by Tim Tigner
“I see it went well,” Katya said, reading my face as I returned to our suite’s central room.
“I had to put the ten million I inherited up as bail.”
Katya did a double-take. “I had no idea your family had so much money until the police detective brought it up while questioning me. I mean, I knew your father had done well, being a doctor and having a yacht and all, but I had no idea it was seventh-power money.”
“Seventh power?”
“Ten million, ten to the seventh power.”
“Yeah, well, that was a recent development. While we were growing up, my dad worked for the military, so the pay was very modest by physician standards. He really only became wealthy a couple of years ago when some stock options paid off.”
“So you really are putting it all on the line? There aren’t millions stashed elsewhere?”
“Yep, all on the line. Crazy, right? But then, I intend to show up, so it really doesn’t matter.”
Katya pursed her lips. “Have you transferred the money yet?”
“No. I was going to do that now. Why do you ask?”
“I think you should reconsider. Your attorney’s investigators had six months to work the case, a hundred eighty-two days. That’s sixteen and a half times the amount of days we have left to solve this thing. They came up with nothing. Even if we’re ten times as good as they were, we’re still going to fail, statistically speaking.”
“Not necessarily. What did you find out about flights to SFO?”
“There’s a flight at ten tonight that gets in at one a.m. And the flights start back up at six in the morning. Personally, I say we grab a nice dinner and get a good night’s sleep, and head to San Francisco in the morning. I’m guessing there’s not much we can do there at one in the morning anyway. And besides, isn’t there some soldier’s axiom about eating and sleeping when you can?”
“You an expert on soldiers now?”
“No, but I’m pretty good with axioms.”
I laughed. Just a quick, spontaneous snort, but it felt good. I realized I hadn’t laughed since the party, since Colin had recalled some of the more challenging moments presented by raising two boys while toasting my father.
Katya watched me enjoy the recollection before continuing. “When I said we’d have to be ten times as good as the other investigators to catch them in the time you have left, you said ‘not necessarily.’ What did you mean?”
“Your equation assumes the investigators were equally competent and motivated. I can’t speak to their competence, but I’m beginning to think they weren’t motivated at all. So first I’m going to take you to the Old Ebbitt Grill for some lobster. Then we’re going to get a few hours of sleep. Then we’re going to fly to San Francisco and confront an old friend.”
PART 3: ENLIGHTENMENT
Chapter 60
Finding Fear
NEW YORK CITY has a street that serves as an address and an icon and a center for its financial activity. On the opposite coast, three thousand miles and a ditched-necktie away, Silicon Valley has a road that serves the same purpose. Vondreesen Ventures boasted its Sand Hill Road address on engraved linen stationary and crisp bone business cards. According to the shapely blonde at reception, however, the firm could no longer brag of the presence of the man for which it was named.
“Mr. Vondreesen retired at the end of last year,” Megan said. “We’re still here to administer existing funds, but there’s no new business being conducted.” She was cordial and intelligent and pleasant to watch, but Megan left no doubt that her words could be taken to the bank, like a weather girl who’d made news anchor.
“I hadn’t heard. I’m an old friend. Vaughn worked with my father.”
Her face brightened, then clouded. Recognition then realization before her diplomatic training kicked in. “You’re John’s son. That dimpled chin’s pretty distinctive. I should have known right away.”
I bowed my head as though doffing a hat. “I need to speak with Vaughn. Some old business related to my father. Is he still living in Atherton?”
Megan gave a perfect little shake of her head. “He moved. I’m afraid I have strict instructions not to pass his contact information along to anyone. Venture capital is a stressful business, and despite his success, he was happy to leave it behind.”
“Why the office, then? The rent here can’t be cheap, and surely the storefront is no longer necessary, if all that’s left is administration?”
She gave me an appraising stare. “I’d heard you did, shall we say, government work. It shows. To answer your question, there was a lease and a legacy to consider. I can pass along the information that you called, if you’d like to leave a number.”
I knew a cue when I heard one. “No need, I’ll call him directly. I trust his old cell is still in service?”
“Some things never change.”
Once we were back in the parking lot, where our Tesla waited in the shade of a redwood tree, Katya said, “You gave up pretty easily back there. That tells me you already have a Plan B.”
“In the modern world, people who expect privacy are bound to be disappointed. Vondreesen is no exception.” I looked up his cell phone number on one program, then pasted it into another. Twenty seconds later I got a set of GPS coordinates, which I punched into the Tesla’s navigation system.
A voice remarkably similar to Megan’s told me the route was being calculated.
I muted her without prejudice.
“He stayed in Northern California, or at least his cell phone did. It’s near the far end of Napa Valley. Should be a lovely drive.”
I’d rented the Tesla because its combination of speed, style, and silence were great for covert work in Silicon Valley, but I was still surprised by the quiet operation. Just touch and go. No rumble or revving, no jolting or shifting. Just velvety power on tap. Now I had the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin County headlands and the windy roads of the Napa hills ahead. This was going to be fun.
