by Ritter Ames
Jack and I stared at one another for several seconds. I finally spoke because I didn’t want Thomas getting suspicious. “When you take in the file from the desk, can you go by and talk to Timms, or maybe call and see if he’s spoken to the Italians yet?”
“I could get Cecil to contact the Met brass, something we’ve already talked about, but doing so might look like I’m going over the inspector’s head.”
“Which is probably premature at this point. We should save any option like that as a last resort.”
“Agreed.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, and I wondered what kind of tension load he carried. He said, “I’ll go by and feel the inspector out as best I can, then decide what to do afterward.”
I nodded, more to signal I thought our ruse was over than anything else. “Call Nico back and talk to him, but don’t put him on speaker. I’m going to close my eyes for a minute and see if I can get rid of a headache before it gets stronger. I’m not up for any more questions for a while.”
He smiled. “Fair enough.”
I pushed redial on my phone and handed it to Jack, leaning my head against the seatback. He rested his free hand on my thigh, and I covered it with both of mine. Then I closed my eyes.
The headache wasn’t a complete fabrication, and the line I gave about no more questions was absolutely true. I’d had my fill lately. When Nico answered, I followed Jack’s one-sided conversation, knowing what he was cryptically saying about the video we’d counted on for my alibi regarding the theft, and were now counting on doubly to put me in the clear to Timms regarding the murder. No way Thomas could catch the clues without knowing more of the story.
They moved on to Arlo, and Nico spoke more than Jack. Mostly Jack gave orders about getting more info on Arlo, so he could be checked out. I finally knew the conversation was wrapping up when Jack said, “We’re on our way back to Cassie’s flat. Sounds like you and I are on the same page about this. Laurel or I will call you again soon. And thanks, Nico. I know this wasn’t an easy job.”
I smiled hearing him say the last bit. When we first met, Jack had come across as such a cocky bastard I would never have expected him to acknowledge Nico’s contribution in that way. I still wasn’t sure if he was maturing, or if the first impression had all been part of his act, but I liked how things were changing. This wasn’t the only such incident I’d noticed lately.
“You know,” I said, opening my eyes. “The office would be better than Cassie’s place. We can make copies there of the paperwork in the file.”
“Good idea,” Jack replied. “I work off images most of the time anymore, but having a physical backup is safer.”
“Thomas, can we reroute to the Beacham office, please?” I asked.
“Already doing so,” he replied.
Our copier in the office was relatively slow. However, it did terrific full-color images and was worth the draw on my store of patience. I’d used my gloved hand to turn the pages when we were in the storeroom, and I used the gloves again to make the reproductions. When the copies were completed, Jack slipped them into a new file folder.
I removed the work gloves and asked, “I guess the next question is do we pass along the new file and copies, or the original pages from Simon’s master file?”
“The originals,” Jack replied. “Your prints are only on the outside of the file, but everything inside would be Simon’s and whoever got the information for him. Turning those pages over to a police forensics lab makes more sense than us doing it ourselves and distributing the information later. Better for sweeping with a larger net.”
“But we’ll have no control over the way the information is disbursed. What if someone holds out on us?”
“I appreciate your concerns, but I’ll make certain I have assurances. And I’ll be very picky about whom I turn the file over to initially. That will make a lot of difference.”
“What about keeping a strand or two of hair?” I asked.
“Agreed.” Jack used a pen to open the original file folder, then caught the pages at the bottom with the pen and flipped them all back at once to reveal the short blond hairs. “Looks like three strands have better follicles than the others. Let’s keep one good one and a couple of the not as good. Pass along the rest.”
“I have tweezers in my purse, and Cassie keeps small zippered plastic food bags in the cabinet over the coffee pot.” I rummaged through my Prada while Jack got the box from the cabinet.
It was still difficult opening the small zipped bag with work gloves, but the tweezers made the job a little quicker this time. Seconds later, I’d removed three strands from the first bag and dropped them into the second that Jack held open. He added the plastic baggie to the folder we’d just made, and I placed the original file inside a second file folder, to allow Jack to handle it without adding new prints on the outside. Then I removed my gloves.
I pulled my watch and bracelet out of the vest pocket and put them back on. “It’s practically noon, though the morning has been so packed it’s nearly flown by. I’m going to heat up leftovers from yesterday. You want some?”
“Sounds good.”
We each loaded up a plate of the panang curry and Thai chicken and veggies. While waiting for the food to get thoroughly nuked, Jack said, “You know, you’re welcome to go with me. I can’t promise a fun experience, or that someone won’t ask you questions you don’t want to answer about all that’s happened or about the players in this farce, but you don’t have to be alone all afternoon.”
“As long as I’m internet fodder, I prefer to stay behind locked doors with cameras pointing out instead of in. I’ve already sent dozens of calls from reporters to voicemail today, and I have four unread text messages from Lincoln alone.”
“You could wear that sexy black wig you showed me in Spain.” Jack raised an eyebrow and shot me a half grin. “Change your look and change your identity.”
