Daylight (Atlee Pine, #3)(86)

She stole inside and took out her Tac light, and the thin beam cut through the still darkness.

She left the kitchen after seeing that there were stacks of dirty dishes and glasses in the sink. Apparently, someone, hopefully Vincenzo, had been here for a while. The air didn’t feel musty, either, which was another sign this place was being occupied, even if the car wasn’t parked out in the driveway. After searching the house, she planned to check the car next, when it was even darker. It was on the street side, which made it more perilous for her to search when people might still be walking down the street. Hopefully, it would be unlocked, too. The registration would tell her who owned the car. And there might be some other things of interest inside.

There was a small front room with decades-old furniture, a frayed carpet that looked ground down by sandy feet, and a small bookcase full of old paperbacks. The pellet stove Danforth had mentioned had been inserted inside the original fireplace. The black pipe went up into the ceiling and through the roof, as Pine had seen before. And, as Danforth had said, she could see tiny cracks in the old walls where she could feel damp air coming in. This place must be hell in the winter, she thought.

A small 5,000-BTU AC unit was perched in one window.

A fairly new-looking Samsung wide-screen TV hung on one wall, and there was an Xbox controller perched on the coffee table. Next to that was a virtual reality headset. That was a good sign that Vincenzo was in the neighborhood.

And next to the VR headset she struck gold.

It was a photo ID card for Anthony Vincenzo, allowing him access to Fort Dix.

There was one bedroom on this level. When she opened the door it was like she had stepped back forty years. The bed was made with a crocheted afghan on top, done in what could only be described as psychedelic colors. The bed and nightstands and bureau were all matching wood in a style from at least as far back as the 1970s. A tattered copy of Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls was on one nightstand along with an old-fashioned windup alarm clock. The bathroom attached to it matched the age of the bedroom. The small closet was empty.

She left the bedroom and approached the narrow staircase to the left of the front door. She ducked down as a car passed by outside. She cut off her light, stole to the window, and peered out. The car was already gone. The fog was thicker, and she could see no one passing by on foot. She clicked her light back on and took the stairs up.

The half-story must have been put on later, concluded Pine, because it was drywall instead of plaster, and the finishes looked more modern. There were two small bedrooms and a full bath up here, the latter with a one-piece fiberglass shower and double sinks. In one of the bedrooms, Pine found where Vincenzo was staying. A large duffel was on the floor, and clothes and remnants of fast-food meals were strewn all over. The stink of stale French fries assailed her nostrils. She searched through the duffel and found a nine-millimeter Sig. She popped the magazine, took out all the bullets, and cleared the breach before putting it back. If things went sideways later, Old Tony would be reaching for a useless weapon.

There was a smaller pink roller suitcase. She nudged it open. Inside were women’s clothes, a box of tampons, and a fingernail file set in a small leather case. Inside the closet were about a half-dozen women’s outfits on hangers. On the floor were three pairs of women’s shoes, from heels to flats.

Okay, he was shacking up with a girl. Pine wondered who that might be.

On the nightstand was a bottle of Oxycontin that, despite the label, didn’t look to be prescription. Probably street made with other shit in it, like fentanyl that could send you to the hereafter faster than any other synthetic drug known. There was also a wad of cash bigger than her fist, and two burner phones. And a bong with a full baggie of weed sat next to the phones.

Pine looked up and saw the dangling rope. She pulled on it and a set of folding wooden stairs came down, revealing the attic access.

She didn’t expect Vincenzo to be hiding up there, but she wouldn’t know until she checked. Still, she doubted he would have left his gun down here if he was up there.

She mounted the steps and shone her light around. There was no floor, only ceiling joists with pink insulation in between. But as she kept shining her light around, she saw that some large pieces of plywood had been laid over some of the joists. And there were some cardboard boxes stacked there.

The place smelled starkly of age, mold, and mildew, and Pine covered her mouth as she tread carefully over the joists to the boxes.

Sitting on her haunches she eyed the four boxes.

She opened the first one and saw that it contained nothing but old, mildewed clothes.

The next box was full of old photo albums. She quickly looked through them and saw a history of the Vincenzo family from the generation preceding Ito and his brother, Bruno, all the way to Teddy’s time. Evie had been pretty and vivacious. Ito looked reserved and disengaged. Bruno, decked out in a three-piece suit with a yellow pocket square in one photo, looked larger than life, his smile huge, his eyes bulging with delight, his burly arm around his brother, who looked like he would rather be hugged by a python.

The next box contained business papers and copies of old tax returns from the ice creamery business.

The contents of the last box stopped Pine dead in her tracks.





CHAPTER





55





ROBERT PULLER SAT IN THE OFFICE behind a large desk with a computer screen that seemed even bigger. The building was a secure one, the room was windowless, the insides of the walls were coated with a material that would block exterior electronic surveillance, so it qualified as a SCIF. Access to the place was restricted by RF badges, with certain rooms, including this one, requiring retinal portals.