“Great!” Bob said, getting to his feet. “Sorry to run, but if I’m going to get this into tomorrow morning’s paper, I’ve got to go directly to my editor.”
Laurie watched Bob weave through the crowd of people waiting for tables. Looking down at her veal swimming in a pool of oil, she decided she wasn’t hungry herself.
She was about to get up when their Irish waiter reappeared with the bill.
Laurie looked after Bob, but he was long gone. So much for his offer to pick up the tab.
“What time is it?” Angelo asked.
“Seven-thirty,” Tony said, checking the Rolex he’d picked up at the Goldburg place.
They were parked on Fifth Avenue just north of the Seventy-second Street entrance to Central Park’s East Drive. They were on the park side of the avenue but had a good view of the entrance to the apartment house they were interested in.
“Must take this Kendall Fletcher a long time to put on his jogging shorts,” Angelo said.
“He told me he was going jogging,” Tony said defensively. “You should have called him yourself if you weren’t going to believe me.”
“Here comes somebody,” Angelo said. “What do you think? Could that be Kendall Fletcher, banker?”
“He doesn’t look like a banker in that getup,” Tony said. “I don’t understand this jogging stuff. Who’d want to dress up in Peter Pan tights and run around the park at night? It’s like asking to be mugged.”
“I think it’s him,” Angelo said. “Looks like the right age. How old did you say Kendall was?”
Tony took a typed sheet of paper out of the glove compartment. Using the map light, he searched for the Kendall Fletcher entry, then read: “Kendall Fletcher, age thirty-four, Vice President Citicorp.”
“That must be him,” Angelo said. He started the car. Tony put the list back in the glove compartment.
Kendall Fletcher had come out of his apartment building dressed to run. He crossed Fifth Avenue at Seventy-second Street and began jogging as soon as he reached the park.
Angelo headed for the East Drive. He and Tony kept their eyes glued to Kendall as he made his way down the Seventy-second Street transverse to the drive, where he turned north into the jogging lane.
Angelo motored about a hundred yards past the man, then pulled over to the side of the road. With the blinkers on, he and Tony got out.
Kendall wasn’t the only runner out on the drive. As Angelo and Tony watched him approach, a half dozen other runners passed by.
“I just don’t get these people,” Tony said with wonderment.
Just before Kendall reached them, Angelo and Tony stepped into the jogging lane.
“Kendall Fletcher?” Angelo asked.
Kendall came to a stop. “Yes?” he said.
“Police,” Angelo said. He flashed his Ozone Park police badge. Tony flashed his. “Hate to bother you while you’re running,” Angelo continued, “but we want to talk to you downtown. We’re involved with a Citicorp investigation.”
“This is not a good time,” Kendall said. His voice was firm but his eyes gave him away. He was definitely nervous.
“I don’t think you want to make a scene,” Angelo said. “We won’t take much of your time. We wanted to talk with the vice presidents before we convened a grand jury.”
“I’m in my jogging shorts,” Kendall said.
“No problem,” Angelo said. “We’ll be happy to give you a lift home and let you change. You can be out jogging in another hour if you cooperate.”
Kendall appeared wary but finally agreed. He climbed into Angelo’s car and they drove back to his building on Fifth Avenue.
Leaving a card on the dash, Angelo and Tony got out of the car with Kendall and followed him into the building. Tony was carrying the old black leather doctor’s bag. They walked as a group past the doorman, who ignored them, got on the elevator, and went up to the twenty-fifth floor.
No one spoke as Kendall opened his apartment door, went in, and held the door for Angelo and Tony.
Tony nodded several times as he viewed the apartment. “Nice layout,” he said. He put down his doctor’s bag on the coffee table.