Her mother nodded. Athena frowned but said nothing.
Palomino went on, “That could be months from now, maybe longer. If this becomes a cold case, well…” The detective shrugged and looked away. Ochoa returned and indicated that it was time to leave. Anna and Athena shook Palomino’s hand and said their goodbyes.
Later, in the elevator, Athena asked Ochoa, “Do you think we helped, Detective? Really helped?”
More expressive than Palomino, the younger detective looked pleased with them. “Oh, I think so. We’ll find that SOB now. Once we have him in custody and lean on him, get him to confess.”
Her mother turned to the detective, her eyes hooded and dark.
“That’s not likely. He’s too clever and feels no guilt. He’s going to disappear for a long while.”
Athena glanced at her mother, surprised. Had she seen something that Athena hadn’t?
Ochoa dropped Athena off at the Art Institute before she had the chance to question her mother, who remained in the car. The detective retrieved her art supplies from the trunk of his car and shook Athena’s hand. This was goodbye until further notice, apparently. She watched him drive off, her mother waving from the back seat. The unmarked police sedan passed a brown Toyota SUV, parked along the curb. It was filled with men, given what she could see from her vantage point. Something drew her notice. A male face stared at her from the back seat.
Suddenly, all thoughts of the serial killer vanished.
She squinted into the weak sunlight, automatically shading her eyes, and stared back. What she saw made her drop her case of supplies on the pavement. It sprang open, scattering tubes of paint, brushes and plastic jars of varnish. A young man about to go up the steps stopped to help her pick them all up. Her heart pounding, she dashed after him and hurried through the front doors.
Inside, she hid behind a wall and stopped to catch her breath.
Tony Grabowski! Was he stalking her?
She punched in her father’s personal number at the Embassy and left a message, ending with, “What do I do?”
Chapter Seventeen
While she waited for her father’s return call, Athena continued upstairs to painting class. It seemed that she was always late to her painting class. Bizarre, for that was her favorite one at the Institute, but these visits to the Metro police always made her miss lunch and the first fifteen minutes of class. Doctor White wasn’t going to be happy. Grrr!
Along one wall, a bank of tall, wide windows welcomed whatever natural light was available to the twenty-odd student painters already gathered and busy at work. The windows overlooked the street and ended midway to the floor, where there was a long counter, to accommodate student supplies. Underneath, there were slats labeled with students’ names, storage for canvases and portfolios. As Athena pulled out her work-in-progress canvas, she peeked out of one window. The brown car was gone.
Her heartbeat immediately slowing, she wondered if she’d hallucinated. Was she so creeped out by her visit to the cops that she was seeing bogeymen who weren’t there? Mentally shaking herself, she took her canvas over to her usual easel and set it up. Mikayla was already there, turning around on her stool to wave a few fingers in greeting. She had buds in her ears, something that Doctor White allowed. Music feeds the soul and the creative muse, and all that.
Just as well. Athena didn’t feel like talking. A trip to see the homicide detectives always put her in a sad, contemplative mood. A real bummer it was, to help the cops find the bad guys—the really bad guys. Glimpsing the dark side of humanity depressed her, and filled her with a sense of collective doom. It was hard to shake off.
Their model for the week was a woman, young and curvaceous in her Renaissance plump and bosomy flesh. She held a red velvet cloth draped over one arm and posed on her wooden plinth like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. Instead of a cascade of strawberry blond locks, her brunette waterfall fell in curls down her naked breasts. Unlike Venus, as well, she was olive-skinned and held a swatch of red cloth over her pubes instead of a lock of hair. But the woman’s face reminded Athena of Titian or Tintoretto, the Venetian Renaissance painters whose treatment of the female figure resulted in a softer, more romanticized style. Their portrayal of feminine faces was idealized, too, cherubic and pretty. She would try to emulate them as she painted this model.
