Текст книги "Murder 101"

Автор книги: Faye Kellerman

Соавторы: Faye Kellerman,Faye Kellerman
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

CHAPTER 37

CHANGE OF PLANS,” Radar told Decker over the phone. “They want to meet at your house.”

“My house?”

“Yes. They claim there are too many people to meet at the station and they’ll draw too much attention. All that is true.”

“How many?”

“Last count we’re up to eight: Dr. Gold, some Russian, an American big shot, two agents, the mayor and the lieutenant governor of the state of New York, and Chris Mulrooney, who’s already here. I don’t know what you all hit on, but it’s big.”

“Meeting at my house . . . taking over my personal space. That’s pure intimidation.”

“It is. I suggested my house, but they seem bent upon making you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, Mike. I can deal. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Pete, you and the kid and Oliver did good. Whatever happens, I want you to know that.”

“Thank you.” Decker hung up. To Rina he said, “The phone isn’t the right place, but I promise I’ll let him know about all your input, honey.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Rina said.

“Credit where credit is due.”

“I thank you, but I’m fine in the background,” Rina said. “Besides, there are lots of advantages of being that pesky fly on the wall.”

RINA WAS USED to men. She had grown up the youngest behind two brothers. Her first two children were sons. She could usually speak their language and rarely had to use feminine wiles to get what she wanted. But in this instance, she knew she’d do anything to calm Peter down because he was seething. Men with suits and steely eyes had invaded his domain and while she knew he wouldn’t do anything reckless, he wasn’t going down easily.

Counting Mike, Scott, Tyler, Greg, and Peter, there were thirteen men crowded into a living room meant for six to eight adults. Dining room chairs had to be brought in. She had gone into the kitchen to make coffee and tea and to prepare a plate of whatever baked goods were in the freezer. While everything was brewing, she took the opportunity to size up the enemy.

The two CIA agents were easy to spot. Both of them were good-looking, tall men with broad shoulders and very short hair: one was fair haired, the other was brunette, and that was about the only way she could tell them apart. They could have been cast in the movies to play what they did in real life.

She knew the mayor, Logan Brettly. He was in his fifties with curly white hair, a stocky build, and a bulldog face. In the past, all her dealings with Brettly had been positive. He was a nice man who cared about his constituency. In this setting, he looked decidedly tense.

She supposed the professor with the scant, woolly gray hair was Mordechai Gold. His dress was more collegiate: corduroy jacket with patch pockets over a sweater over a shirt, and slacks with boots on his feet. He had perceptive eyes, taking in everything.

Of the other four men, she guessed that the blond man in his fifties with the perpetual tan was Alex Beckwith, the big-shot American. The suit with him was the lieutenant governor of the state of New York. Being a newcomer, Rina couldn’t remember his name.

The most exotic in style and dress was a man in his fifties, built like a professional wrestler. He wore an expensive jacket with working buttons on the sleeves, and there was a gold Rolex on his wrist, a bejeweled stickpin that kept his tie in place, and a large diamond winked from his pinkie. She figured he had to be the Russian and most likely, he was one of the names that Gerrard had erased from Jason Merritt’s client list. The remaining man looked like a cop: basic suit, tie, and rubber-soled shoes. Irish face, uncomfortable eyes and hands that he continually clasped and unclasped. Probably Chris Mulrooney from Summer Village.

Introductions had been made by the time she brought in the refreshments. She lowered the tray onto the coffee table. Then they thanked her, thinking that she’d make herself scarce.

They were wrong.

Rina sat on the arm of the couch next to Peter. “I’m Mrs. Decker. Depending how this conversation goes, perhaps by the end you can call me Rina.”

McAdams clamped his mouth with his hands to keep from smiling. The mayor grimaced with displeasure.

“Mordy Gold.” The professor stood up. “Please take my chair.”

“I’m fine but thank you.”

“Thank you for allowing us to invade your house. I’m actually the one who went to the officials. I felt that they had to be notified.”

“And here we all are.”

The man who looked like a cop stuck out his hand. “Chris Mulrooney.”

Peter said, “He’s the detective from Summer Village PD working on the Latham case.”

“Good to meet you, Detective,” Rina said.

“Chris, please. Sure you don’t want a chair?”

“I’m okay.”

It was the tall, tan man’s turn to be polite. “Alex Beckwith. I insist you take my seat.”

“All this chivalry is very heady,” Rina said. “I’m fine next to my husband.” She patted Peter’s shoulder. “Actually, sitting on the arm of the sofa makes me feel taller.”

The room went silent. Her presence was clearly not wanted. Rina stood and sighed. “I see no one is going to take anything unless I pour.” She turned first to the wrestler, the one who hadn’t introduced himself. “What can I get for you, sir?”

A long pause. Then he said, “Tea. Two sugars and a slice of lemon.”

“Certainly. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it to you.”

Peter’s eyes went dark, but Rina warded him off with a smile. The man’s accent was thick. “And you are . . .”

The man smiled back with Machiavellian eyes. “Martin Kosovsky.”

