Rick Mofina - The Panic Zone

“I’m sorry. I think I’ve got the wrong room.”

Gannon hung up and turned to Emma.

“We have a lead at the Tellwood hotel.”

New York City

Gannon updated Lyon.

Two news photographers were dispatched to meet Gannon and Emma at the northwest corner of the intersection closest to the Tellwood.

Lyon then authorized Emma to have a temporary WPA photo ID made for her at Gannon’s insistence.

The Tellwood Regency Inn stood in the shadow of the Chrysler Building near Grand Central Station. Gannon and Emma found news photographers, Matt Ridley and Penny Uhnack, waiting at the nearest corner with their cameras tucked away in their shoulder bags.

Both were seen-it-all, shot-it-all pros.

“Matt, get everybody coming in and out of the hotel with a stroller or small kids,” Gannon said. “Penny, come with us.”

Inside, the gleaming four-star hotel was bustling.

“I’ll wait here and do the same as Matt.” Uhnack un-shouldered her bag. “But I won’t be obvious, just a tourist testing my camera.”

Gannon cut across the lobby to the desk where a young clerk smiled.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Sorry, it’s been a rough day. I’m a reporter with the World Press Alliance.” Gannon showed her his photo ID and unfolded a sheet of paper with the names Taggart and Chenoweth. “I’m late for an interview with the people in this room, 1414. My desk didn’t give me all the information. I think the people moved to another room. Can you please help me?”

The clerk looked at the note then tapped her keyboard.

“We have them, Mr. Gannon. Room 2104.”

“Thank you so much.”

Gannon and Emma stepped into one of six elevators and rode to the twenty-first floor. On the way up, they exchanged nervous glances. Gannon had decided he would confront Chenoweth and Taggart with the truth and try to persuade them to help.

They stepped off at the floor and headed to room 2104. Gannon knocked on the door.

No response.

Would they find a repeat of the scene in the Bahamas?

Gannon put his ear to the door. No movement inside. Emma looked in vain for cleaning staff.

“Let’s go back down,” Gannon said.

In the lobby, Uhnack’s face was flushed as she approached them.

“I think I got something.” She cued up several frames on her digital news camera. “These people just left. I barely got my camera out.”

Uhnack had captured images of an Asian woman in her twenties pushing a stroller with an Asian boy who looked about three or four. A Caucasian man in his twenties was with them. Gannon compared the shots to the file photos.

“That’s them,” Gannon said.

“Definitely,” Uhnack said. “I got these pictures, too.”

She showed them more images. A white couple in their thirties holding hands with two little girls, then a frame of a young African-American woman with a baby in a stroller and a frame of an older woman pushing a stroller.

“Wait!” Emma drew her face to the camera’s viewer. Uhnack enlarged the frame. “Oh, my God, that’s Tyler!”

“Who is he with? She’s familiar.” Gannon recalled the woman’s face from that morning’s fugitive alert. “It might be Gretchen Sutsoff.”

“Which way did she go?” Emma demanded. “Tell me!”

Uhnack shook her head. “I didn’t see!”

Gannon’s phone rang.

“Jack, it’s Ridley outside. I got some stuff, but something’s up. Looks like an unmarked just pulled up and two detectives are at the desk.”

Gannon went to the desk and got close enough to see a badge flash and hear NYPD detectives Wolowicz and Hatcher say they were looking for a Mary Anne Conrad, traveling with a baby, William John Conrad. The clerk checked registrations, then shook her head.

“We have other names,” Hatcher said as the clerk ran through them. Then Gannon heard the investigators say, “alias Gretchen Sutsoff.”

“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “I overheard you and I think I may have some information.”

The detectives turned.

“That right? And who are you?”

Gannon produced his ID, waved Uhnack and Emma over and called Ridley in. They showed the detectives their photographs. Emma struggled with her emotions as Gannon explained everything quickly to Wolowicz and Hatcher. Their stone-faced expressions revealed nothing.

When Gannon had finished briefing them, Hatcher called his captain.

“Which way did you say she was traveling?” Hatcher asked Ridley.

Emma fought back tears, staring at Tyler’s photo.

“West on Forty-second,” Ridley said.

“-ASAP, that’s right,” Hatcher said into his phone. “Get all radio cars looking for her from the Tellwood, west on forty-second.” Hatcher studied Ridley and Uhnack’s photos. “Description-white female, mid-fifties, medium build. Five-seven, maybe one-twenty, one-thirty. She’s wearing a red top and white shorts. She’s pushing a blue canvas stroller. The kid is white, about one or so, and is wearing a white ‘I heart New York’ T-shirt.”

Emma wanted to scream.

“I can’t stand here. I have to look for Tyler!”

“Hold it. No one goes anywhere.” Wolowicz tapped the cameras. “We want those pictures, this is a police investigation.”

“These are WPA property,” Ridley said. “Work that out with WPA brass.” He hit his speed-dial button for the WPA photo editor.

“We will, pal. I’m going to hold you all until we settle this.”

“I need to go now!” Emma screamed.

“No one is going anywhere, miss.” Wolowicz leveled his finger at her. “There are half a dozen police cars in this area now that are looking for our subject. Stay calm. We’re going to find her and the baby.”

“We’re wasting time!” Emma shouted.

Heads shot around as people watched the exchange. Ridley was on his phone explaining their predicament to the photo editor.

Gannon called Lancer.

“Lancer.”

“It’s Gannon in New York. She’s here. Sutsoff is here.”

“Where?”

“Our photographers saw her leaving the Tellwood on Forty-second heading west about fifteen minutes ago. She has Emma Lane’s baby with her.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’ve got photos and two NYPD detectives are here.”

“Give us the photos.”

“It’s being sorted out now. Where would Sutsoff go?”

Lancer hesitated.

“Come on, Lancer!”

“She’ll likely go to Central Park for the conference.”

Gretchen Sutsoff heard an old melody on Fifth Avenue.

She stopped the stroller in front of a coffee shop. Its open door was leaking music, a song that her little brother had cherished.

Will.

The memories flooded back. Will was such a good boy.

To hear his song on this day pleased her until she was jerked from her reverie.

“Lady, would you get outta my freakin’ way?”

A sweating, grunting delivery man balancing a steel handcart loaded with soda nearly grazed her, forcing her to move. Sutsoff came to another storefront and saw a TV inside broadcasting the fugitive alert.

The report showed the older photos that bore no resemblance to her.

As a precaution, she entered a Fifth Avenue shop, bought a summer dress, a sun hat and dark glasses. She took the baby with her and changed in the washroom of a fast-food restaurant. She also put on a new wig that was a different color and length. She tested her laptop. The signal was strong, she had full battery power and she had spares.

Good.

Finally, she checked the baby. His signs were fine. He’s in perfect health, she thought, taking a couple more pills to help her contend with the crowds before wheeling the stroller back to the street.