Chapter Thirty-Five
Before I could delve into the matter of Kandinsky’s son, I had business to attend to.
I grabbed the Blaine file, stuffed the photo of Terry inside, and readied myself for an excursion.
By the time I hit the road, it was close to 1030 hours. I headed straight to Terry’s apartment. I needed to give it one last look to make sure I hadn’t missed a clue.
I’d lucked out on the weather. According to the forecast, at least three days of sunshine were in store. I cracked the windows to let the balmy early autumn breeze flow through the car. Technically, early September was still summer and it felt like it—sans the stifling humidity of a typical Maryland July or August.
The flow of air as I drove was like bath water, and its caress should’ve been relaxing, but it wasn’t. My
