Not that leaving Detroit eased the tension or anything. In fact, it probably made things worse. Ann Arbor was where the murder of Madeline Ravert had taken place. Ann Arbor was a modern, high-tech University town and almost certainly had a well-funded police department to match. In Ann Arbor they would have to go out in the daylight on busy streets full of people that might have known Madeline and Roger Ravert. They would have to talk to people, talk to them about Madeline and Roger. Sam shuddered.
She spent the trip staring out of the window as the scenery changed from post-industrial apocalypse to the skyscrapers of the information technology society. Crumbling factories and wasteland gave way to shiny glass buildings, and then to what she suspected the travel brochures would have called the historic downtown of Ann Arbor. At another time, she would have made some notes, and then tried to think of something witty and smart to say about this shift, and the handful of miles in which it had been achieved. All she did was worry for the 65 minutes until the bus shuddered to a halt at the Ann Arbor Greyhound Station. She looked at Lucy, who had her eyes shut.
"We're here," Sam said. So far, so good, but now it was show time. The bus was starting to empty, and she let Pete and then Lucy lead the way outside. She felt as conspicuous as hell. She hadn't worn a crop top since college.
They were at the back of the little trail of people snaking down the bus, and by the time they hit the pavement most of the passengers had dispersed. They had decided that Pete would lead, as he had the maps saved on the tablet, and Sam trusted his sense of direction much more than her own. By the time she got off the bus, he was already at the first corner. Lucy and Sam took off after him.
"He does walk at a hell of a pace," said Lucy, as they hurried to catch up. They followed Pete onto a wide street lined with a mish-mash of pretty buildings, sporadically dotted with trees. A couple strolled down the street towards her. She could feel the guy's eyes on her. Her skin prickled. She hoped to hell that Lucy was right about no one thinking about murder, because she was certainly attracting attention. The couple passed her, and she glanced back at them. He was looking right at her, and for a moment their eyes met. She turned away quickly.
Damn, that was stupid.
She put her head down and carried on walking. It was about half an hour to the house, and it was going to feel like an eternity.
Chapter 8
It had taken Jobert an hour and a couple more coffees to go through the emails that Mart Wallace had sent him; background on Roger Ravert, DeChip and Terry New. The company was in a lot of trouble. He had no doubt that the desperate need for cash could have turned Roger Ravert into a traitor, and that he had plenty of information worth selling. The question was whether or not Terry New was an accomplice. It was time to find out.
He finished up the final latte and went back to the hotel for a shower and a shave. Then he called Seamus to check when New had left his overnight lodgings, and discovered that an expensive lawyer had turned up at 8am sharp to get him released. Jobert figured that New might not get back to his office until after lunch, so he ate at the hotel from a limp looking buffet and then went up to his room.
He opened the false bottom in his suitcase to reveal his gear, packed into a laptop bag. He sat down on the bed and opened the flap on a sidepocket. He rummaged through the contents wondering what addition he could make to New's office that would go unnoticed. The book shelf was the best bet, with its profusion of colors and shapes. He picked out a chewed up plastic pen that looked like it had had a long, hard life, but was actually worth about ten times the cost of a gold Mont Blanc.
If anyone ever picked it up it was designed to not even rate a first glance, never mind a second on its way to the bin. He scanned the bar code on the sticker and emailed it to Wallace. Then he rotated the cap a quarter turn to fire up the camera, audio and transmitter, and he slipped it into his trouser pocket. He put the laptop bag back, and headed out to the rental.
Nothing much seemed to have changed when he arrived at DeChip's low-slung building. He cruised up to the car park slowly to find the Merc in its regular spot outside the front door. Heat shimmered off the tarmac in waves. Jobert turned in to the entrance and parked beside it. The only similarity was the color. He climbed out and hit the bell.
"Hello?"
"I need to talk to the police detective that you have there today."
The door opened, and Jobert stepped in and turned left. The blond was behind her matching desk.
"It's you again," she said.
"Uh-huh, I need to talk to Terry New."
"I thought you wanted to talk to the detective—"
"I do, but first, I want to talk to Mr New. Now, please." He pulled up right in front of her.
Blond-Bobbi-with-two-i's reached for the phone on her desk. Jobert was ready, and put a firm hand on the receiver. Blond Bobbi looked up, a little unsettled, which was just what Jobert wanted.
"Take me straight down there, please," he said.
"Mr New left strict instructions—"
"I don't care."
Bobbi looked at him for a long second, but then she got up and made her way around the desk and led him down the corridor. She knocked and opened the door a fraction. Jobert pushed it the rest of the way before she could say or do anything more.
"Oh," said New, looking up from the work that was spread all over his desk. "Detective."
"Ah, that's not strictly true; I work for the Federal Government. I'm just helping those local guys out." Jobert walked straight past the desk to the window. "Nice view you got here." He turned and leaned back against the glass.
An astonished New had spun his chair to watch, and this time Jobert could see him perfectly. He could also see the papers on the desk. He couldn't read the detail, but he could see that they were IRS. New was on to it quickly, he stepped up and into Jobert's line of sight with his hand extended. Blond Bobbi was already tidying up the desk.
