“Do you really think a name will get you anywhere? If this person is responsible for the deaths, the name was undoubtedly fake.”
“It’s a place to start.”
Five minutes later he had a name-Thatcher-and, in an unexpected bonus, a cell phone picture taken by Christina’s man as Thatcher left. Thatcher was in profile and far enough from the camera that his facial features were slightly blurred.
But he did have one distinctive feature: a bald head.
CHAPTER 8
A sound, a smell, then nothing as Nate passed out again. Over and over, the sequence repeated.
A constant droning, like an air conditioner in the background.
Black.
The overpowering smell of sweat.
Black.
A door slamming.
Black.
A vibration.
Black.
Voices, talking to him but making no sense.
Black.
Then the prick of a needle in his arm.
And black, deeper than before. Oh, so deep…
CHAPTER 9
Los Angeles
Between them, Quinn and Orlando had seven messages on their phones when they deplaned in L.A.
Each was from a freelancer who had worked with Quinn and Nate in the past. All had received calls from Nate within the past week, checking on their availability, but to a man they had been previously booked and therefore unavailable. The most disturbing part was the bookings. While two of the men had actually gone out on jobs, the other five had been put on paid holds for projects that ended up not panning out, so they had basically earned their fee for doing nothing.
“I don’t like this,” Quinn said as they waited for the shuttle that would take them to the rental car lot. “We need to know who hired them.”
By the time they had their car and were driving away from LAX, they’d finished calling everyone back. Though the contact name changed from job offer to job offer, the descriptions of the projects the men had been put on hold for were remarkably similar. Calls to the two men who’d actually gone out on assignments confirmed another suspicion. They, too, had been contacted about being put on hold, but had turned the offers down because of their prior commitments.
It was clear someone had purposely tied up the people Nate would have normally hired.
Quinn took La Cienega north toward the hills. Just after they passed Wilshire Boulevard, his phone rang.
He checked the display before putting the call on speakerphone. “Daeng?”
“Have you heard from him?” Daeng asked.
“Nothing yet.”
There was a pause before Daeng spoke again. “Something’s happened here. I’m not sure if it’s connected, but it might be.”
“In Bangkok?”
“I believe I was tricked into returning home.” Daeng explained about the message he’d received that turned out to be untrue, about the man who had sent him the false information being murdered, and about the guy calling himself Thatcher who had been looking for Daeng just before all this had happened.
Quinn’s concern had already increased after learning about the other freelancers. Now, it skyrocketed. “Any idea who this guy was or what he wanted?”
“No. Haven’t been able to find out anything else about him. I’d be willing to bet he’s not even in the country anymore. A friend did get a picture of him, though. It’s not very good, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Send it to me.”
“Hold on.” Daeng was quiet for several seconds. “On its way.”
Before Quinn could even reply, his phone beeped with the incoming message. “If anything else comes up, let me know right away.”
“Screw that. I’m flying back,” Daeng said. “On my way to the airport right now. My ticket’s for L.A., but if you think I should go somewhere else, tell me.”
Quinn was pleased to hear it. Though he hoped Daeng’s help would turn out to be unnecessary, it would be nice if he were close, just in case. “L.A.’s fine for now. Call when you land.”
“Will do.”
As soon as the line went dead, Orlando took the phone from him and accessed the photo Daeng had sent.
“I don’t recognize him,” she said.
“Show me.”
She held the screen out so Quinn could take a quick glance.
As Daeng mentioned, the profile shot of the bald man in question wasn’t the best. Quinn took a second look, and finally shook his head. “Me, either.”
“I’m going to send this around, see if any of our regulars know who he is.”
Quinn nodded but said nothing, his dread growing by the second.
It was strange pulling up to the gate of his house after more than eight months since the last time Quinn had set foot inside. In some ways, it felt like the place didn’t even belong to him anymore.
Orlando jumped out and punched the code into the keypad, triggering the gate to roll open. Before Quinn could even pull the car to a stop in front of the house, Liz hurried out the door.
She looked drawn and pale, her eyes bloodshot.
The moment he climbed out of the car, she rushed over and threw her arms around him, her head pressing against his shoulder. Momentarily caught off guard, he hesitated then returned her embrace, telling himself she was only looking for comfort, not trying to show him any affection.
“Have you heard from him?” she whispered anxiously.
“No,” he told her. “But we’ve been checking with a lot of people. I’m sure we’ll find out where he is soon.”
“He was supposed to meet me at the airport. He was supposed to be there waiting.”
“I know, and I’m sure that’s exactly what he had planned to do.”
“Then where is he?” She looked up at him. “Why isn’t he here?”
He knew those weren’t really the questions occupying her thoughts. They were only masking the what-ifs.
What if he’s in trouble?
What if he’s hurt?
What if he’s dead and never coming back?
