Fatal Connections

Chapter 79

I snugged the goggles back into place and did a quick survey, but I found no other trace of humans in the basement. Terry stuck with me. I kept my distance from the bedroll. Seemed a bit paranoid to imagine it might be set to explode, but forgive me. After surviving close encounters with an IED or two, one tends to be very cautious.

"Stay back," I murmured to Terry. I approached the bedroll with all the caution I could muster, examining it as I moved. Then I caught a glimpse of some kind of light-colored object on it. Closer examination revealed a folded piece of paper.

I shoved the goggles up on my forehead and unfolded the paper. It was a note. With the light from my phone, I read it. Then I dropped it and swore like a Marine.

"What?" Terry said.

"We brought the goggles but forgot the latex gloves." I looked at Terry, whose face was hard to see in the gloom. "I prefer to keep my DNA as far from this matter as possible, but to hell with it." I picked up the note, letting it dangle from between pinched fingers. "I need to get this to the cops."

Terry glanced at the note. "What does it say?"

"Nothing much," I said. "It's just an address in Towson. You'll recognize it. By the way, we have an invitation to visit."

Phyllis's (or Mabel's?) Towson hideaway was guarded by technology. That was the bad news. The good news was that it was twentieth century technology. The house had a set of motion-sensitive rectangular lights. Apart from the windows, a visual check of the house revealed nothing but a single, battered camera that might have once hung in a convenience store.

I stood across the street from what might be Phyllis Atkinson's last known address and considered the potential scenarios, including who and how many people might be inside. And I checked the time. I hoped to be in and out in 30 minutes or less. Better still, fifteen.

For the occasion, I wore my black hoodie which, along with my dark jeans, would help me blend into the shadows. My gear belt was riding lower on my hips than usual because I had added a few items. And my gun was holstered. The time for subtlety was long past.

This time around, I asked Terry to act as my lookout. He seemed mildly disappointed, but that passed in a heartbeat. We established a lookout spot tucked behind a sign in a small strip mall near the neighborhood's main entrance. From there, he could observe anyone who entered the development and turned my way.

My desire to have Terry play this role wasn't just because it makes sense to have a lookout if you're breaking into someone's home. Nor was I thinking only of the risk to Terry in potentially facing Phyllis if she confronted us. It was that ball of fear that materialized in my belly when I considered that this might be a trap.

The streetlights and a quarter moon provided enough light for me to make out the house's basic features. I examined the angles, picked up a couple of small rocks, and tested the limits of the lighting vis-à-vis the likely camera view. At one point, I deliberately tripped the light on the front of the house. The edges of the front window curtain were outlined with bright light, so either someone was in there or the lights were on a timer. In any case, I saw no sign of an occupant. I did the same routine on the sides of the house. No movement at any side windows. If anyone inside the house noticed my presence, they were being very discreet about it.

Moving toward the house while keeping a distance and angle that wouldn't trigger the front light again wasn't especially hard. I waited for the timed security lights to go out so I could move under cover of darkness, then followed a path with all the right angles and reached the sidewalk without incident. Then, I took a second to scope out the surroundings. The streets were empty, the neighborhood silent as a tomb.

After one last look around, I dropped to the lawn and kept low, worming my way and keeping a distance to avoid tripping the light as I crossed the side yard. After a certain point, the best moves to avoid detection were untested, so mine became instinctive. I belly-crawled a bit more before hitting the inevitable trip point.

When the light came on, I jumped up into a half-crouch and scurried into the shadow of a doorway. I had seen that back door on Google Earth. I counted on my bump key and well-developed lock-picking skills to get me inside.

The half-crawl, half-squirm across the yard seemed to take forever. But I checked my phone for the time. Less than five minutes? Really? My back screamed, Yes. Really. Now, get the hell inside.

Using the bump key, I did just that. By now, it was close to 11:00 pm. Phyllis was either miles away or waiting for me here. Or something in between.