With all entries evaluated, Hannah gathered the three boxes and set them on the table where they were judging. Madeline excused herself, so the sleuth took the opportunity to confront Samori. She turned and stared at him for a moment as he gathered up his notes. He again ran his eyes over Hannah. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe. Have you ever heard of Elias Babel?” Hannah observed a slight stiffening of his posture and took note that he paused before answering.
“My specialty is truffles, Ms. Starvling. Of course, I have heard of Mr. Babel.”
“Did you hear what happened to him?”
Samori did not look at Hannah but focused on his papers. She watched as he fumbled to stack them and store away his pen. Unnerved at the mention of his name.
“I heard he had an accident. Unfortunate. I was hoping to meet with him.”
“You would like him. Nice fellow. Fell off the balcony in his room. Four stories straight down.” Hannah paused before giving the next information. “I got there just after he landed.”
Samori turned to look the sleuth in the face. His nostrils flared, and he tilted his head downward a bit.
“A lot of people were around. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I saw you there.”
In a cold, steady voice, he answered, “You are mistaken.”
“Is that so? I could have sworn it was you. Then I come in here, and there you are, judging with me. First time judge. Odd, wouldn’t you say?” Hannah said, staring back into his dark eyes.
At this point, the two became locked in a battle of wills, each trying to out stare the other. Neither gave in. Samori seemed never to even twitch. Yet, Hannah struggled. Then she moved to overtake him mentally.
“As your uncle no doubt told you, I’m a bit of a curious person. I have questions about whether Elias fell or if he was pushed. He’s a good friend, so I figure I should consider it. It’s kind of my thing, you might say. What I do.”
For the first time, Samori moved. It was a minuscule move backwards, but just enough for Hannah to catch on to. She pressed on.
“So I checked out his room yesterday. The whole place, it’s trashed now. Someone was looking for something. I’m pretty sure I got a good look at the person.”
Samori’s face began losing its color, turning an ashy gray. His eyes darted around a bit. His focus shifted all around Hannah’s face, searching for clues to how much she knew. Then he made a mistake. He swallowed. Hannah unnerved him and now she knew. Her lips turned into a slight grin.
“So I ask you…”
Samori’s face morphed into one of fear. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open a small ways. It was then that Hannah unleashed upon him something unexpected. His name as it read on the badge he wore that day.
“… Samori, what were you looking for?”
From that moment, there was a pause in the exchange. To Hannah, it seemed to last an eternity. A young woman broke the moment by stepping up to the opponents.
“Ms. Starvling, could I get your autograph?” she asked.
Samori continued to stare at Hannah while she reached over and took a copy of Food Critic from the young woman. The issue contained the article Louie wrote about Hannah. It included her work as former FBI turned culinary consultant and amateur sleuth. She gave the girl a smile and searched for her pen. Samori retrieved his and handed it to Hannah. She stared at him and he said, “Keep it.” Turning back to the girl, Hannah asked how she would like it made out. After filling the request, she turned back to where Samori stood but he stepped away. He gave Hannah one last look. It was strong, defiant, and menacing.
“I wonder how much exactly you did see. If you know what you saw. Or if you should even consider what you saw. Now, the questions I have for you, Ms. Starvling, ones you should ask yourself. What would someone think of you being there, hiding in an injured man’s room? And if you knew so much why did you not inform law enforcement?” He paused before producing a smirk. “Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Hannah Starvling. I’ll let my uncle know that with many regrets, you will be unable to have dinner with him this time around.” With that, Samori headed toward the door. He gave a menacing glare back before exiting.