As we left the 101, Katya said, “You still haven’t explained what you expect to learn from Vondreesen? Or how he’s related to the investigation? Or why Casey’s investigators would be anything but motivated?”
I adjusted my seat with a whir and a purr, dropping my right arm onto the tan leather armrest and opening myself up in Katya’s direction. “The morning of the incident, a couple of beat cops picked me up in a hotel room. By then the detectives had already spent hours scouring the yacht, but I was oblivious to what had happened. I’d enjoyed a very late night, and had slept in accordingly. When Frost finally broke the news to me, Flurry was already done with you. By the time I learned they were looking at me for the murders, I already had a lawyer.”
“How’d you get a lawyer before you knew you needed one?”
“I’d wondered that too, at first. But I also knew I was a few hours behind the curve, so when Vondreesen appeared with his lawyer already working the system, I didn’t question it. Lawyers go with venture capitalists like salt with pepper.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m wondering if that wasn’t a little too convenient.”
“Convenient for whom?”
“That’s what I want to learn from Vondreesen.”
We were driving north through Napa Valley now on the St. Helena Highway. The sun was out, the fields were green, and the air was fresh with the scent of bloom. In a sense, I’d been told I only had a few days to live, and this wasn’t a bad way to spend one of them.
“Vondreesen introduced you to Casey just moments before your arrest?”
“Yup.”
“If you suspect Vondreesen, then by extension you suspect Casey too. Which is why you’re not convinced the investigators were fully motivated. Since Casey hired them.”
“It’s a working theory. But it has a big fat hole, which is why I didn’t start there.”
“What big fat hole?”
“If you’ll recall from the party, Vondreesen is about as far from the killer pro
file as you can get. Rich, handsome, extremely well-connected, and a longtime friend of my father.”
“When did you start to suspect him?”
“He was always a suspect. But he didn’t top the list until the Brillyanc connection emerged. As it is, I still don’t have the most important piece of the puzzle.” I tossed the question to Katya with my eyes.
She fielded it immediately. “Motive. What could he possibly gain by killing your family and framing you for it?”
“I think I’ve got the motive piece, but you’re close. I’m missing the linking piece.”
“What’s his motive? You told me he has it all: fame, fortune, influence.”
“Exactly. So his motive isn’t gain, it’s avoiding loss. Vondreesen’s motivated by fear. But fear of what? That’s the missing link.”
“If something scares him enough to involve him in the murder of friends, then he’s not likely to open up to us about it.”
“I agree. I’m going to have to put the pressure on. And since I’ve got my trial coming up, and he’s the kind of witness who could sway a jury, I’ve got to do it in a way that doesn’t deeply offend him.”
“How do you do that?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I think it will involve your being the bad cop to my good. Are you up for that?”
Katya waited for me to look over at her before saying, “Always,” with a gleam in her eye.
Chapter 61
Time Travel
AS WE MULLED OVER the upcoming confrontation with Vondreesen, our electronic guide took us off the main road and up into the wooded hills. “I’ve never been anyplace more beautiful,” Katya said. “Not that I’ve been that many places.”
“What about Paris?”
“Apples and oranges. Paris is man-made. This beauty is natural. But now that you mention it, with its colorful homes and rolling vineyards, Napa Valley fits the image I have of the French countryside.”
“Did you grow up in Moscow?”
“I did. Spent my whole life there. Russia’s not like the US. Here, you’ve got New York, but you’ve also got Washington, and Chicago, and LA, and Dallas, and Miami, and, and, and. They might not all be considered quite equal, but to each her own. In Russia, on the other hand, there’s just Moscow. Everywhere else is, I don’t know, Des Moines. I suppose St. Petersburg is like, say, Buffalo, but you get the point. Once you make it there you never think about going anyplace else domestic. Other than to the Black Sea for vacation. Or Paris,” she added with a wink.
“What did your parents do?”
“My father was a geologist. He had a PhD from the Moscow School of Mines. My mother was a technical translator for the patent office. They were relatively prosperous, but not well-connected. When I got into MSU it was a big deal for them.”
“You used the past tense.”
“They passed away a couple of years ago.”
“Siblings?”
“None.”
None. Did I check that box now too? Or did forms have a deceased box for siblings? I wasn’t sure. It was going to take a long time to adapt to my new status.
At a quarter to twelve, we rounded a bend on a quiet winding road and approached the last turn on our route, a few hundred yards from our destination. I stopped the Tesla beneath the arching bows of ancient oaks to study the turnoff that I presumed was Vondreesen’s drive. Large blocks of chiseled gray stone flanked the entrance to an unnamed road like silent sentries. No name. No number.
“This is the place.” I lowered the windows to inhale the fresh air, then checked the display on my phone. “Vondreesen’s still here. Or at least his cell phone is.”
Twitters of the biological variety emanated from sunny treetops all around us, but otherwise the scene was silent and serene. That changed when the Tesla’s tires met the fine gravel of Vondreesen’s oak-lined drive with a crunch that sounded like money.
