They were back at the low wall overlooking the river. Tayte was about to ask Reese whether the booking at the parking garage where Kelly Uttridge’s body was found had turned anything up, thinking that her killer had most likely made it online from an Internet cafe, when his phone rang, playing one of his favourite show tunes, ‘Defying Gravity’ from the musical Wicked. It sounded far too upbeat given the circumstances. He quickly took his phone out and checked the display, wondering if it was Jean. With the time difference, and because he’d been so tied up, he hadn’t managed to call her since landing at the airport the day before. There was no caller ID, ruling Jean out, along with everyone else in his phonebook.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to Reese and Mavro, turning away as he took the call. ‘Hi, this is Jefferson Tayte.’
‘Tayte.’
‘That’s right. Who’s calling?’
‘Oh, you know me.’
‘I do?’
‘Sure you do, but not as well as I know you.’
Tayte tried to place the man’s voice, but he couldn’t. It sounded deep and hollow, and he spoke slowly with no particular accent, his tone laid back and calm. As Tayte began to realise who this man was, he began to feel anything but calm.
‘Look, who is this and what do you want? I’m kinda busy.’
‘Oh, I know you are. I’ve been keeping you very busy, haven’t I?’
Tayte felt the blood rush to his feet. He felt so light-headed he had to sit down on the wall. He waved wildly at Reese and Mavro, and when he had their attention he repeatedly stabbed his forefinger at his phone. Then he covered it with his free hand as he mouthed, ‘It’s him! It’s the Genie!’
Reese took the phone from Tayte. ‘This is Special Agent in Charge Jordan Reese. I—’
The call ended.
‘Damn!’ Reese said. ‘He’s gone.’
Tayte’s phone rang again, and this time Reese answered it. The call ended before he could get two words out. When it rang for a third time, Reese handed Tayte’s phone back to him. ‘Here. He’s not going to talk to me.’
Tayte’s throat felt suddenly dry as he answered the call. ‘This is Jefferson Tayte.’
‘That’s better,’ the caller said. ‘I don’t want to talk to the FBI. I want to talk to you.’
‘What about? Why are you doing this?’
‘Keep playing the game and you’ll find out.’
‘How can I? You didn’t leave a clue for me this time.’
‘Now you’ve joined the game, I thought I’d call you instead—make it more personal.’
Given that this man had invaded Tayte’s home, and that he’d no doubt used it while Tayte was away in Europe, Tayte didn’t think things could get any more personal. ‘Okay, so tell me,’ he said. ‘What’s the clue?’
‘So keen to play. I like that.’
‘I’m keen to stop you killing people.’
‘Maybe you will, but you’ll have to be smarter and faster than you were today. You could have saved poor Samuel Shaw, but you let me kill him, didn’t you?’
Tayte clenched his jaw and took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew this man was goading him. He’d done all he could, hadn’t he? ‘Just give me the damn clue.’
The line was silent for several long seconds. Then the caller said, ‘Not yet, but I will, and soon.’
With that the call ended, leaving Tayte thinking that this wasn’t over at all.
Chapter Ten
After collecting a few personal items from Tayte’s apartment, Mavro drove them to the FBI safe house that was to be Tayte’s accommodation for the foreseeable future. As they came to a busy intersection, she slowed for the red light ahead and asked, ‘Do you like Italian food?’
‘Sure,’ Tayte said. ‘I love Italian. Got any recommendations near this safe house we’re heading for?’
‘It’s not a good idea to go out once you’re there. There’ll be a well-stocked refrigerator and everything else you need to get by. Only go out when you have to. That way there’s less chance for anyone to spot you coming and going.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘And when you do have to go out, keep an eye open for anyone paying you too much attention. It’s also a good idea to come and go via different routes. Only a handful of people at the Bureau will know you’re there and you’ll always get a call before anyone comes to see you—myself included. If you don’t get a call first, don’t answer the door. Call Reese.’
‘Got it,’ Tayte said as they waited at the light. ‘So why did you want to know if I like Italian food?’
‘I’m into Italian. I thought I could cook us a meal. I get it from my mother, God rest her. It wouldn’t be any bother and I can promise you it’ll be a whole lot better than you’ll find in the refrigerator at the safe house, unless you’re a good cook.’
‘No, not really,’ Tayte said, and put like that he could hardly refuse. The thought of being alone in an unfamiliar apartment after everything that had happened that day was also less than inviting. It wasn’t as if he had anything to do with his time either, until he had another clue to work on. He was desperate to talk to Jean, just to hear her voice again, reminding him that there was a normal life waiting for him when this was over, but given that it was now past eight in the evening, and that the UK was five hours ahead of DC, that window had closed for the day.
‘Sounds great,’ he added, and as they passed through the intersection, Mavro smiled and made a turn, heading for Route 29 and home.
A moment later she said, ‘We’re not far away. Do you want to know what I’m making, or do you like surprises?’
A year ago, Tayte would have wanted to know. Surprises led to the unexpected, and he liked to know exactly what to expect from his day, down to every detail if possible. But that was before he’d met Jean, from whom he’d learned to let go of his old predictable self.
