Page 77 of Gone Before Goodbye

“I don’t know. Perhaps the experts are better than I thought and figured it out. Or maybe Maggie got her phone back. I don’t know. The estate has a cell phone jammer. In short, the phone has not been used at all since her arrival. No calls allowed in or out. No emails or messaging. No Wi-Fi or internet access.”

“But your, uh, app. That still works?”

“Yes. Because it uses LEO satellites. That’s how I can still track it. Most people believe that if you are off Wi-Fi or cellular service, you can’t be tracked. That’s not true. You can be. Even if a phone is off, you can be tracked.” Sharon shakes it off. “Let me get to the point.”

“That would be helpful, yeah.”

“Someone took Maggie’s phone. Someone broke into it. Someone tried to delete the app. That sent me the warning. Several hours later, the phone, which had been in a location where cellular access was blocked, moved out of that bubble long enough to make a call.”

“Who did Maggie call?”

“We don’t know it was Maggie,” Sharon says. “But it’s a Lithuanian phone number. It’s the kind designed to be untraceable.”

“Okay, so where’s Maggie’s phone now?”

“That’s another issue,” Sharon says. “I can’t trace it anymore.”

“So, what, it ran out of batteries, or someone turned it off?”

Sharon shakes her head. “I told you. Even if a phone is off, you can track it.”

“So?” Porkchop asks.

“So,” Sharon says, “someone destroyed it.”

As he does most mornings, Dr. Evan Barlow says goodbye to Hector the doorman at his apartment building on Fifth Avenue between 61st and 62nd Street and slides into the back of his Mercedes-Maybach.

From down the block, two men on motorcycles watch. One is a big squat man known to his friends as Pinky. The other is Porkchop.

Porkchop nods and then they both follow. They stay back, but Porkchop isn’t particularly worried about being spotted. When they get within six blocks of Barlow Cosmetics’ main office, Porkchopbecomes certain that that’s Barlow’s destination. He sees no reason to stay behind. He and Pinky speed up, find parking, wait inside the expansive lobby.

There is security, of course. No New York City building is without security nowadays. But the guards leave you alone on the ground floors of most buildings as long as you don’t loiter too long. It’s if you want to get on an elevator that all the security and badges and passes and IDs kick in.

Five minutes later, Barlow’s car pulls up to the front. He steps out of the back and enters the lobby. Porkchop doesn’t hesitate. He approaches Barlow from the back and slaps his shoulder in a gesture that may look friendly from a distance but is hard enough to intimidate. Barlow startles at the blow and looks behind him.

“Remember me?” Porkchop says.

Barlow’s eyes narrow as he looks the old biker up and down. But only for a second. Yep, he knows. Still, Porkchop adds the reminder.

“You were at my son’s wedding.”

“I remember,” Barlow says. “You’re Meatloaf or something.”

“Don’t try to piss me off, Evan.”

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

“I have a full schedule this morning.”

Porkchop throws his arm around his shoulder and neck area. Two good buddies. “This won’t take long.”

Barlow shrugs him off and straightens his shoulders. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?”

“No.”