“Are you saying you don’t like my new hat either? First my vest, now my bucket hat.”
“Let’s just say sexy wig trumps dumpy fishing hat any day.”
The microwave dinged, and we removed our plates. We were both too lazy to make coffee or tea, so we grabbed water bottles from the refrigerator.
I jumped up to sit on the table and answered his question about disguises. “Wigs get hot. They’re fine short-term for a job, but I’m not comfortable relying on them all day and night. Whether we decide to meet up with Arlo under his terms and conditions or not, I’m hoping my grounding restrictions get lifted soon so I can get out of London. Figure I’ll be less recognizable by the public if I’m not in the place they expect me to be.”
I dove into my food, loving the way the flavor of the spices was enhanced by the overnight refrigeration. But something still bothered me.
“If you turn this file over to your people at the Home Office, they’re going to share it with everyone connected to any Colle investigation. Right?”
“Yes, exactly. We want to get him locked up to reduce any new threat toward you.”
“But who’s to say one or more moles in the government or Whitehall won’t get the information as well? You and I banding together started because of the likelihood of a mole in one or more parts of British law enforcement. And once we knew who Colle really is we assumed there was a mole or moles in the Beacham Foundation too. Even if you limit this to people interested in Colle from a non-art heist angle, just the import/export investigations, I’m seeing a risk.”
“You’re thinking Colle could get tipped off.”
“Yes. And if he’s had additional plastic surgery he’ll likely have the doctor’s records stolen, order a hit on all the personnel at the clinic who can identify him, and we’ll lose our best opportunity for finding him before he finds us again.”
Jack ate in silence for a moment. I waited while he thought through options.
“What about
removing all of the pages from the file except the ones with color photos of Colle’s face that matched how he looked in Baden-Baden?” he asked. “There wasn’t any doctor or clinic identifiers on that page, just the pictures you can confidently say are Colle.”
“Well, I can positively state the man who others knew as Colle was, in fact, the man I knew as my late father. Are you saying I have to admit that now?”
He blew out a long breath. “No. Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t know, but don’t worry, I can spin this. I’ll keep to the Colle ID based on our learning he would be at the casino that night. I won’t mention a possible family connection to you. Then the follicles can be tested for DNA matching if an arrest is made. Won’t be as likely since we won’t be telling them everything we know, but you’re right. If one of the moles learns about the file’s data and reports to any of Colle’s organization, the clinic option will get shut down immediately. This will buy us time until Nico can start hacking for the new ID, and we can regroup afterward to see what to do next.”
“Sounds feasible,” I said. “Why don’t you call Cecil before we change our minds.”
He set down his plate and pulled out his phone. Less than a minute later he hung up, stared at his screen and said, “Bollocks. Low battery. Forgot to put my mobile on a charger last night.”
I wiggled my fingers. “Give it to me. We have a charger that’ll work for your model. You can take mine when you go.” As I plugged it in, I asked, “When are you meeting Cecil?”
“As soon as I can get to his office. He has a full afternoon planned and isn’t sure how much can get initiated today, but he’ll handle things from here.”
“Good.”
While he ate, I put my gloves back on and reopened the original file. Two metal fingers that ran through holes at the top of the pages kept the paper secure. I opened the clasp, removed all the pages and returned the colored photo pages we’d discussed. I pushed the silver fingers back into position and closed it up again. “Are you going to mention anything about dusting for prints?” I asked.
“I’m simply going to say you discovered the file with some Beacham property, and since we’ve learned Simon was affiliated with Colle’s organization while still working at Beacham, we assume it was how he got the information in the file. Cecil already knows a bit more about this anyway, since he and I both discovered the high probability of a mole in our organization at almost the same time. But he doesn’t know your connection with Colle as Beacham.”
“Sounds good.” I set the file beside him on the table and pulled my phone from the Prada. “Okay, take this and you’re set to go.”
“Yes, I’d better leave.” He shoveled the last bite of curry into his mouth and chugged down the rest of his water.
We walked to the door, kissed goodbye, and he disappeared down the stairs.
I grabbed another empty folder and, since I still had the gloves on, set the pages I’d taken out of Simon’s file inside and wrote “Original Simon” on the tab. The gloves came off next. I tossed them on the floor near the window, then decided to walk over and open the curtains. I caught a glimpse of Jack hurrying along the busy sidewalk as he headed for the underground station, before he disappeared into the crowd. Glancing in the opposite direction from the Tube stop, I noticed a tall auburn-haired woman crossing the street and heading for the restaurant’s front door. I automatically reached for my phone to check the app for the security cameras, then remembered Jack had it. His wasn’t charged enough to help me, so I scooped up Cassie’s tablet and logged in to the cameras to try for a clearer identification of the woman. I pulled up the shot from seconds before when she opened the restaurant’s public door and the zoom nailed her profile.
Oh, shit. The Amazon. For real.
