Kate very much and she seemed to return the feeling.
“Is that your cell phone again?” she asked.
“Yes it is,” Sebastian sighed disgustedly. “You’d think people could leave me alone for once.”
“I thought you told everyone no calls tonight.”
“I did. I did.”
“So who is it then?” Kate asked questioningly. Most people in the campaign feared the second in command so she was surprised anyone would dare tempt fate with constant calls.
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the number.”
“Well, whoever it is, they are being awfully persistent. Answer it quick so they stop calling and we can enjoy our night,” Kate said.
“Okay,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out the phone and answered: “Sebastian McCormick.”
* * *
“This is Adam Montgomery. Do you know who I am?”
There was a hesitation and then an uncertain, “I do.”
“Did Jason Stroudt get in contact with you before he was murdered?”