Page 36 of The Writer

“Carmen? Can we search his office?”

“Thomas said Hoffman’s office is off-limits unless you find something in the car or apartment. Then he’ll revisit.”

“This is bullshit,” Declan mutters.

“This is how the game is played. Let me know what you turn up on the knife.”

She hangs up, and the two of them stare at Cordova’s phone.

Across the garage, Hoffman is watching them. Not only has his color returned, but his ratty grin is back. Declan says, “If he kept the coat, it will be in his office. He must have known this would happen.”

“Why would he even keep it? It’s probably in a landfill or a burn barrel somewhere.”

Declan shakes his head. “No. He’d hold on to it. Keep itclose, like that knife. He’d want to have insurance in case Denise Morrow turns on him.”

Cordova considers that, then gestures around the garage. “The knife was here. Maybe the coat is too.”

Declan looks at his watch. It’s twenty minutes to midnight. “How big is this garage?”

“Eight levels,” Cordova tells him. “More than three thousand parking spaces with four storage closets on each floor. Rooms with HVAC too.”

Big.

“It’s not too late to go into construction,” Declan mutters in a low voice that sounds so much like his father’s, the man might be standing behind him.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just something that came up over dinner.” Declan looks back toward Hoffman’s car. “I’ll radio for more uniforms. We’ll start on this level and work our way out. Any luck, we’ll finish by Christmas.”

Cordova nods. “I’ll have CSU run the knife tonight, get whatever they can pull from it. The newspaper and that duct too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

IT DIDN’T TAKE until Christmas, but it did take all night. By the time Declan and Cordova emerged from the garage, the sun was up and morning traffic was building toward rush hour.

They’d found nothing.

Not a damn thing.

Geller Hoffman was escorted to the Four Seasons. Cordova and Declan left uniforms guarding both the attorney’s car and his apartment and agreed to meet back at the precinct after a shower and a change of clothes.

When Declan walks into the bullpen carrying coffee and two chocolate chip muffins (Cordova’s favorite), he finds his partner already there, his eyes on his computer screen. “How the hell did you beat me? Didn’t you go home?”

“I showered here. I keep a spare suit in my locker.”

“Of course you do.” Declan sets the food on Cordova’s desk. “Hungry?”

Cordova’s face lights up when he sees the muffins. He retrieves a plate, fork, and knife from his top desk drawer, delicately cuts one up, and eats as if he’s at a five-star restaurant rather than in the squad room. Declan half expects him to produce a cloth napkin for his lap.

“You’re a strange man, Jarod Cordova.” Declan takes a large bite of his own muffin and ignores the crumbs that cling to his shirt and pepper the floor. “What are you looking at?”

“Security cam footage from that alley on Eighty-Third where we found Mia Gomez.”

Cordova rewinds the video a few minutes, then clicks Play. A moment later, Mia Gomez appears on the sidewalk. She stops in front of the bodega, glances at her phone, turns and enters the alley, and vanishes off the screen. Cordova pauses the video. “That’s all we’ve got. She goes in, never comes out. Nobody follows.”

The time stamp readsFriday, November 10, 8:21 p.m.

Declan reaches over, rewinds the film until she’s standing outside the alley again, then freezes it. “She went in with her phone, so whoever killed her definitely took it.”

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