by Thomas Perry
She had grown older now, and being beautiful was almost the same as being young. She had needed to be good at prolonging beauty and simulating youth for so long that she knew she could always look good with a little effort. And the men who were coming had all known her when she was young. Men who had known a woman for a long time could be counted on to see what used to be there, not what was there now.
She turned off the light, took her pack down the hallway and left it, then stepped back toward the living room. She saw Todor, Srdan, and Tomislav come in the side entrance before she could get there. She had wanted to be seated, composed and feigning relaxation when they saw her, but she changed her plan. She hurried up to them as they stepped away from the door.
She called out, “I’m so glad you guys are here,” as she approached, and then, “I’ve been so worried about you.” She hugged each of them and planted a small kiss on each man’s face. “Tomislav,” she whispered. “Srdan … Todor.” This put her face beside theirs one after another, and let them smell the subtle scent of her hair. “This is a nightmare.”
“It is,” muttered Tomislav. But the way he said it made Mira wary. Mihailo had been connected in some way to Tomislav’s mother’s family, at least by marriage.
She wept. “This whole mess is my fault. I thought we had all lived here long enough so I could have a foreign boyfriend. I thought it might even help us all to have connections with Americans who liked us. When it turned bad, you all helped me get rid of his body and everything. I think it was Mihailo who thought of the storm sewer.”
Tomislav nodded his head. “I think it was. He was trying to help you, Mira. He had always wanted you to like him.”
“I did,” she said. “I really did.” The truth was that she had never even thought of the possibility that he’d had romantic feelings about her. He had never made any overtures to her.
Tomislav brought himself to reach out and pat her shoulder. It wasn’t comforting, but it made her feel she had passed his test. She was still uncertain about the others, so she forced her tears to flow a little by thinking about a bad moment she’d had as a child in Bucharest. She had found a stray kitten on the street, slipped it into her coat, and smuggled it back to the school. She had given it part of her food for two days, and then on the third came back to the room she shared with other girls and found it gone. Now she brought back in her mind the moment when the matron had taken her to the back of the building to show her the kitten’s body on the trash heap. A boy named Cazimir had heard the kitten crying out for Mira, and then told on her.
Mira cried some more and then Todor put his arms around her, cradling her there. For a moment, her mind lingered on the kitten. Mira had already known she and the other children were being trained for the Securitate, and their job would be to inform on people—their teachers, friends, each other. Cazimir was simply a quicker student than she was.
Her mind was brought back to the present when she felt Todor’s hands move down to her waist, and the hug becoming an embrace. She turned her head away from his shoulder so the top of her head was to his face, and brought her hands up to wipe her eyes, her elbows against his chest.
She stepped back into the bathroom for long enough to snatch a handful of tissues. During that time the men all moved into Gavrilo’s living room and took seats on one of the white couches. The back door opened again. Mira watched the arrival of two couples, Anica and her husband, Dragan, and Anton and Sonja Karadzic.
Mira intercepted them and held out her arms to hug each of the women, carefully staying away from their husbands, but greeting them as she pulled their wives to her. The women all kissed the air beside each other’s faces to preserve their makeup. The whole ritual was repeated when the sisters Marija and Jelena Arkadic arrived together.
Mira felt closer to the women than to most of the men. She had worked with each of the women dozens of times, going into some of the most well-guarded jewelry stores in the world and risking their lives to fool the clerks, managers, police, and security men. They had been rivals and friends and enemies. They had fought and schemed against each other, and cried real tears together that the men never saw. Now, in their midthirties to fifties, they were her cousins and sisters. If she had any long-lost relatives living in Romania, they might as well stay lost.
The women made their way into the living room and exchanged greetings with the others. This group had seen each other twice since the death of James Ballantine, after staying apart for most of the two years before that. Both gatherings had been held to deal with the crisis that Mira Cepic had caused.
Mira couldn’t be sure how to interpret the warmth of the women’s welcome. After twenty-year careers working on crews in the robbery circuit, they were all skilled at manipulating the men who were present today. Some of the men were relatives of theirs in the complicated and unknown reckonings of the Serbs, and others were former lovers or just sexual partners during drunken flings of a single night long ago. She’d had her own relationships with many of the men present, but it was impossible to be sure how strong any of these bonds with them would be now. She knew it would be dangerous to try to use them in the presence of the women.
“Today I’m sad,” Gavrilo said, and the meeting began with the deep, resonant sound of his voice. “We’ve lost three more dear friends, Mihailo, Jovan, and Bogdan. These were smart, tough men in good health with very little to fear. It’s a terrible thing. It pained me to lose our three Russian friends, Volkonsky, Gregorin, and Malikov. We all talked about that loss last time, and we still feel guilty for letting them stay to search that house alone that night. Now we’ve lost three who were even closer to us. Mihailo was like a little brother to me. When we were young and hungry we ate from the same dish. Bogdan was a great companion—fearless and quick. Jovan and I met in the army, and I liked him ever since because he was funny and sly. Where are their bodies?”
Todor said, “Zivko and I brought them. They’re in the van outside.”