Hannah considered following the man, but she found it too risky at the moment. She struck a nerve with him, enough so that he issued a veiled threat to turn her in should she do the same of him. It gnawed at her in that respect, he was correct. Gresham Police did not have a stellar reputation for intrusion into cases. This lesson she learned the hard way. The one time she involved herself with them it did not end well. More so, there were the persistent rumors of corruption. Well played, Mr. Drogba. Well played. Thinking over his parting words, she wondered about his comment. You will be unable to have dinner with him. Was he keeping me from his uncle because of what I know about him? Or was he protecting his uncle from me for the same reasons? She tapped at her lips with an extended finger while displaying her particular quirk. While there was no denying his search of the room, the reason for that action remained undiscovered. She assumed he was searching for the truffles, and that he was working with someone and the most likely person would be his uncle. However, the ambassador was a good man, something she concluded when she saved his life in Mexico. He was also an honest man. Hannah found it hard to imagine him tied up with anything revolving around black market truffles. Yet again, she could not rule out the possibility. Rules are rules, she reminded herself. No matter what you think of someone, they are only in the clear when evidence suggests as such. She opened the top box, took out a half-eaten cookie, and finished it off as she pondered further. Reasons for Samori’s involvement in the black market food trade formed in her mind. Money. Access. Need. Jealousy. Greed. Then came potential motives for the attack on Elias. She picked up another pastry and bit into it. Elias found him out, and he confronted him. Or he just wanted the truffles and Elias’ fall was an unintended outcome. Truffles. Truffles. The diamonds of the kitchen. Expensive. But they were Elias’ special truffles. Finishing off the second sweet, she closed the box and sat down at the table as she tried to cobble this part of the puzzle together. If he took Elias’ special truffles, he couldn’t use them in public. Someone would call him on it. Only in private. But who was so important that he would risk everything for something he could buy? This, despite the expense. His uncle, the ambassador?
The ideas in Hannah’s mind were running together. She shook her head to clear it. Looking down at the boxes, she wondered if she had consumed too much sugar. Remembering the coffee shop across the street, she left the room, boxes in hand. She made her way to the business and ordered a double shot espresso and a carafe of regular coffee. Waiting for her order, she once again twisted the pieces of the puzzle in her mind, trying to fit the interlocking arms together. At present, though, she found no pieces that intersected.
His uncle could afford to buy them. And he didn’t need the amount Elias had. Hannah thought back to the relationship she saw between Salomon and Samori. The uncle seemed impressed and proud of his nephew. To steal truffles to impress him seemed too elaborate, too risky, and all together unnecessary.
The more Hannah considered the current clues, the more improbable the ambassador’s involvement seemed. To her mind, this was a dead end path of inquiry, so she buried it. This is all Samori, she concluded, which again brought her back to his involvement. Going back over the encounter in the room, Hannah tried to recall everything Samori said. He never said he threw Elias. He was there looking for the truffles.
Hannah leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She tried to visualize the possibilities. She began listing all she knew. She figured that with truffles being Samori’s specialty, he would know about the black market. His uncle mentioned having a French connection to the items when he asked her to dinner. She wondered if that was Elias, but regardless, he did not act as if it was something secretive. Again, she tossed the idea of Salomon aside and tried to refocus on Samori. After a moment, her thoughts rushed together. Her eyes ope
ned wide and blurted out, “He needed those particular truffles!”
The sudden outburst startled the approaching waitress. She struggled to maintain the tray holding Hannah’s order. After recovering, she set the items on the table as Hannah apologized. After downing the espresso, she poured and prepared another cup of coffee. Sipping it, she brought forth the most obvious question related to what she determined. What was so special about these particular truffles? Glancing over to her handbag, she opened it and ruffled around. Seconds later, she retrieved the card she found in Elias’ room and read it over. A grin eased onto her face. For the first time since Elias fell, she felt like she was ahead in the game at hand.
“Hey, Gran, it’s me. How’s Elias?”
“Hello, dear. He is still under. Hasn’t come out yet. Janine and Johnny are exhausted. We insisted they get out, but he said he was staying and asked us to take Janine out for a bit. Hymn’s there with them. She’s walking with us now. How are you?”
Hannah blew out a breath. “Full of sugar and caffeine. Jittery, but I have something. I’ll tell you about it when I get there. I have somewhere to go, but the hospital is along the way. So with Hymn there, I think I’m going to stop in.”