Because of the classic pose, the woman was a nice substitute, but darn! Martin was a more enjoyable model to gaze at, especially for the female painters. The guys in the class, however, appeared more alert than usual. Doctor White was making her rounds, and Athena hadn’t even sketched her Venus out in pencil. Making herself focus, not dwell on her visit with Palomino’s team, or on her possible sighting of Tony, she got to work. Soon the sensation of dread faded as she transported herself to fifteenth century Italy.
An hour later, her cell phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. She’d drawn out Venus, every detail of her face and body, her hair, her draped cloth, and had painted the background with a base color—a pale mixture of cadmium yellow, sienna and titanium white this time—which she preferred to do before tackling the subject. Doctor White had approved and had said nothing about Martin’s business, Genuine Pastiches of the World’s Greatest Painters. Perhaps her instructor didn’t know that Athena might become the Manet to her Cezanne.
If she passed the pastiche test, that is. She’d followed the photograph of The Waitress but had only just outlined the figures and background. Hadn’t yet put brush to canvas. There weren’t enough hours in the day. She was always playing catch-up, it seemed.
The buzz on her phone persisted like a swarm of angry bees, so she withdrew to a far corner of the vast room and turned her back on everyone. It was her father calling back. In a jolt, the present yanked her back.
“What’s this, Athena? You saw the chap who bugged our home? When? Where?”
Her father’s strained voice made her wince with guilt.
“I think I saw him, Father. Maybe I’m just seeing ghosts, I don’t know. I was in front of the school, about to go in. He was in an SUV with three or four other men. They drove off, so maybe I was wrong.”
“Did you get the car’s license plate?”
“No, I-I…” She mentally slapped herself. “I was so startled. If it is him and he comes back, what should I do?”
“Stay in class. Have supper in the cafeteria, don’t go outside. I’ll send Max—by the by, what happened today? Max said he lost you when you got in a car with a man and your mother. He was very upset. What’s going on there? You can’t just take off and ditch your protection detail, Athena. And your mother, what were you and she doing, running off like that? I can’t abide that, not now. Not when we’re all under alert.”
Uh-oh. Her mother hadn’t informed her father about their appointment with Palomino’s homicide team.
“Father, tell Max I’m very sorry.” She tried to grovel for forgiveness. “I’ll tell him in advance next time—“
“Next time? What do you mean?” She could hear her father losing control on his end. He’d raised his voice, something he rarely did. He was very properly English, after all. But there were times she wished he’d lose his composure and scream bloody murder. Like Nonna and Giancarlo, her mother’s family, typical Italians, who knew how to let off steam. Let it blow like a volcano, then it was over, and everyone calmed down. It would probably be healthier for her father if he could be more like her Italian side of the family. Or even like the rambunctious Skoroses, all hearty bluster and bonhomie.
“Father, you have to talk to Mum about this. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Well, bloody hell,” growled Trevor Butler. “You stay put so Max can catch up with you. He’ll bring reinforcements. If that villain shows up and wants to talk to you, ignore him. The bugs are still working, and as far as he knows, we don’t suspect a thing. Don’t get into a car with him, Athena, even if he’s alone. His Serbian mates might be right behind him. I don’t know what Max and his team are plan
ning, but I’ll let them know where you are.” His voice cracked a little, a sign that her father was getting emotional. “Whatever you do, Athena, don’t get into a car with that culprit.”
“No, Father, I won’t.” Gosh, I’m not totally brainless.
She sighed and returned to her portrait.
****
That evening, her Western Civilizations class dragged, the professor droning on about the consequences of Alexander the Great’s attempt to conquer the world as he knew it. Dutifully, she took copious notes on her iPad, letting her fingers click automatically on the keyboard in response to the spoken words while her mind went numb. Later, she’d read her notes and memorize the salient points for their mid-term exam.