Gavrilo said, “Thank you. We may as well bury them beside the others. I hate to bury any comrade so far from home, but we all knew when we came here that this is what would probably happen to all of us in time.”
“We should never have come here,” said Srdan. “We don’t belong in this country.”
“We had to try,” said Anica. “At home, people were always curious about where the money came from.”
Tomislav said, “My great-grandfather was a prince. Wasn’t yours?”
The rest of the group gave a murmuring of appreciative laughter. They had all made up stories to account for the wealth they had built up. They were all too cunning to have let much of the money show in Belgrade, but none of them had been cautious enough to hold real jobs to explain how they were able to live. That had seemed to defeat the reason for having money. Instead they had come to California.
Mira was one of the first to think of it. She remembered saying, “We’re in danger because we all have lots of money. We don’t need to keep pulling robberies anymore. We don’t need more money. We just need to live in a place where other people spend money too.”
Her first idea was that she and maybe two of the others would go to South America. There were plenty of countries where they could begin by impersonating tourists, and eventually buy residency papers. At first she had chosen Mihailo, who was quiet and reliable, and Dragan, who was handsome. When Dragan got together with Anica, Mira had invited her too. Four were a big enough party to handle most emergencies in a foreign place, and each of them had millions of euros. They could buy a piece of land together, and pretend to run a fruit plantation or a cattle ranch.
As their plans developed and their research broadened, more of the circle heard about them. When a new name was proposed, there was always a reason to add another person. Tomislav had once been apprenticed as a carpenter, and could supervise construction of their farm buildings. Jovan had received training as a medic, and saved lives in war. Marija was as beautiful as a movie star, and she
spoke fluent Spanish. Of course, her older sister Jelena must come with her. The two had grown up on a farm and could repair machinery and cook. This had gone on until most of the members of the group were included. Eight crews had disbanded and left their homes in Europe.
Gavrilo said, “I think coming here was a good plan, but bad luck can defeat a good plan too. It’s time to start thinking about doing something different.”
Mira raised her hand high, like a schoolgirl.
“Yes, Mira?”
She stood up straight, as she had in the Securitate. “I have to tell you all that things are worse than you know. When I left my house today, it was for the last time. The police are parked in a van at the end of my street, watching my front door. I’m only able to be here because I went out the back way and made myself look like a pool boy.”
The others looked at each other, their faces showing dismay.
“I don’t know how anyone found me,” she said. “I was watching in case the two private detectives came, or the two killers we hired to get rid of them. Instead, I know now the killers went to see Jovan, Mihailo, and Bogdan. I never expected police. Now I think the police must have come across my address among James Ballantine’s papers or computer and decided it might mean something. I’ve cleaned my house and shredded and burned my papers. I’ve taken the drive out of my computer, broken and burned it too. Nobody should be endangered when I’m gone. I know that, from beginning to end, I’m the one who ruined everyone’s chance to retire here. I’m sorry.”
Srdan Zrinski said, “How did this happen? I never understood.”
Mira stared at him for a moment. “I thought by now everyone knew.” She looked around her in exaggerated surprise. “Are you all too pure for gossip?”
A few of the women appreciated the joke, but she noticed Anica and Marija were both suddenly interested in their feet. They felt sorry for her. She said, “A little gossip would have been kinder this time. Srdan, you’re too young to have known me well in the old days, but I guess I’ve always been a little bit of a whore. I think that probably made me better at my job. When I was in a jewelry store batting my eyes at the guard, a part of me meant it. I think sometimes the guard felt the heat, and watched me instead of the door. After we came to California I stayed away from men for almost two years. I didn’t want to be in a position where someone wanted to know all about me. Practically the only times I talked to Americans was when I was playing tennis at my country club. Then I took up golf too. If a group of three came, the starter would put me with them to make a foursome.
“One day I met a man I liked playing golf. He was a scientist at a company near the course. He had many qualities I liked. He was very intelligent, very well educated. He was handsome. The Americans I had met who seemed the most cool and sophisticated were black, and so was he. I fell for him. Things were fine for months. Most of the time we saw each other for dinner and then we’d go to his apartment or my house. We went away for a few weekends, but I told him I was afraid of airplanes, so we drove, and I didn’t have to show identification or get on some list. Then one day he changed. He made it clear that he was the boss and I had to obey him. At first I kind of liked it, so I played along. Then I realized it wasn’t a game, and he was serious. He had also figured out that there was something about me that I was hiding—something that had to do with where my money came from—and he thought that gave him his power over me. So I had to kill him. I shot him in my backyard with a .22—two shots to the head. Some of the guys helped me get rid of his body. For a year I felt lonely and sad, but I was sure I had avoided the trouble from him. Then that pair of private detectives started poking around.”
Tomislav said to Srdan, “We tried to help, but instead we made it worse. That was the real problem.”
Mira heard him, and it sounded to her like an investment paying off. She was glad she had rushed up to him when he had come in.
Gavrilo said, “We can talk about this forever. But I think Mira has made the right decision. It’s time to move on. After the boys are buried, I’ll start cleaning my house too.”