‘Surprise me,’ he said, and then turning the conversation back to the case, he asked her about the phone call he’d had with the Genie. He hadn’t really been able to stop thinking about it, any more than he could stop wondering when he would call again.
‘I guess Reese is going to find out where that phone call came from.’
‘He will, but I don’t think our killer’s likely to have used his own cell phone. And if he’s using someone else’s, or an unregistered unit, he’d be a fool to use the same phone twice, or to hold on to it, but you never know. If he used a payphone, we should be able to find out which one easily enough, but I expect he was careful not to leave any forensic evidence for us to find.’
‘What about street cameras?’
‘If he did make the call from a payphone, any cameras in that vicinity will be checked, but he didn’t give us much to go on when he was caught on camera taking your car, did he? I don’t expect we’d see enough of him to get a positive ID with anyone on the list you gave Reese this time, either.’
‘No, he’s smart,’ Tayte said. ‘At least, if he isn’t, he must be working with someone who is.’ The notion made him think about Michel Levant again. ‘You know—it doesn’t sit too well with me that the Frenchman I told you about is here in DC.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, I don’t like the coincidence that Levant just happens to be here at the same time these murders are taking place, even if he does have a reason.’
‘You think he’s involved in this? Is his name on that list you made for Reese?’
‘No, but perhaps it should be. I denied Levant what was arguably the greatest prize an heir hunter could ever hope to find. And he’s a genealogist. It would take one to come up with these puzzles.’
Mavro pulled a face. ‘I don’t see how the little fella on the cover of that magazine you showed me could be the Genie. I know appearances can be deceptive, but don’t you think he’s a little too old and frail? The Masterson twins must have weighed over four hundred pounds between them, and as Reese just pointed out, the killer would have to be a strong man to do wha
t he did to Samuel Shaw.’
‘I don’t imagine for a moment that Levant is killing these people,’ Tayte said. ‘From what I know about him, he’s not the kind of man who likes to get his own hands dirty if he can help it.’
Mavro drew a thoughtful breath. ‘Okay, let’s not rule anyone out. If he’s someone you’ve upset in the past, for whatever reason, we’d better add him to your list and have him checked out.’
As they joined Route 29, heading north, Tayte wondered how things were going with his list, and he made a mental note to add Michel Levant to it as soon as he next saw Reese, which he thought would be soon. What if Levant was the genealogist behind the crime? Tayte had suspected his involvement in the murders of several people during their first encounter in London the year before. Was that the case again now? The more Tayte thought about it, the more the possibility made sense to him.
Frankie Mavro lived in a small, three-bedroom, two-bathroom house in Silver Spring, Maryland, which formed part of DC’s metropolitan area to the north. It was a charming yet unassuming Cape Cod-style property that she’d bought with the inheritance left to her after her mother died. Tayte was trying to make himself useful in the kitchen, although he thought he was mostly getting in the way.
‘I could really use a drink right now,’ Mavro said as she continued to chop the tomatoes. ‘I’ve got to drive again later, but hey, don’t let me stop you if you want something. I’ve got beer, wine, bourbon. You name it.’
‘No, that’s okay, thanks. A soda will do just fine if you have any. I want to stay sharp.’
‘Yeah, me too. We don’t know when this creep’s going to call again. There should be something in the fridge, and there’s ice in the freezer if you want any.’
The meal was ready in under half an hour, and not long after nine they were sitting at the table in the dining room.
‘I don’t often eat in here,’ Mavro said. ‘Makes a nice change.’ She raised her glass to Tayte and smiled as they touched glasses. ‘Thanks for letting me cook for you.’
‘The thanks are all mine,’ Tayte said. ‘The meal looks wonderful.’ He tapped her glass with his again and added, ‘And here’s to catching the Genie. We can do this.’
‘Amen to that.’
Tayte took in the wide bowl of food set before him, and the aromas made his stomach groan. ‘What’s this pasta shape called? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.’
‘It’s castellane. I hope you like it al dente.’
‘Is there any other way?’ Tayte said with a grin. He took a mouthful. It was still a little too hot, but he didn’t care. ‘Wow, that’s a great-tasting sauce. Did you put anchovies in there?’
Mavro nodded. ‘Capers, too. I wish I could take the credit, but it’s my mother’s recipe. Do you want some Parmesan to go with it?’ she added, pointing to the cheese and the grater she’d set out.
‘Absolutely. You can’t beat fresh,’ Tayte said, still smiling as he shaved the cheese back and forth several times over his pasta.
Once they had settled into the meal, Mavro said, ‘So tell me some more about your fiancée. What’s she like?’
Tayte thought that was a huge question, and he didn’t quite know how to answer it. His first thought was to say, ‘She’s wonderful. Just wonderful,’ but he didn’t think that was what Mavro had in mind.
‘Well,’ he began, hesitating as he continued to think about it. ‘Did I tell you she’s a history professor?’
‘No, you didn’t. That’s quite an achievement.’
‘Yeah, her folks are very proud of her, too. I met them a couple of months back.’
‘How did that go?’ Mavro winked. ‘Did you get their approval?’
