So much for Gas and Go.
Next on Jane’s list was the Buffalo Wings Restaurant in South Portland, a call made at two-thirty p.m. on April 24, lasting a scant thirty seconds. It was now noon, the worst possible time to be calling a restaurant, but Jane dialed the number anyway.
A man answered: “Buffalo Wings, how can I help you?”
Like the woman at Gas and Go, he could not remember a call from Sofia, nor did he even know anyone by that name.
Jane hung up, baffled by why Sofia had phoned these numbers. From the discouraged tone of Frost’s voice, she figured he was having no better luck with the numbers he was calling. She scanned down to the Wednesday afternoon before Sofia’s death. Dr. Antrim had witnessed her talking on the phone in the parking lot, a call that had struck him as strangely furtive, but the only call she made that afternoon was at 2:46 p.m., and it had gone to the Pilgrim Hospital central switchboard. There was no way to track which extension Sofia had ultimately connected to.
“Any luck?” said Frost.
“No. You?”
“I spoke to the secretary at Bangor High School. She didn’t recognize the name Sofia Suarez and doesn’t remember the phone call. But she takes calls all day from parents and students.”
“And the call to Eastern Maine Medical Center?”
“It went to their medical records department. The clerk didn’t remember talking to Sofia.”
Jane flinched as her cell phone gave a murderous screech of violins.
“Oh no,” said Frost. “I completely forgot to tell you. She called me a few hours ago.”
“My mom called you?”
“She asked me to tell you to call back.” He winced at Jane’s annoying ringtone. “Why don’t you answer it? She’s just gonna call again.”
Jane sighed and picked up her phone. “Hey, Ma.”
“Why is it always so hard to reach you?”
“I’m working.”
“The same case?”
“It’s not like on TV. We don’t wrap things up in an hour.”
“？’Cause this situation here in the neighborhood could use your attention.”
“There is no situation in your neighborhood. You told me Tricia texted her dad and she’s okay.”
“I’m not convinced that particular situation has been resolved. And now I’m dealing with a completely new matter.”
Jane looked at Frost and mouthed the words save me.
“I just think I have a right to know if I’m in a dangerous position here,” said Angela. “They’re right across the street. Who knows if this could turn into another Waco or something?”
“Is this about the new people again?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you call Revere PD? It’s their jurisdiction.”
“But I don’t have a daughter in Revere PD.”
“How about calling Vince? He’ll know what to do.” And he’ll never forgive me for suggesting it.
“Vince can’t do anything. He’s still in California.”
“But he was a cop. He has instincts.”
“He doesn’t have access to a weapons database.”
Jane paused. “Weapons? What weapons?”
“To start with, that gun Matthew Green’s hiding under his shirt. A handgun. It looks just like the one Vince used to carry.”
“A Glock?”
“It could be. It sure wasn’t some old-fashioned revolver.”
“How do you happen to know that?”
“I was looking over Jonas’s fence, trying to find out what the hammering and drilling’s all about. And you know what I saw? That Green fellow’s installing bars over all his windows. It’s like he’s turning the house into some high-security prison. So I’m watching him and he bends over and there it is, on his belt. A gun. A Glock, maybe. You’re always telling me how strict the state of Massachusetts is with this kind of thing. Why would that man be carrying a concealed weapon?”
For a moment, Jane didn’t say anything. There were any number of legitimate reasons why a man might carry a concealed weapon. Maybe he was in law enforcement. Maybe he was military. Maybe he was a law-abiding citizen who just liked knowing he could protect his castle.
“There might be other guns on the property,” said Angela. “That house has a full basement. There’s room enough down there to store bazookas.”
“Okay, okay,” Jane said. “I’ll see if Matthew Green has a permit to carry.”