Страница 45 из 80
Nicholas said, “He should be a help, which is good news. If he and Bouton are friends, he’ll know how to bend the rules. You know, I think he likes me better than you.”
She went silent for a moment, then said, “Who’s this Bouton character?”
“He’s a friend, one of my old contacts. We worked together on a nasty case about five years ago, in Algiers. And if Menard knows him, we’re in luck.” He paused a moment. “To catch the Fox, we might have to jump over the line.”
Mike kicked off her boots and drew her feet up on the leather seat. “We aren’t flying to Europe to bend the rules, Nicholas.”
“The only rules that matter right now are the Fox’s.”
Mike was already shaking her head. “Come on, you know the FBI doesn’t play fast and loose with the law.”
“I know.”
“Yeah, of course you know. But you also think the Fox was involved in Elaine York’s murder, and you want revenge. I can see it on your face, Nicholas. But our job is to solve this case without breaking laws and compromising ourselves.”
His voice went cold. “If you think I’m going to allow my grief for Elaine to influence me in this investigation, you’re dead wrong. Apparently I know a lot more about you than you know about me.”
“You absolutely don’t know anything about me.”
He shifted in his chair, eyebrow raised. “You told me about your dad, the chief of police in Omaha, quite the achievement for the son of a farmer. I also know he did two tours in Vietnam and received a Purple Heart and a Silver Star. Your parents are still married—happily, by the looks of it. You have a younger brother, Timothy. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to check him out. He called you in the middle of the night last night. I guess there’s a problem with your brother, since you said he was your Afghanistan, sort of—”
She cut him off. “Stop right now. This is all Google stuff any moron could find out about my family. It has nothing to do with how I choose to do my job. I don’t wave my wand and decide what’s appropriate for the given situation. My rules, as you call them, separate me from the people I hunt. It should be the same for you.”
His face remained expressionless, and his voice was light, but she wasn’t fooled, not for an instant. “Believe it or not, the Elaine I knew was a lot like you. And you know what? I could always count on her to have my back, no matter what I asked. I do hope I can count on you.”
She fingered the Glock on her hip and said, her voice as light as his, “You’re a lamebrain, you know that? Don’t worry about me. I’ve never backed down from a fight in my life. But we won’t break laws, Nicholas. We won’t become criminals to catch criminals.”
54
Nicholas didn’t reply. He picked up the phone and called Savich again.
“Sorry, I don’t have anything for you yet.”
“I have one more thing to add into the search. Our suspect walked into a Deutsche Bank in Geneva half an hour ago.”
“Ah, that will help. Good work. I’ll add it in, see if anything changes.” They hung up, and Mike’s email dinged.
“Finally,” she said. “Video feed from Elaine’s building is here. Why would they keep the tapes off-site? Took us forever to get it.”
Nicholas sat beside her as she opened the feed on her laptop. It had been taken from the camera in the building’s lobby, and the time stamp read 10:14 a.m.
They saw a tall, thin man wearing a black jacket and slacks with a hank of white hair under a black watch cap. He walked with confidence, looking neither right nor left, but away from the camera, so they couldn’t see his face. He had a key to the building’s door. He let himself in, and as the heavy glass swung closed and he passed the camera, they saw the small backpack on his left shoulder.
“That’s the man who attacked us in the garage, Mike, I’m sure of it.”
The video fast-forwarded to 12:10 p.m. They watched the man exit. He was wearing a Yankees baseball cap now, and his jacket was apparently reversible; it was now a light gray. As he walked out the door he again tilted his face down so the camera couldn’t catch any details. All they could see was a thin knife-blade nose and a small smile playing on his lips. He turned and they had a full-on shot of the lower portion of his jaw, but only for a fraction of a second, and then he strolled out of the frame. The video stopped.
Mike said, “He looks awfully happy for someone who just committed a double murder.”
“He looked happy last night, too, when he was trying to kill us. Play it again.”
She rewound the tape. “He’s a professional. He’s aware of the cameras, knows exactly what to do to avoid them. I don’t know if there’s enough to run him through the facial-recognition database.”
“Zachery’s email says they’re trying.” She played it again. “Who is he working for? He doesn’t look Russian, does he?”
“Not really, no. Are the cameras on the street able to capture where he goes? Does he have a car, or does he walk away?”
She sca
“Play it once more. Watch the backpack he’s carrying.”
She looked closely.
Nicholas said, “See, as he exits? Look how much farther down his torso the bottom of the bag is. He’s carrying something heavy, something he didn’t have when he went in.”
“Elaine’s laptop?”
“Most likely. Can you ask Gray to see if he can identify what sort of backpack it is? It may give us something.”
“Nicholas, you’re grasping at straws.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
He was angry now. It was bad enough imagining what happened, but to see Elaine’s murderer, a smile on his face, almost as if he were whistling, casually strut out of the building without a care in the world? It burned him. And poor Elaine had followed him out several minutes later, stumbled to the river, and fell to her death.
Mike laid her hand on his arm. “We’ll get him. You know we will.”
He realized his hands were fisted, and he relaxed them. “I hate being in the dark, and I don’t like being played for a fool. We’re still ten steps behind these buggers, and it’s starting to tick me off.”
55
Brighton Beach, New York
Friday, noon
It was nearly noon, gray and overcast, windy, no sun at all. After three hours of sitting here watching Anatoly’s fancy Mediterranean-style mansion, Agent Ben Houston still hadn’t seen any movement—no one turning on lights against the gloom, no one coming out to get the paper, walk a dog, drive somewhere, nothing, which meant Anatoly still had to be at home.
He looked down at his watch. Savich and Sherlock should be here soon, and together they’d go knock on Anatoly’s door, and they would question him about the stolen Sarah Elliott painting from the Prado. Ben still thought it amazing that Savich was Sarah Elliott’s grandson.
Ben continued to stare at the silent house, as if willing something to happen, anything. He’d like to go in there before Savich and Sherlock got here and beat the living crap out of Anatoly, force him to tell the truth about Kochen and Elaine.
He banged his fist on the steering wheel. It didn’t help thinking about Elaine. Rules were rules; the law was the law.
He wondered what Mike and that dude from Scotland Yard were doing. Ben had thought Nicholas Drummond smart enough, but he took chances, and Ben bet he’d cut corners when one got in his way. At least he’d defused the bomb in the exhibit room—talk about a big chance. He sighed. They did have one thing in common: Elaine York. Ben felt the familiar pain settle in his belly.