Around the room, people nodded silently. Todor spoke up. “Where is everyone going—back to Belgrade?”
“Not me,” Dragan said. “I swore I’d never go back, and I’ll swear again now.”
Marija said, “We started out with the idea of going to South America. Maybe there.”
“We’ll all have to split up,” said Jelena. “Just the way we did to come here. We should agree on a few different countries, and when anyone gets settled in the right one, we can all slowly make our way there.”
“I agree,” said Gavrilo. “We’ll need a contact man, someone any of us can call and leave a message for the others. How about Andrei Popovic? When you get where you’re going, call him in Antwerp and tell him.”
Mira hid her relief and delight. She had admitted her stupid mistake, and humiliated herself. Now nobody could ever accuse her of lying about it. What the others had said made it very unlikely that any of them could kill her. They had forfeited the chance to execute her without seeming cowardly.
The group began to break up into smaller conversations about places. Jelena and Marija were in favor of Argentina or Chile. Tomislav and Todor argued for Canada. Mira said nothing more. She had already decided to start in Belize. She had no Spanish, and the people there spoke English—some odd historical circumstance that she could learn about later when she was there. She turned and stepped off the big Persian rug to head for the bathroom to fix her tear-smudged makeup.
The shot went through her skull and she dropped to the floor, the pool of bright red blood growing around her head. Beyond her, the blood spatter had traveled about ten feet and made a pink triangle on the shiny white marble tiles.
Gavrilo looked over his shoulder, still holding the gun in his hand. “What?” he said to the others. “You knew it was time for her to go. Now she can be buried with the others. They were all good friends.”
25
Sid and Ronnie Abel walked into the North Hollywood police station and saw Detective Miguel Fuentes already waiting for them near the front desk.
“This is urgent, right?” he said. “Because that was the word you used. ‘Urgent.’”
Ronnie said, “I only said urgent because saying ‘too late’ seemed pessimistic.”
“What is it?”
“Mira Cepic has split.”
“Come to the back with me,” said Fuentes. “I’m going to have to make some calls.” He reached over the counter and took a couple of visitors’ badges out of a drawer, and handed them to Sid and Ronnie, spun a clipboard around, signed them in, and took them to the bay where the homicide detectives worked.
As soon as they were in his cubicle, he indicated the two chairs facing his desk, and they sat. “How do you know she’s gone?”
Sid said, “We drove back to her house.”
“You knew you weren’t supposed to do that.”
“That’s why we didn’t need to ask. The first time we went there, we went through the yard of the house behind hers, that faces the next street. This time when we did that, it was daylight. We could see through a side window that the house was empty. No furniture on the whole first floor except a couple of lamps and some curtains. It occurred to us we might want to rent the place so we could keep an eye on her while we investigated her relationship with James Ballantine. We called the county clerk’s office to have somebody look up who owned the house.”
“Who?”
“Her,” said Ronnie. “Mira Cepic.”
Fuentes said, “So she had enough money for two expensive houses. Enough even to keep one empty. That’s the upside of being a diamond thief. You think she did that to prevent anybody spying on her?”
Sid shrugged. “The place has a very good view of the windows of the house where she was living. It also provided a way to come and go without being seen. She could go from her back door across both yards to the other house’s back door and into that h
ouse’s garage, then drive out onto the next street.”
“Do you think she did that?”
Ronnie said, “We looked at her house—both of them, in fact—and didn’t see her. There was still a car in her garage, and none in the garage of the house behind hers. But that garage had tire marks and a few recent drips of a liquid, probably condensation from a car’s air conditioner.”
“So what convinced you that she hadn’t just gone to buy groceries or something?”
“We went inside both houses,” Sid said. “The one behind hers hadn’t been occupied for a while. The heating and air-conditioning had been turned off. Upstairs there was no furniture either, just more lamps on timers. Nobody had done any dusting for at least a few months. I doubt that she ever had a reason to go up there.”
Ronnie said, “We watched her main house for a while longer, and then went in. It has a two-car attached garage, but she used one side for storage—gardening equipment, pots, bags of soil and mulch, a lawn mower. The car is in perfect shape and has gas. It’s a year-old Mercedes. The engine was cool, so we knew she hadn’t used it in a few hours. She couldn’t have gone out and returned without our seeing her. So we went into the house and found signs that she wasn’t coming back.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, as of today, she has no paper,” said Ronnie. “The woman no longer owns any. There’s a thick carbon deposit on her otherwise-pristine fireplace where she probably burned some bills, receipts, and so on. And there’s a blender on a kitchen counter drying, so she may have used that to destroy other papers. It does a better job than most shredders, and if you’re never planning to use the blender again, it’s fine.”
Fuentes said, “Okay. I get that she did a major housecleaning job, and that you didn’t meet her while you were in her house. But if I were an international thief going away for even a day, I’d be careful I didn’t leave anything incriminating lying around too. That’s the downside of being an international thief. I mean would she just walk away from a house worth about three million? Make that two houses worth six million? And her car?”
