Cold Vengeance - Lincoln Child [16]
“I’m in New York for the year. Got here in September. I’m a sophomore, and I’ve just transferred to the John Jay College of Criminal Justice.”
“Go on,” D’Agosta said. The John Jay part impressed him. She was no idiot, although she was doing her damnedest to look like one.
“I’m taking a class called Case Studies in Deviance and Social Control.”
“Deviance and Social Control,” D’Agosta repeated. Sounded like a course Laura might have taken—she’d been big on sociology.
“As part of this, we’re supposed to do a case study ourselves and write a paper. I chose the Still Life killings.”
“I’m not sure Pendergast would approve,” D’Agosta said carefully.
“But he did approve. That’s the problem. Back when I first arrived, I set up a lunch with him. It was supposed to be for yesterday. He never showed. Then I went to his apartment at the Dakota—nothing, all I got was the runaround from a doorman. He’s got my cell number, but he never called me to cancel or anything. It’s like the guy vanished into thin air.”
“That seems odd. Perhaps you got the appointment wrong?”
She fished in her little bag, pulled out an envelope, and handed it over.
D’Agosta extracted a letter from the envelope and began to read.
The Dakota
1 West 72nd Street
New York, NY 10023
5 September
Ms. Corrie Swanson
844 Amsterdam Avenue, Apt. 30B
New York, NY 10025
My dear Corrie,
I’m pleased to hear that your studies are going well. I approve of your choice of courses. I believe you will find the Introduction to Forensic Chemistry to be most interesting. I’ve given some thought to your project and agree to take part, provided I may vet the final product and that you agree not to reveal certain minor details in your paper.
By all means let’s get together for lunch. I will be out of the country later this month, but I should be back by mid-October. October 19 agrees with my calendar. Allow me to suggest Le Bernardin on West 51st Street at 1 PM. The reservation will be in my name.
I look forward to seeing you then.
Kind regards,
A. Pendergast
D’Agosta read the letter twice. It’s true he hadn’t heard from Pendergast in a month or two, but that in itself wasn’t especially unusual. The agent frequently disappeared for long periods of time. But Pendergast was a stickler about keeping his word; not showing up for lunch, after making plans, was out of character.
He handed the letter back. “Was there a reservation?”
“Yes. It had been made the day after he sent the letter. He never called to cancel.”
D’Agosta nodded, covering up his own growing concern.
“I was hoping you might know something about his whereabouts. I’m worried. This isn’t like him.”
D’Agosta cleared his throat. “I haven’t spoken to Pendergast in a while but I’m sure there’s an explanation. He’s probably deep in a case.” He ventured a reassuring smile. “I’ll check into it, get back to you.”
“Here’s my cell number.” Pulling a pad of paper across the desk toward her, she scribbled a number onto it.
“I’ll let you know, Ms. Swanson.”
“Thank you. And it’s Corrie.”
“Fine. Corrie.” The more D’Agosta thought about it, the more worried he became. He almost didn’t notice her picking up her bag and heading out the door.
CHAPTER 10
Cairn Barrow
THE HIGH STREET RAN THROUGH THE CENTER of the village, crooking slightly east at the square and running down into the green folds of the hills surrounding Loch Lanark. The shops and houses were of identical earth-colored stone, with steeply gabled roofs of weathered slate. Primroses and daffodils peeked out from freshly painted window boxes. The bells in the squat belfry of the Wee Kirk o’ the Loch sleepily tolled ten AM.
It was, even to Chief Inspector Balfour’s jaundiced eye, an almost impossibly picturesque scene.
He walked quickly down the street. A dozen cars were parked in front of the town pub, The Old Thistle—practically a