At the end of class, she collected her art case and hobo bag, which held her notebook, iPad and sundry necessities, including her canister of pepper spray. On impulse, she tucked the canister in one of her parka’s front pockets. One of the male students, a nice guy called Jeremy, teased her about it as he walked her down the stairs and outside. The snowfall earlier that day had long since melted, and the nighttime sky was clear and starry. On the negative side, because of the cold weather, the sidewalks were slick with icy patches.
“Watch out for the ice,” Jeremy warned.
She nodded and waved goodbye as he met his girlfriend in front of the building and they took off down the street. The school’s entrance disgorged a flow of evening students under its bright mercury-vapor lamps. Nervously, she waited at the bottom of the steps and watched several students slip and slide on black, invisible ice, squealing or swearing up a storm. Max, her bodyguard with the red knit cap, should be along soon. Would she recognize him? He changed disguises every other day.
“Hi, Athena.”
She froze, recognizing the voice. Pulling herself together, she fixed a smile and whipped around to face the young man approaching her.
“Tony! What brings you here?”
His hair was dark and curly as always, and he still cut a tall, handsome figure in a brown bomber-style leather jacket, jeans and boots. But there was a haunted look about his eyes and a tense hardness to his features. His hands emerged from his pockets to clasp her shoulders in a kind of loose hug. Instantly, she hugged him back, shocked to realize that a part of her was still drawn to him. Nevertheless, her clairvoyance honed in like a swiveling satellite dish.
Play the part. Check on the bugs. They’re nearby, watching me. Watching us. The assholes don’t trust me. Gotta show ’em I know what I’m doing.
“I was passing through, thought of you, and remembered that you had night class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I can drive you home. My car’s over there.” He pointed to the older model BMW that he’d driven on their last date. It was parked across the street in front of an all-night diner. She glanced around, looking for the brown SUV she’d spotted earlier, and thought she saw something resembling it a block away, facing in the same direction as Tony’s BMW. Toward the Three-Ninety-Five highway.
Athena didn’t move from her spot on the treacherous sidewalk as she disengaged herself. “I’m waiting for my…my older brother. He’s going to pick me up. Was that you I saw in the brown SUV earlier?”
“Yes, a bunch of guys I know. You looked frightened before. Why did you bolt like that?”
Her heartbeat raced as she tried to think of an excuse. She shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Seeing you like that, out of context, it startled me. Then I realized how late I was for class…”
He appeared placated. “You’re always late for class.”
“Yes, nothing’s changed. What happened to you, Tony? Why did you quit work all of a sudden? No notice, nothing. Fergy was fit to be tied, said you aged him ten years. Why didn’t you let me and the others know you were changing jobs?” She sharpened her voice a little in challenge.
He looked down at the ground, feigning—she knew—genuine apology or embarrassment.
“I know, I know,” he said. “I should’ve said something, but I got the word from my new bosses early that morning. Had to leap at the chance.”
“Oh yeah? What’re you doing now?” She pretended to slip a little so that she could grab onto his arm. Chortling under his breath, he held her around the waist and said, “Whoa, there!” His features had relaxed considerably.
“Research for a lobbyist firm. Pays well, and it’s in my line of study.”
“And that is…” She continued to read him. What he was telling her were all lies.
“Uh…mostly pre-Law,” he said, smiling. She felt his fear underneath, as palpable as twanging guitar strings. Her own nerve endings were vibrating, also, making her want to jump out of her skin.
Research, my ass! For a bunch of Serbian thugs.
Her father had called it groundwork in preparation for a terrorist attack on the British Embassy. How had they convinced Tony to help them? Was it for the money? Was he a terrorist, too? What else was at stake? Besides the lives of hundreds of British subjects?
She continued to interpret Tony’s thoughts and feelings, transmitted to her mind like instantaneous tweets. Deep regret coursed through him, fed his fear. He was paid well, very well. Fifty thousand dollars! But if he failed, they’d cut him up in a hundred pieces and dump him in the Potomac. Fish food, they said. And they’d laughed.