What to do now? I tried using a Skype call to get Jack, but there wasn’t an answer. Could he have gotten a train that fast? I tried sending an email-to-text message in case it was just a limited service issue, but he didn’t respond. Even if he got the message as soon as he surfaced from the Tube, he couldn’t get back here in time to do anything. I could run for the fire escape on the other end of the floor, but she was probably already on the staircase—unless, of course, she just came there to eat Chinese food in the restaurant.
Oh, who was I kidding?
I checked the video cameras covering the staircase and saw she was halfway up. In one hand she held what looked like a small black box. Her right hand held a gun. The only possible weapon I saw to use was the fire extinguisher that hung out in the hall. Something told me blasting her with foam from above wouldn’t do anything but make her angry.
Our door stood strong in all its steel glory and Jack trusted our keypad. But I didn’t have the luxury. I owned enough whiz-bang gizmos—most not for legitimate sale—that could get me into places other people tried to keep me out of. I wasn’t about to think the Amazon couldn’t get similar gadgets if she needed them.
With the stair cams showing she was already on her way, I had no conventional way down. I could run to the other side of the floor to use the fire escape, but I’d be completely visible to her the whole way, since the hallway was open to the staircase. I grabbed the short end of the heavy conference table next to me and pulled to swing it around, so the length now paralleled the doorway wall. I shoved it tight against the wall, almost grazing the knob, with the door centered in the length of the table. Then I did the same with the second table, giving the extra shove needed for its long side to buddy up tightly against the first table. Not an elegant fix, but trying to push that kind of double obstacle would slow her down if she managed to make it past the keypad. At least I knew she couldn’t shoot me through the door.
I took a quick second and sent another email, this time putting Inspector Timms’s contact info in the receiving line and typing a quick SOS.
Next, I pulled up the camera that sat in the keypad outside the door and my heart sank. She was holding up the small black box, and it was exactly the kind of device I’d been concerned about. She wore a grim smile as her electronic gadget worked magic on our keypad. It wouldn’t take long for the gizmo to find a way to coax the lock open. She’d have trouble pushing the weight of those two tables, but from experience I knew the Amazon worked to meet her objective. I didn’t know if she wanted to kidnap me or kill me, but I had no intention of finding out. While I did have questions that I wanted answered about the night Melanie was killed in my room, I figured I’d wait and ask her when I had Jack around as backup.
My gaze raked over the items in the office space. Nothing to use as a weapon or escape route. Why couldn’t I have thought to at least bring a rope? We’d talked about getting a long rope ladder but hadn’t followed through during the past month. Three stories down. This is precisely the kind of trap Nico gave me the mini-chute to avoid, but that lovely yellow wonder was packed in the luggage that disappeared with my clothes forty hours ago.
I stared at the drapes.
Moments later, I heard the lock thunk. I raced over, leaned across the tabletops, and manually reengaged the door lock. But I knew it wouldn’t last long. An oath filtered through the steel door, and the Amazon kicked it for good measure. I hoped she broke a toe.
Leaping from the tables, I ran to the first extra-long drape. Thick curtain rings held it to the rod. I tugged the material repeatedly until it completely separated from its holders. Then I moved to the next curtain. On my last mighty tug, the second curtain filled my arms and the lock again disengaged.
The curtains fell to the floor as I raced back to throw the bolt another time. I heard a double fist pound, signaling her frustration at my maneuver. She never spoke, so I didn’t know if she realized I was inside thwarting her successes or if she thought the lock was automatically doing the deed. She may have heard me slide across the tabletops to reach the lock each time, but I had to think the steel door blocked out a lot of interior sound.
I
went back to my craft project as she redoubled her efforts. I got the two curtains tied together well enough to risk the chance they would hold, then I looked around the office for something to use as a brace. Our war room primitive décor offered few options.
The lock thunked once more, and I sailed across the slick wooden tops. But she was faster this time. She pushed the door into the room. Just an inch or so. Not enough to show a crack of light at the frame, but I couldn’t simply lock the door either. I leaned into the task and pushed from my side, but she was stronger. I jumped off the tables and shoved the wooden tops against each other to push the door, leaning to use my weight and that of the tables as leverage against her superior strength. The level loop carpet and the tread on my steel toed boots helped my feet gain traction as I dug in. Eventually, our stalemate made her sigh and step back for a moment. It was almost a shock when I saw the door close. I zipped back on top of the tables and shot the bolt in the door.
Now she knew someone was definitely inside.
I punched the email icon of the tablet. Nothing showed from Timms or Jack. Couldn’t count on the cavalry. But even if one of them did send help, the Amazon would get in before police backup had a chance to arrive. Bailing remained the best option.
All the files around me in the room, the prints Cassie hung on the wall, the tablet that slid off the table when I started this siege, the new Colle information Jack and I had been discussing—there was just so much stuff in this office that we wouldn’t want her to see. I caught my fingers in my blonde curls and pulled a second to send blood to my brain and gain focus. Was running the answer? Or should I shelter in place?
“It was a nice try office,” I muttered. “But she’s much stronger than I am. I can’t risk her getting the door moving again.”