"And so, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" New said.
Jobert took the extended hand, and exhaled a sigh. He flipped the fake card out with his left.
"CIA?!" said New.
"We tend to be the people called in when a US National involved in classified defense work gets murdered while visiting a rival foreign power."
New pursed his lips, and then snapped, "Leave us please, Bobbi."
Bobbi stayed long enough to shuffle the papers into a neat heap inside a neutral manila folder, and then crept out.
"Why don't we sit." New indicated the sofa.
Jobert nodded to acknowledge the relatively neutral territory, walked over and sat, sliding the pen out of his pocket and pushing it up inside his shirt sleeve as he did so.
"We don't do anything particularly classified." New settled at the other end of the sofa.
Jobert took a moment to appraise the man. He was freshly shaved, the shirt crisp and ironed, but he looked tired; a little downturn at the corners of his mouth. "You have a contract with Northrop Grumman, supplying some very special processors and hardware for their latest drones. Those birds are fundamental to our defense effort."
"Yes, we do, and yes, they are."
"And it was classified work, you must have been aware of that?"
"Of course."
"Right... so is there any chance that Roger was selling secrets to the Chinese to help out with some of those tax demands?" Jobert nodded at the desk as he spoke.
"And what would you know about our tax affairs?"
"What I need to know."
New shrugged. "Then it's probably more than I know. Roger dealt with all this crap. It's only now that I'm getting to see it."
"It's not pretty. DeChip have debts that are significant compared to your cashflow. I know that Roger had a motive for selling secrets to the Chinese. So if you suspect that there might have been any kind of security breach, it's best to be open about it now."
That was the hook — the invitation to step into the parlor. I understand, it's not necessarily
your fault. It could have just been Roger...
"No. I can't imagine that's possible. Roger wouldn't do anything like that, I mean..." New waved at the papers on the desk. "I understand that this doesn't look good, but the IRS can be reasonable. If we can't pay it now, we will do a deal and pay it later. At least, that's what the tax attorneys are telling me."
If New had opened the door to the possibility that Roger Ravert was a traitor, he wouldn't have been able to stop Jobert walking off with his computers and back-ups right then and there. The fact that he hadn't done so meant that he might have something to hide. Or he might just believe in his old friend and partner. Gullible, stupid or a very good liar. Either way, New was forcing Jobert to come back with a warrant, and that would give him time to clean out any evidence of wrongdoing — Jobert needed to make sure that he saw what happened next. He stood, and then wandered over to the bookshelves.
"You can't pay an IRS bill of $56 million on your current turnover of $100 million. Five years ago your business was trading five times that. Not anymore." Jobert stopped in front of the shelves. "These books, they all technical?" He turned to look back at New. "Ever read any novels?"
"No, this is all background information for work. I read a little history at home when I get the chance."
"Anything in particular?" He scanned the titles. There was nothing he recognized; it was all manuals and technical literature.
"Biographies mostly."
Jobert crouched and reached out to pick a book off the second shelf. "What sort of people?" He palmed the pen into his hand as he said it, and slipped it onto the shelf where the book had been. Then he stood and turned, flipping through the pages.
"Presidents, scientists, generals."
Jobert looked up from a page of indecipherable equations. "Great men. Gotta be easier than reading this shit. You were some kinda prodigy?"
"Prodigy? No, I graduated MIT a couple of years early, but that wasn't anything very special then or now."
Jobert held up the book. "The stuff that's in books like these, the Chinese know about this?"
New's eyes flickered from Jobert to the shelves and back. "I wouldn't know for certain, but given the things that they're building, I can't imagine that they don't."
"We're giving it away, right?" He turned to put the book back a couple of slots along from where it had come from. So long as New didn't have any OCD issues, the pen camera should be fine. "Just like we did with Japan before the Second World War." He moved back to the sofa. "They went all over; Germany to see how to run an army, Britain to see how to run a navy... We just give it away in the west, and then sit back and wait till they go past us." He sat heavily back on the sofa.
"It's always been the way. One civilization advances, and their technology with it. Then they get lazy, and the technology transfers, and before you know it an empire crumbles."
Jobert looked him right in the eye. "Well, let's just hope that someone at DeChip hasn't been giving it a little nudge to help pay that tax bill."
"We don't need any help to pay the tax bill. And the American empire will still be around for our grandchildren." New didn't glance away from Jobert's gaze as he said it.
"Uhuh," said Jobert. "And you're sure about Ravert, no chance he would turn traitor?"
Terry New folded his arms, "No, none, he was a good man. A patriot."
"Then what was he doing in China, and what got him killed?"
"I have absolutely no idea, and I think it's your job to find out, rather than mine. Now, I'm a busy man, I've two jobs to do and quite a bit to catch up on. So if you'll excuse me."
Jobert watched him for a moment. Then he nodded, "All right, Mr New," he said, and stood. "I'm sure I can come back," he added as he headed for the door. He shut it behind him, and didn't bother to stop and say goodbye to Bobbi on his way out. She just watched him in astonished silence as he swept past. He got his phone out as soon as he was in the car.