The drive arced and rose and the woods gave way, yielding to sun-drenched fields on both left and right. They were planted with acres of new vines in long contoured rows, each wrapped in a brown tube to protect it from foraging beasts and birds.
“Oh my God,” Katya said, as we crested the rise. “We are in the French countryside.”
I eased off the gas and we crunched to a halt with wonder in our eyes. Rising above us in the midst of a clearing backed by an oak and evergreen forest was a castle the likes of which I’d only seen in storybooks and European travel brochures. “Vondreesen didn’t just leave Silicon Valley when he retired. He left the twenty-first century.”
Katya couldn’t stop gawking. “Looks like a remnant of the Hundred Years War. Like it was lifted from the Loire Valley by a magical crane and dropped here six hundred years later.”
“Moat and all.”
We studied the spectacle in stunned silence for a few seconds. Square towers crenellated with balustrades rose forty feet to the left and right, while the central entryway was located on the second floor. It was reached by crossing a heavy timber drawbridge that sloped up across a moat, and was protected on both sides by a barbican. Katya asked, “What do we do now?”
“It’s a bit extravagant, but at the end of the day it’s just a house. We park and knock.” I earned an elbow to the kidney by adding, “Just keep an eye out for archers.”
The driveway wrapped around to the back of the castle, but I parked to the left of the drawbridge in a bump-out big enough to handle a dozen Teslas, or two dozen horses.
Katya wasted no time getting out of the car. “This is really cool and really creepy at the same time. And what’s with the second-story entrance?”
“No weak zones on the first floor. Standard defense against barbarians.”
We passed beneath the spikes of a wooden portcullis dangling above, and stopped before the massive arched oak door. True to form, there was no doorbell, although I detected electronic eyes cleverly concealed in caricatures carved into either side of the framework. A dragon and a frog. The knocker was a heavy ring of wrought iron, which I clinked three times. I half expected to hear the clank of armored footsteps, but got no response for what felt like an eternity. Then the door swung open with the grace and ease of a big bird’s wing, and the king of the castle spoke — with a British accent. “Hello, Achilles.”
Chapter 62
Block by Block
VONDREESEN GAVE KATYA a warm smile. “Hello Katya. Welcome. Won’t you come in?” He still looked every bit a George Clooney twin, but he seemed to have lost the energetic glow that had radiated from his eyes. Perhaps retirement, while good for the spirit, took its toll on the soul.
He stepped back with a graceful move to reveal an attractive architectural amalgam of fifteenth and twenty-first-century styles. Or so I guessed, not having much experience with the former. “Still feels like you’re outdoors, doesn’t it?” Vondreesen said, closing the door. “It’s the lighting. It’s all indirect, and it uses full-spectrum bulbs that automatically adjust in brightness depending on the time of day. The chandelier is for show.” He gave me a proud grin.
“The floors are original, and come from the same mix of stones as the walls, but I had them sliced thin and installed over heating elements. Now I’ve got the first castle in history with floors that are warm to the touch. But forgive me for prattling on. My new toys and I are still in the honeymoon phase.”
I spun around, admiring the architecture. “Not at all. We’re naturally curious. This is the first castle we’ve been to today.”
“You’re too kind.” Vondreesen put a hand on each of our shoulders.
“The painting,” I said, gesturing to the large oil that filled the wall between stairways arcing up to the left and right. “Is that Raphael’s St. George and the Dragon?” Since this was Vondreesen’s place, I wondered if it could be the original.
“Something about it doesn’t feel quite right, eh?”
Man, was he good at reading people. “Yes, although I’m no expert.”
“But your mind is trained
to detect incongruity and remember detail. It’s neither a copy nor a Raphael, but it is from his workshop. That’s an original Penni. It’s sixty-four times the size of Raphael’s original work, and it’s painted on canvas rather than wood. A great find. This way, please.” He motioned to his right.
“So what’s the story?” I said, spreading my arms.
“Can’t a man have a castle without a story?”
“Not a chance. Not a thousand years ago. Not today.”
“It was relocated and reconstructed by a French Baron and wine enthusiast named Crespin who fancied himself an entrepreneur. There’s not a lot of innovative entrepreneurship going on in the French wine industry, so Crespin came to the land of opportunity. He tried to bring old-world charm to the new land, figuring that he could one-up all his competition by adding a new dimension to the wine tasting experience. He thought he could create the hottest vineyard in Northern California — a tourist attraction in addition to a tasting room.”
“Kind of a Walt Disney approach.”
“Indeed, although Disney chose a German castle. This was originally built in the fifteenth century in what’s now a nowhere village in south-central France. He bought it for a song, and reassembled it here, block by block.”
“So what happened?” Katya asked.
“He died and the project stalled. By the time his heirs quit quarreling, an Italian had beat them to the punch with Castello di Amorosa, which is an even grander castle not ten miles from here. The Crespin heirs missed the window of opportunity and were stuck with a pink elephant. Napa Valley doesn’t need two medieval castles. I was looking for a place when it came on the market, and I liked the extra dimension it added. It’s hard to beat for dinner parties, or for getting the grandkids to visit.”
