Three more people entered the cafe. One ordered coffee and a Danish and sat in the restaurant section. He looked like a sanitation worker. The other two were businessmen wearing overcoats and carrying briefcases. She watched as they paid their fee and took up positions at their assigned terminals. Neither man so much as looked at her. Businessmen who conducted their business from telephone booths and cybercafes, she decided. She’d seen a ton of them when she lived in Washington. As a CPA she’d had to call phone booths at designated times during tax season to track down clients.

Tracking down…Kayla’s half brother was a police detective. God, where did she say he worked? Sam closed her eyes tight, her facial features crunched as she tried to recall everything Kayla had told the group almost six months ago. She felt like she hit the mother lode when the brother’s name and his precinct came to mind.

Sam took a deep breath and started to type and search. The next time she looked up at the clock hanging over the front door it was one o’clock. She’d missed lunch, and with nothing but three cups of coffee, her stomach started to protest. She looked around. Every terminal was occupied, but no one person looked like anything but what they were, a person working the computers because they didn’t own one.

Sam turned off the computer, slipped into her coat, paid her overtime charges, and reserved the same terminal for two o’clock. She left the cafe and turned left. She could hardly wait to get to one of the hot dog vendors. Just the thought made her mouth water.

It was cold, Sam thought, as a raw wind whipped her forward until she came to what in Washington she referred to as the umbrella cart. She ordered two hot dogs with the works, meaning sauerkraut, onions, mustard, and relish. She leaned against the nearest building and devoured them. The hot dogs were almost as good as one of Kyros’s five-star meals.

Sam walked crossed the street, then backtracked to the cybercafe, which again was empty of computer users. The tables in the restaurant section were full. The manager nodded toward the terminal she’d reserved, and she paid for three more hours in cash.

She typed diligently for the next two hours as she tried to locate Kayla’s brother. When she finally made contact she felt like she should stand up and cheer. She sucked in her breath as she typed a carefully worded message. The return message was just as carefully worded. When both parties were eventually satisfied that each was who they said they were, they got down to business.

We have a six-month window here, so take your time. I think Prizzi is the way to go.