“Well, good, can’t wait. We’re out on some wharf, and your grandfather…”
There was a second of silence before Hannah heard Gran yelling to Papa Jay. “Oh, for heavens… Jayland, put that fish down. You’ll smell all afternoon. And don’t you dare try to gut that thing.”
Hannah laughed. The interaction on the other end of the line was both distracting and amusing. Seconds later, Gran returned to the conversation.
“I cannot believe that man. Fish. Fish. Fish. We should have gone anywhere but near the water. What was I thinking?”
“Well, okay then. I’ll...”
“Uh, I told you not to, dumb butt.” Gran made a ‘humph’ sound before saying, “Sorry, he tried to clean the fish. That man… he… It wasn’t even his fish.” There was another pause, then, “You don’t want to know. Anyway, Fishmonger’s going to need a bath now, so if you’re going to the hospital, we’ll drag Janine back to the hotel for a bit. Maybe let her get in a nap. You’ll have to tell me about everything later. Give us a call. Love you, dear.”
“Love you too.”
Hannah once again stared at her phone. For a second, she considered heading to the storage facility before going to the hospital. That way, she could be in and out and back to the hospital in no time. However, for practical purposes, she felt obligated to check in on Elias first. More so, she wanted to see Hymn. The storage facility will be there after, she told herself with a smile.
Hannah caught a taxi to the hospital. As she got into the vehicle, she looked back across the way. In the distance, she thought she saw someone watching her through binoculars, but they were so far away, she was not sure. You’re being paranoid, she told herself.
Reaching the hospital, she paid the driver and exited. Doing so, she glanced around to be sure she was not followed. She found no one, but noticed several police cars pulled up in emergency lanes in front. She paused to take the scene in and make mental notes. It’s nothing, she assured herself. All the while, her instinct screamed otherwise.
After a stop at the reception desk to make sure her information was correct, Hannah made her way up to Elias’ floor. When the elevator doors opened, she saw several police officers near the nurses’ station. She stepped off the elevator and glanced around. Officer Brandon talked to two nurses. Down the way, she saw Wexler sitting on a chair, his shirt covered in blood. Another nurse dabbed at a gash on the side of his head. Hymn sat in his wheelchair explaining something to the officers. Officer Bland and a female in a black, pinstriped business pants suit stood nearby talking to him. Scanning the woman over, a memory moved into Hannah’s fore mind. 5’7. Dark, shortcut auburn hair. Fit. Attractive. Hannah stopped as her face winced. “Betts,” she mumbled.
Wexler looked toward Hannah and started to rise, but the nurse pushed him down. Hymn turned and gave a concerned, one corner smile. Bland and Betts looked in her direction. Bland acknowledged her with a nod.
As Hannah approached, Betts mouth twisted into a sardonic grin.
“Hannah Starvling, why am I not surprised?”
“Ramona.”
“Detective Betts.”
“If you insist.”
Sensing the increased tension, Hymn cleared his throat. “I take it you two have met.”
“We have,” Hannah affirmed with an icy tone as she stepped up beside Hymn and put her arm around his shoulder. He reached up to take her hand.
Seeing the couple, Betts frowned, but raised an eyebrow. She eyed Hymn for a second. “I see you’re neck deep in this, as always.” Motioning over to Hymn, she added, “And of course, the Culinary Detective always gets her man.”
Hannah crossed her arms. “And here I thought you couldn’t read.”
Betts shuffled back and forth. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see my friend. What’s going on?”
Before Betts answered, Wexler chimed in. “They tried again.”
Wexler’s words struck Hannah hard as they echoed in her mind. She forgot all animosity between Betts and herself for the moment. “What?”
Betts gestured in a halting manner. “We’re handling it.”
Hannah stared at the detective for a second before looking to Wexler. He glanced between the two women and said, “We were with Elias.” He motioned to Hymn.
At this point, Hymn interjected. “I went to go to the restroom.”