“Let’s go inside,” Orlando said, putting an arm around Liz’s shoulder.
Liz let herself be pulled away from her brother, and they all entered the house. Orlando guided her to the couch, and the two of them sat down.
Quinn glanced around the room. Everything looked pretty much the same as when he’d last been home. There were a few different books in the bookcase, and a dark gray hoodie draped over one of the chairs, but that was about it.
Liz had left the blinds drawn across the back wall. He walked over and pulled them open, letting the late afternoon sunlight flood in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
As he walked back, he said, “Liz, we’re going to have to ask you a few questions. Are you up for it?”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Whatever you need.”
He smiled, hoping to relax her a bit. “When you first came into the house, did you find anything unusual?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“Have you moved anything?”
“Some soap in the bathroom.” A pause. “A glass in the kitchen. That’s it. Oh, and I lay on Nate’s bed for a little bit. But I didn’t put anything away, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“The gym?”
“I only looked in. I didn’t touch anything.”
Quinn looked around. “Where are your bags?”
“Just one bag, a carry-on. It’s down in Nate’s room. I can go get it if you want.” She started to stand.
“It’s all right,” Orlando said, putting her hands gently on Liz’s shoulders and easing her back down. “It’s not important.”
Quinn knelt in front of his sister. “You’re doing good. This is helping. Now I need you to do me a favor.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Orlando and I are going to check around the house, see if Nate left something that’ll help us contac
t him. I’d like you to stay right here. All right?”
“I…I can help,” she said.
“I know you can. But it’ll go faster if only Orlando and I do it. We know what we’re looking for.”
She stared at him, her eyes pleading for something to do.
“He’s right,” Orlando said calmly. “The most important thing right now is to let us do what we do best.”
Liz took in a deep breath. As she let it out, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I just…” She pressed her lips together for a moment, then said, “I’ll wait here.”
“Thank you,” Orlando said.
“If you need me, though, let me know.”
Quinn gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and rose to his feet. “We will.” As they walked out of the living room, he whispered to Orlando, “Downstairs first.”
Though Nate had basically taken over Quinn’s house, he had not claimed the master bedroom. It was still occupied by Quinn’s furniture and belongings.
Nate’s room was the largest of the guest bedrooms. The only addition to the furniture that had already been there-the bed, dresser, and two nightstands-was a small wooden table in the corner Nate must have been using as a desk. On top of the table were a laptop power cord, a pad of paper, and a pen.
Quinn ran his fingers over the pad, checking for indentations made by the pen. Nothing, just as he had expected. Nate had been trained better than to do something that stupid.
“Where does he keep his computer?” Orlando asked.
Quinn shook his head. “Don’t know.”
“What about when you were living here?”
“I never asked him. That was his business. Maybe he put it-”
“Please tell me he wouldn’t have taken it with him.”
“Absolutely not. He would have taken a field computer.” Leaving your main computer at home base, and taking ones you could afford to lose when you traveled was standard procedure. Something both Quinn and Orlando did without a second thought.
“What about data backup?” she asked. “Was he using your system?”
“He was before, so I assume he still is. You want to try to see if you can access his backup while I search for the computer?”
She was already headed for the door before he even finished speaking. “If you find it, bring it up.”
“Really? I thought maybe I’d just sit down here and play Solitaire on it for a while first.”
She paused in the doorway. “Solitaire? You couldn’t have said something like Halo? Or Call of Duty? Or even, I don’t know, Tetris?”
“Weren’t you on your way to do something?”
She grunted a “huh” and disappeared into the hallway.
The first thing Quinn did was run his fingers underneath the desk to make sure there wasn’t a hidden compartment. He then methodically searched the rest of the room for potential laptop hiding spots. He removed drawers from the dresser, checked the mattress and box springs, and even looked for any structural changes his former apprentice might have made to the room, but he came up dry.
Next, he entered the small walk-in closet. Inside were shirts and jackets and sweaters and several boxes filled with the stuff Nate had moved in from his old apartment. Quinn looked through each box, patted down the clothing, and felt along the shelf that ran around the top. Still no computer.
Though he was frustrated, he was also pleased that Nate hadn’t just left it someplace easy to find.
Okay, then. Where?
He scanned every corner of the closet, and did the same in the bedroom.
Not in here, apparently.
He thought for a moment. If it were him, he would have simply used one of the three secured safety boxes he’d built seamlessly into the walls. One was in his bedroom, one in the gym, and one upstairs just off the living room. Even if someone were able to figure out where they were located, and dislodge the small wall portions covering them, there was still each safe’s door. If the correct code was not input on the touch screen the very first time, the contents would be flash fried, rendering anything inside-especially a computer-worthless.
Quinn had only shown Nate the hiding place upstairs, and had never given him his code. He probably should have done that. Nate was the one living here now, after all. It would have made sense for him to stick his computer in a space that was designed to protect it.
