Into the Dark by Peter Abrahams

Author:Peter Abrahams [Abrahams, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Peter Abrahams
Published: 2010-07-03T15:58:28.039000+00:00

fourteen Data. It could come in the form of information, things you heard and saw. For example, take the creepy-looking guy who’d snapped her picture, or maybe hers and Nigel’s. Mr. Borum had seen a prowler matching that description around his shed, back when he’d still owned the dairy farm. Were those two links in a chain? If so, it was hard not to connect them to Grampy’s shed, a perfect spot for watching the dynamite caper without being seen. Was that a third link, a third link in a chain that led to the identity of the anonymous tipster? Ingrid couldn’t prove it, but she knew. That mudded-out license plate might as well have read: guilty.

Data could also be an object, like the parking stub she’d found in Grampy’s shirt. Sherlock Holmes was great at seeing big meanings in little things. Take how he knew from some scratches on Watson’s shoe in “A Scandal in Bohemia” both that Watson had been getting himself very wet lately and that he had a careless servant girl. Little things with big meanings: Alone in her room that night, the house quiet, Ingrid examined the parking stub under her desk lamp.

The parking stub was square, about two inches by two inches, with perforations at the bottom where the end had been torn off.

New York City Mercy Hospital was printed in white letters at the top. Then came an address: 23 East End Avenue. After that, in tiny print, were lots of parking garage rules. Ingrid made her way through them all. They mostly added up to the garage not being responsible for anything. What would Holmes have seen? Ingrid didn’t know. She flipped the stub over. On the back was a map of East End Avenue and surrounding streets; Ingrid saw that the East River flowed nearby. Putting that together with memories of her two trips to New York, she felt pretty sure that New York Mercy Hospital was on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. What else? She stared at the back of the stub. There was an inky smear in the middle, hard to read, as though the printer had been jolted or something. Not exactly a printer—maybe more like a stamper. Yes, one of those stamping machines they had in parking garages. You stuck the ticket in the machine on the way into the garage, then gave it to the clerk on the way out, and the clerk stamped it and told you the amount. And therefore . . .

Ingrid bent over Grampy’s parking stub, squinted at the blurry print. In: 11:05 a.m., Tue., Feb. 11. Out: 10:17 a.m., Sat., Feb. 15.

Sat., Feb. 15? She turned to her computer, brought up the calendar, double-checked. Yes: the day she and Joey had snowshoed on the old Indian trail, ended up finding the body of Harris Thatcher. And Grampy? He hadn’t been home at first, but then had appeared in dress pants, his suitcase in the kitchen. So that added up. But way more important than that was Tue.

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