"It's up and running," he said, the moment Wallace picked up. Jobert put the car in gear and pulled off. "Can you see him?"
"Sure," Wallace said.
Jobert could hear tapping on a keyboard in the background. "What's he doing?"
"Sitting at his desk, going through some papers."
"I bet he is," said Jobert. "All right, stay on it."
"This is it," Sam whispered.
"It's quiet," Pete said.
"Shouldn't be a problem," Lucy said.
The three of them stared out across the lawn towards the silent, lifeless home of Roger and Madeline Ravert. It wasn't far from the city centre, and they had walked it easily. Sam was still uneasy about the guy that had checked her out, but there was nothing she could do about it now, and she hadn't told the others.
The house backed onto a small park, and there was a gate in the wooden fence. It had been a simple matter to wait until the park was empty — and there weren't too many customers in the boiling afternoon sun — and then slip through.
On the Ravert's side, the fence line had been softened with shrubs and shade trees. They had dumped the bags behind a bush by the gate and moved into cover undetected. The three of them now lay in the grass in the deep shade of an oak tree.
The house was a big, impressive property, white paint gleaming in the sun. It was surrounded by an equally glossy white railed porch. The back of the first floor had two entrances, with a single door on the right-hand side as they looked at it. Then over to the left, there was a set of double doors that opened out onto the porch and a couple of easy chairs. Four windows were split evenly across the second floor; windows in the roof indicated a third floor. Nothing moved.
"I wonder where their children are," Sam said.
"They had kids?" Lucy said.
"Two."
"Jeez," Lucy muttered.
There was silence for a while.
"They certainly aren't in the house, it's as quiet as it gets," Pete said.
"It's not overlooked much either, we can make our way to the back door in pretty good cover if we stick to that right hand fence." Lucy pointed as she spoke.
"How are we going to get in?" Pete asked.
"We'll try the back door first, come on." Lucy rose to a crouch and started moving towards the fence.
Pete looked at Sam. "You sure about this?"
"No." Sam got to her hands and knees. "But I don't see any other way." She followed Lucy.
The three of them worked their way cautiously towards the back of the house, but they could probably have strolled right up to the door without attracting any attention; the place was so quiet.
"What now?" Sam whispered.
Lucy lifted the mat outside the door. It revealed only dirt and bugs. She tipped a pot plant onto its edge; more dirt and bugs. She reached up and ran her hand along the top of the external door frame.
"This should do it." She brought down a silver key.
"It's that easy?" Pete said.
"Often, and if it isn't you try another property. That wasn't going to work for us today, but fortunately, we don't need to do anything tricky."
Lucy unlocked the door.
"We need someone to watch the front, just in case the cops come back in for another look," Sam said.
"I'll do that," Lucy said.
"I can take the second floor," Pete said.
Sam nodded. “All right, let's do it."
The three of them crept inside. The back door opened onto a big kitchen with burnished oak floors. It creaked under their footsteps. Lucy moved ahead without even looking around her. Sam liked her focus. She took in black marble worktops and shiny stainless appliances in a quick glance. She would come back to this room on the way out.
They emerged into a big hall. The front door was ahead of them, two more led to front rooms either side. The staircase was to their left, and beyond it was another door that must enter into the back room with the big double doors onto the porch. Pete took the stairs, and Lucy headed for the right-hand front room. Sam followed h
er.
"Shit, this is where it happened." Lucy stopped in the doorway.
Sam peered around her. Just inside the entrance to the dining room was a big dark patch of what could only be blood. "Oh god, this is awful," she said.
"Let's get on with it," Lucy muttered. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled in. The bright sun was filtering through venetian blinds, painting the room in stripes of light and shade. She crawled towards them and took up a position to one side. The blinds made it easy to look out with minimal chance of being seen. She turned back to Sam and gave her a thumbs up.
Sam nodded. She took one quick glance around the minimalist dining room and could see that she wasn't going to find what she was looking for here. Six iron chairs and a glass-topped table didn't leave much in the way of a hiding place. She backed out of the room and crossed the hall. The floor boards creaked upstairs as Pete moved around in his search.
The other front room was a lot more promising. This was Roger Ravert's home office. It had matching venetian blinds, but they were almost closed, presumably to keep the sun off the computer screen. She still dropped to her hands and knees though and crept towards the desk.
Ten minutes later she was convinced that whatever he had left for Madeline wasn't in his office. The place was mostly for show, all the real work must have gone on at his offices. What little paperwork there was in the drawers and filing cabinet all related to the house. The bookshelves had given up nothing. She had even checked behind the paintings. Nothing. Upstairs she could hear Pete steadily moving through the rooms, the fact that he was still going indicating that he too was drawing a blank.
The back room took a lot less time. It was a formal sitting room, elegantly furnished in white and black, and as neat and minimalist as the dining room. She had a quick look behind the paintings and in the drawers of the coffee table, and then moved back to the kitchen.
Chinese Burn Page 10