Quinn walked into the hallway, and looked first one way, then the other.
I’m Nate. So I’d put my computer…
He looked left again, back toward his room and the stairs.
I’d put it…
He swiveled his head to the right, toward the gym.
I’d put…it’s not possible, right? I mean, he couldn’t have.
Quinn stared at the gym, walked down the hall, and went inside. The safety box in this room was along the baseboard, behind the stationary bike. He pushed in and up on the molding in exactly the right spot, and the board popped away from the wall. Underneath was the safe door with the touch screen embedded in the middle. A tap of his finger brought the screen to life. He input the first number of his code, and immediately stopped. The number had turned green. This was the fail-safe. Since it would only allow a single input before destroying everything inside, the numbers would appear in a specific color. Red meant everything was fine, but if they were green, you were inputting the wrong code.
Son of a bitch, he thought. Nate had actually found the box and changed the code somehow.
After fifteen seconds of no additional numbers being input, the screen reset. This time Quinn tapped in the emergency master code, a string of digits that would open the box one time only. When the door swung open, he reached inside. There were half a dozen passports from different countries, all with pictures of Nate; several small bundles of cash, also from different locations; and a GLOCK 9mm pistol. But no computer.
Quinn went into his bedroom, and quickly discovered that Nate had taken over that safe, too. This one held some documents, and another pistol, but still no computer.
Returning upstairs, he jogged past the living room, and stopped where it transitioned into the kitchen. Orlando was at the breakfast table, her own field laptop open.
“Did you find it?” she asked.
Quinn lowered himself to his knees. “Still looking.”
“Find what?” Liz said from the couch.
“Nate’s computer,” Quinn said, then realized that was one question he hadn’t asked. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Quinn opened the baseboard, and input the master code.
Bingo.
He pulled Nate’s computer out of the safe. “Got it.”
Orlando looked up, surprised. “Don’t just sit there. Bring it here.”
As he carried it over, he made a mental note to discuss with Nate how he had managed to find the other two hidey-holes and gain access to all three without rendering them useless. His protege was getting good, maybe too good.
Orlando set to work on Nate’s laptop. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to get through the security, which, by the frown on her face, was obviously longer than she’d thought it would have taken.
Quinn watched from behind as she looked through a list of recent files, then opened his email.
After several minutes, she said, “There.”
Quinn scanned the message on the screen. A job confirmation for a cleaner named Quinn. He knew Nate had been using his name, but it still felt…odd.
“It says the project should have finished yesterday morning.”
“No location,” Orlando pointed out. “But it couldn’t have been too far away if Nate was going to be back in time to meet Liz today. If I know him, I’m sure he planned on returning last night so he wouldn’t chance being late picking her up.”
Quinn nodded, knowing she was right.
The message was signed P, and the sender’s email address was just a string of letters and numbers.
�
�P,” Quinn said to himself. “Are their any other emails?”
Orlando sorted the messages by sender. There were three more. Two were also signed P, but one, the very first message Nate had received, had a name.
Pullman.
“That doesn’t sound familiar,” Quinn said.
“I think I’ve heard it before,” Orlando told him.
“You have?”
“Give me a second.”
She switched back to her own computer, her fingers flying over her keyboard. After about forty-five seconds, she said, “Yeah. This has got to be him.” She typed for a few more seconds, then smiled smugly. “And I’m right. Again. That email address traces right back to his location.” Another keystroke and a picture appeared on the screen.
Quinn leaned forward to get a better look. The image was of a man around forty with receding brown hair and pale skin.
“Who is he?” Quinn asked.
“Mr. Timothy Pullman is a broker who works out of Chicago.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. Mid-level jobs usually, with the occasional stretch to something a little more ambitious.”
“You have a number?”
She smiled. “I do.”
They decided Orlando would make the call. Quinn was conferenced in on his phone, his mic on mute.
“Mr. Pullman?” Orlando said.
“Who’s calling?”
“My name’s Newsome. I was given your number by a mutual acquaintance. That is, if you are Mr. Pullman.”
“And which acquaintance would that be?”
She let a few seconds of dead air fill the line. “Are you or are you not Mr. Pullman? I’d rather not waste my time.”
This time Pullman paused. “Fine. I’m Pullman. So who’s this person who’s giving out my number? And what do you want?”
“Good. So I’m talking to the right person. I was given your number by a cleaner named Quinn. He’s actually why I’m calling. I hired him for a job that he was supposed to show up for two hours ago. He’s not here, and I haven’t heard from him, so I’m calling- ”
“I don’t know anyone named Quinn.”
Orlando and Quinn exchanged a glance.
“This was the number he gave me as a backup in case I needed to get ahold of him.”
The Collected jq-6 Page 5