“That’s good. I don’t blame you for moving on.” She smiled and let go of his arm. How on earth had he gotten involved with them? Was he just another con man for hire?
“Wanna get some coffee at the diner?” His quick glance over to his car, parked across the street in front of the diner, was a tell, in Detective Palomino’s parlance. His endgame. Get her in his car somehow. She slipped a hand up his arm and rested it on his shoulder. In one of his pockets there was a vial of chloral hydrate, a knockout drug. He’d dose her coffee, and as she was conking out, he’d help her to his car and whisk her off. Kidnap her, but for what purpose? To blackmail her father into revealing classified details about the PM’s visit? What else did they want? Insider information?
That meant the thugs knew their bugs in the Butler household were useless to them, knew they were being fed nonsense.
“Sorry, I can’t. My older brother—“
A hard, flinty look came back onto his countenance. “I don’t remember you saying you had an older brother, just the younger one. Chris, I think his name was. What high school did you say he was going to?”
If we can’t get the daughter, we’ll get the son.
She bristled at the mention of Chris’s name, never having told “Tony” the academy’s name. Her father’s occupation had taught the family to keep circumspect about certain family details. Her nerves kept vibrating. She stiffened and backed up a couple of steps. Deep in her parka pocket, her fingers pried open the lid on the pepper spray canister.
“Yes, I might not have mentioned Max. He lives in England. He’s in the military. We don’t see him that often. He’s here on a visit.”
A man approached, wearing a navy-blue wool jacket in the style of a peacoat, a sporting cap covering his head. This time, he was clean-shaven and looking younger than he had the last time she’d seen him, which was early that morning, on her way to work. In her relief, she sagged a little, and let go of the canister in her pocket.
“Speaking of the devil, here he is. And not too soon, Max. I-I’m freezing out here. I-I’ve still got homework to do tonight.”
Max came abreast, smiling affably, and shook Tony’s hand, upon her introductions. To her amazement, Max appeared completely relaxed. She was a bundle of nerves.
“You ready to go, Athena? My car’s in the lot over there.” Max bent down and bussed her cheek. “I was just chatting up a couple of students. Where’s your car, Tony? Need a lift somewhere?”
Recovering, Athena pointed to Tony’s BMW across the street. If others in the Embassy security detail were around, maybe they could follow him. Maybe ferret out the Serbians.
Tony looked like he’d lost his best friend. An
xiety etched his face briefly, but he was quick to smooth over his emotions. Something about Max’s military bearing had discouraged the scoundrel from any further attempt at kidnapping her. He cleared his throat before speaking, as if bringing his voice under control.
“I’ll be calling you, Athena. Maybe get together with you some time when you’re not busy,” Tony said before turning toward the street.
“Okay, call me, Tony.”
Like many students who were about to cross the two-lane street to get to the side of the subway station, he hustled over to the meridian and then merged with the crowd. In seconds he was well out of earshot.
“So that’s the bastard who planted the bugs,” Max said as he took her arm. “I hung back, waiting to see what his line would be. With so many people milling around, I knew you’d only be in danger if you went to his car or if another car came up beside you. That couple over there, they were ready for anything.”
Feeling numb, she nodded, her smile fixed like a puppet’s. Tony had glanced back a couple of times before getting into the BMW. As Athena walked to the parking lot with Max beside her, picking their way around the ice, Tony looked at them one more time and waved while driving off. The brown SUV she’d spotted earlier pulled away from the curb a block away and sped after Tony’s BMW.
“Max, that’s the car Tony was in the first time. The brown SUV.”
Instantly, Max made a circling gesture with his right forefinger and stared after Tony’s BMW and the brown SUV, as though memorizing the two cars’ license plate numbers. Unfortunately, the plates had been muddied over. Behind her, she heard an engine rumbling, the throttle spurring it to life. The male-female couple Max just gestured to had jumped on a motorcycle and was now speeding off after both cars. The woman’s white wool scarf trailed behind her in the wind.
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