Sleight of Hand - By Phillip Margolin Page 0,41
to his office. Robb and Santoro spent an hour going through Brodsky’s books and papers, but they came up blank.
“That was a waste of time,” Robb said.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky with the tapes,” Santoro answered.
“We’re going to need a break to solve this case,” Robb said. “It has random robbery written all over it.”
“You’re probably right. What possible motive other than robbery could someone have for killing an elderly locksmith?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
At four-thirty, the receptionist buzzed Stephanie Robb to tell her that a man was calling with information about the Blair missing-person case. Robb sighed. She’d been fielding calls about Carrie Blair since the story broke, and none of the tips had gone anywhere. Still, there was always an outside chance that the caller really knew something that could move the investigation forward, so she had the call put through.
“This is Detective Robb speaking.”
“I know what happen to Mrs. Blair.”
Robb was certain that the caller was a man, but his voice was muffled.”
“To whom am I speaking?” Robb said.
“No is important who I am. What I know is important.”
Robb guessed the caller was Hispanic, or someone trying to sound Hispanic.
“And just what do you know?”
“I see him do it.”
“Do what?”
“Put her in the trunk.”
“You saw someone put Mrs. Blair in the trunk of a car? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Sí.”
“Who did you see putting her body in the trunk?”
“Mr. Blair. He no think anyone see him, but I see him.”
Robb knew the make of all of Blair’s vehicles. “What kind of car did he put the body in?” she asked.
“A fancy car, black. He take it to work sometimes.”
Blair owned a black Bentley.
“When did you see Mr. Blair put the body in the black car?”
“Monday, late. Maybe it was Tuesday, after midnight. I no have a watch.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Are you doing a track on me?” the man asked, suddenly panicky.
“No, sir. But I would like to meet with you.”
“No.”
“Can you tell me your name?” Robb asked, but the line was already dead.
The detective sat back and thought about the conversation. Did the caller really see Horace Blair put his wife’s body in the trunk of a car? If he did see him, where did he see him? Robb remembered her visit to Blair’s estate. The grounds were beautiful and very well tended. It would take an army of gardeners to keep a place like that looking good, and a lot of gardeners were Hispanic. Some of those Hispanics might be in the country illegally and wouldn’t want to meet with an officer of the law.
Robb would love to look inside the trunk of Blair’s Bentley, but there was no way she could get a search warrant with an affidavit supported only by the word of an informant who refused to give his name.
“Hey, Frank.”
Santoro was writing a report. He held up a hand, finished a sentence, then swiveled his chair in Robb’s direction. When she had his full attention she told him about the call.
“You think there’s anything to it?” Santoro asked.
“I have no idea, but the guy sounded scared. He didn’t sound like a crank.”
“No judge is going to give us a warrant.”
“I figured that out already. So what do we do?”
Santoro looked at the ceiling and spaced out. When he returned to Earth he said, “Why don’t we drive to Blair’s office and ask him if we can look in the trunk? See how he deals with that.”
Horace Blair looked up expectantly when the two detectives entered his office.
“Do you have news about Carrie?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Robb answered, “but we may have a lead.”
“I’m Frank Santoro, Detective Robb’s partner, and we have an odd request for you.”
“Yes?” Horace said.
“You own a Bentley, right?”
“Yes?” Horace answered, slightly confused by the question.
“Where is it?”
“In the parking garage. I drove it to work today.”
“Great!” Santoro answered. “Can we look in the trunk?”
“The trunk of the Bentley?” Horace repeated, not certain he’d heard the detective correctly.
“If it’s no trouble.”
“Why do you want to look in the trunk? I don’t understand.”
“We had a confidential tip, Mr. Blair,” Robb answered. “I’m sorry, but we can’t reveal the content. You understand.”
“I understand why you can’t reveal the content of a tip, but I don’t understand how the trunk of my car can possibly be connected to Carrie’s disappearance.”
“If you open it for us, we may be able to clear up your confusion,” Santoro said.
Horace hesitated for a moment. Then he stood up. “Come with me.”
No one said a word during the elevator ride