‘I don’t know. I guess so. We got along fine. They live just outside London, to the northwest.’
Tayte thought back to the pleasant week he and Jean had spent with her parents towards summer’s end, with nothing on their minds but each other.
‘Are you planning to have any kids? You’re not too old yet, you know.’
Tayte felt himself blush. ‘Who knows,’ he said. ‘We’ve only been engaged a few months, so it hasn’t exactly come up yet. She has a son already. He’s called Elliot, from her previous marriage.’
‘Divorced?’
Tayte nodded. ‘Her ex was cheating on her, so she did the right thing and left him.’
‘Good for her. And that’s serendipity for you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well if her fella hadn’t been cheating on her, she would never have left him, and if she hadn’t left him, she wouldn’t have been available when you came along.’
‘I suppose so,’ Tayte said, thinking back to the first time he’d seen Jean. A moment later he laughed. ‘Would you believe she was a blind date? I’m not even sure we liked each other to begin with. Now it’s like all the things I thought really mattered no longer do. As long as Jean’s there with me, everything else seems secondary and somehow unimportant.’ He laughed again. ‘I’m not sure I’m articulating myself very well here, am I?’
‘Oh, you’re doing great,’ Mavro said. ‘They say you can’t miss what you never had, but I don’t think that’s true. It sounds real nice.’
‘Yeah. Although I never knew what I’d been missing until we met.’
‘Maybe it’s different for men.’
‘I’m sure it’s just the same. I think I’d just become too comfortable with my own company over the years. It’s the nature of all living things to want a partner.’
‘Ain’t that the truth.’
Tayte nodded. ‘Which brings us to you and Special Agent Jerome Martinez.’
Mavro looked down at her food. ‘What about him?’
‘He likes you. I could tell.’
Mavro laughed to herself.
‘You’re too embarrassed to ask him on a date, aren’t you?’
‘Isn’t it the men who usually do the asking if they’re interested?’
‘Maybe he’s shy. I’m talking from experience here. Would you believe that it was Jean who proposed to me? She knew I’d never find the courage. She probably thought I’d be too scared that proposing would ruin the friendship we already had, and she’d have been right—I was. Someone has to take the first step.’
‘I guess.’
‘So, are you going to ask him out, or do you want me to ask him for you?’
Mavro sat bolt upright. ‘Don’t you dare!’
‘Well, like the Nike advert says, just do it. You’re no worse off if he turns you down. It’s not like you’re still working together and have to see him every day.’
‘Okay, okay, I give in. I’ll ask him when I get the chance. How about that?’
‘How about you go ahead and make the chance? Don’t wait for it.’
Mavro sat on her hands, as if she were already nervous about it. She let out a long breath. ‘Okay, I will.’
Tayte threw her a playful smile. ‘Just make sure you do, because if you haven’t by the time I head back to Jean, I’m asking him for you.’
Chapter Eleven
The sound of the telephone that woke Tayte the following morning was as unfamiliar to him as it was unwelcome. Still half asleep, he rolled over and tried to ignore it, wishing in his dream-like state that the phone’s owner would hurry up and answer it so he could get back to sleep. But the phone kept ringing, forcing Tayte more awake until he realised where he was. He sat up with a jolt, shielding his eyes from the bright daylight at the window that caused the blinds to glow an intense shade of yellow. With his eyes half open he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings of the safe house he’d just spent his first night in and located the source of the trilling he could hear. The phone was on a low table by the bedroom door beside a large flat-screen television that seemed to dominate the wall opposite the bed. He peeled back the bedcovers, and in his stars-and-stripes boxer shorts, he dragged himself to the phone and answered it.
‘Hello, this is Jefferson Tayte.’
; ‘JT, it’s Frankie. It’s best not to say your name when you pick up. If the caller’s legit, he or she will know who you are. You don’t want to go announcing you’re there to anyone.’
‘Right,’ Tayte said as he tried to take in what Mavro had just told him. He still felt half asleep.
‘Did I wake you? It’s gone nine.’
‘I didn’t sleep too well,’ Tayte said in his defence. ‘Then I slept a little too heavy. You know how it goes. So what’s up?’
‘I’m coming over,’ Mavro said. ‘Reese too. He wants to talk to you about the list you gave him.’
‘How long do I have?’
‘About thirty minutes. Maybe less.’
‘Right,’ Tayte said. ‘Thirty minutes. I’m on it.’
As soon as the call ended, Tayte wandered out of the bedroom, looking for the kitchen. He couldn’t function properly before his first caffeine kick of the day. There was a small hallway off the bedroom and several more doors. When Mavro had dropped him off the night before, he hadn’t taken the time to explore the place much. He opened one of the doors and saw all his assignment filing cabinets lined up in neat rows. Then he opened another door and found the vaguely familiar bathroom he’d used before he went to bed. Further along the hall he looked in on what was evidently the living room, where there was another big television set, hinting at the boredom he imagined was synonymous with safe houses. He saw a set of glass French doors leading off this room and he went over to them, finding the kitchen beyond. He spent several more minutes gathering all the necessary items he needed to fix himself a strong pot of coffee.
Dying Games (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 6) Page 9