“He did, and a few minutes later, this delivery guy comes in, puts down flowers. We talk for a second and he leaves. So, while Hymn was gone, I went for some coffee for us. I figured by the time I got back, he’d be back. As I’m leaving, I pass the deliveryman talking to this other guy and some nurses. When I get back, the guy is back, hovering over Elias. He has a needle and was going for the IV. I grabbed him and we fought. Then he smashed the vase over my head. I hit the ground, and he went running.”
Hymn looked up to Hannah. “I got back a few minutes later. Ran into Dr. Tompkins and we talked a few minutes. By then, it was all over.”
“What’d he look like?”
Betts put her hand on Hannah’s arm. “I said we’re handling it.”
“Are we going to do this again? Cause I’m more than willing to. I’ll step all over your authority, call in every favor, talk to everyone I know. Bring in the bureau if I have too. Are you ready for that again?”
Betts twisted her jaw around and pulling in her expression, she glanced over at Wexler before turning back to Hannah. “Same arrogant bitch,” she said half-aloud. Hannah shook the detective’s hand loosely. Betts grimaced before gesturing to let her talk to Wexler. As she passed the detective, Hannah dipped her head in recognition. Bland watched the exchange with a curious, yet cautious look. Hannah settled beside Wexler opposite of the nurse and took his hand. “Think now, Mr. Wexler.”
“Johnny,” he insisted.
“All right, Johnny. What did he look like?”
Wexler frowned. “It’s kind of blur. Uh, he was tall and large. A scrapper, for sure, and he had an accent.” He shook his head, and the nurse grabbed his chin to stop him. “Sorry, I just…” He pointed a finger to the gash.
With a gentle smile, Hannah nodded. She looked him straight in the eyes. “Johnny, listen, I think I can help if you’re willing.”
“Anything to help,” Wexler agreed.
Hannah took his large arm and laid it across her lap. She turned it over and placed a single finger on his wrist.
“All right, close your eyes. Think now about every detail, no matter how insignificant. What did he look like? What did he say? It might help.”
Wexler closed his eyes. With one finger, Hannah drew out small circles in a slow motion on his wrist. “Think now. Every detail,” she reinforced.
Bland, Betts, Hymn, and the nurse watched in silence as Wexler paused
and frowned. He proceeded to recall. Each word came at a slow, methodical pace in short, broken sentences.
“Tall. Muscular. Tattoos on the back of his hands. Over wrists from beneath the sleeves. Olive green jumpsuit. A uniform. Too small. Stitched label over his left pocket. Enrico. Patch over the right pocket. Gresham Flowers. Black hair. Old scar. On the right. From hair down into his brow. Split his eyebrow in half. Down onto the cheek. Not shaved in a few days.”
“His voice. Deep? Accent?” Hannah asked.
“Like Vadim’s.”
“Vadim?” Betts questioned, looking to Hannah. She shrugged in response.
Hymn whispered. “Vadim Vladichov, if I were to guess. They played ball together. A Czech kicker.”
“What did he do? What did you and the deliveryman talk about?”
Wexler’s brow furrowed but maintained closed eyes. “Set the flowers down. Asked how he was doing. Looked over at Elias. Not at him.”
“What did he look at?”
“Heart monitor. IV. Cast on arm and leg.”
“Is that all?”
“He left.”
“You went for coffee.”
Wexler affirmed.
“Then you fought.”
Again, Wexler affirmed.
“Anything else.”
“Tell me.”
Hannah paused and looked at Betts and Bland. All wore puzzled expressions. Turning back to the man, Hannah inquired, “Tell me?”
“Tell me. Stop him.”
Wexler’s eyes shot open and his mouth fell agape. He leapt to his feet, fists furled, and ready for action. Bland took several steps back. He placed one hand forward in a halting gesture and the other over his weapon. Betts followed suit. The nurse scrambled away. Hannah rose, one hand extended.
“Easy, everyone’s safe.”
Wexler blinked several times before swallowing hard. He ran his large, thick hands over his bald head, wiping perspiration away. “What the hell is going on?” he asked in a confused voice before settling down.
The Billionaire Chef Page 13