“That was two sugars and one lemon slice, Mr. Kosovsky?”

“It was.”

She handed him his tea. “Here you go.” It took another five minutes to pour for the remaining group. Beckwith and the mayor also took tea. Radar and Greg took coffee. The rest of the clan including the spooks passed. She returned to her armrest. It was her house and with that ownership, she had the privilege of saying whatever she wanted. But with a soft voice and a smile.

“Since you called up the dogs, Dr. Gold, maybe you can explain what’s going on. I assume it has to do with the codebook since that was your sole involvement with the case.”

Decker laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Lay it on the line, why don’t you.”

“Last I heard in America, you can speak your mind in your own house.”

“I think that’s still true.”

Rina turned to Gold. “Professor?”

“Of course, you’re right, Mrs. Decker. It has to do with the codebook. After breaking most of the code, I realized within the first couple of pages that the contents dealt with sensitive negotiations between our government and other countries. I called up Agent Marcus and Agent Grimm and explained to them what I had and at that point, I found out that the book had been stolen.”

Beckwith interrupted. “These negotiations have been going on for quite some time. It is a very good thing that the book was found and returned to the proper authorities. And for this reason, we’re actually here to thank all of you for your hard work.”

Rina looked him straight in the eye. “If all you wanted to do was thank the Greenbury Police Department, you could have just sent a bottle of wine.”

“Of course there’s more to it.” Beckwith sighed. “As I was pointing out to Captain Radar, further investigation into the current cases of Angeline Moreau and John Latham might compromise some very long and hard government negotiations. We are asking Greenbury and Summer Village to consider the consequences.”

“Consequences of solving two brutal murders?” Oliver asked.

“Of ruining delicate matters that have been going on for years.”

“How can we consider anything when we don’t know what you’re referring to?”

“It’s a government matter and that’s all you have to know,” said Agent Brunette.

Whether he was Grimm or Marcus, Rina didn’t know or didn’t care. She said, “The problem is, sir, we already know a great deal. And when there are holes, people fill them in, often with erroneous material. It’s in your interest to correct any misconceptions.”

Decker said, “She’s absolutely right. Why pretend that the two murders are just going to disappear. It doesn’t work that way. If you want help, we need answers—”

“Decker—” Radar said.

“Two people were slaughtered. My wife and I were shot at in my own bedroom. McAdams was injured; he’s on crutches for God’s sake. We deserve to know what’s going on.”

McAdams gave Decker a thumbs-up.

When Kosovsky talked, he had a condescending smile on his face. “It is terrible, what happened to you.”

“Not as bad as what happened to Angeline Moreau or John Latham,” Decker said.

Mayor Brettly’s eyes beseeched Radar, who pretended not to see.

Mulrooney said, “You just can’t call off this many people on two brutal murder cases without some explanation. I got my own men to consider.”

“It is terrible,” Kosovsky said again. “These brutal murders.”

A slight smile on his face? Maybe Rina was imagining it. While Rina was pretty certain that Kosovsky wasn’t the hit man, he seemed like the perfect candidate to order a massacre. Something cold and evil in his eyes. She said, “They were terrible murders.”

Kosovsky said, “Yes, of course. But I can assure you that there wasn’t any official government inwolwement in them.”

Decker said, “It warms my heart that the United States and Russia weren’t behind trying to assassinate my wife and me, but that begs the question of what happened.”

Kosovsky sipped his tea. “Rogue agents are big problems, Meester Decker. Just ask your friends from your CIA.”

“Who’s the rogue agent?”

“Names are irrelewant. But the rogue has been dealt with, saving your gowernment a lengthy trial and many tax dollars. So for you, it is done. There is no one to hunt down because we have already done it.”

“How do I explain that to Angeline’s parents?”

“You tell them it is done,” Kosovsky said. “It is a big shame about the young girl, but when you play with fire, you get the burn. To tell them about their daughter, they will find out about her inwolwement in unpleasant business. Perhaps it would be better to tell them what they want to hear rather than the truth.”

No one spoke.

Kosovsky said, “Assure the girl’s parents that her killer has been punished.”

“Without prejudice,” Decker said.

“Excuse me?”

“Just an old army term. While I’m assuring Angeline Moreau’s parents that the rogue has been taken care of, what do I say to Detective McAdams who was shot three times.”

Kosovsky turned to McAdams. “My sincere apologies, Meester McAdams. If you are ewer in Moscow, I would be honored to host you . . . show you around my city.”

“Thank you.” McAdams raised an eyebrow.

“I think we’re done here,” said Agent Blond.

“Not by a long shot,” Decker said. The room went quiet for a moment. “Let me take you on a theoretical walk and you can tell me how theoretical the walk actually is.”

Silence.

“Go on,” Kosovsky said.

“We know that the codebook was found in John Latham’s apartment hidden in an out of the way place, but recovered brilliantly by my colleague, Detective Mulrooney. We also know that someone was desperately looking for it—in Latham’s apartment and in Angeline’s apartment because both places were tossed. I believe that Viktor Gerrard—who is missing—is our key player. He was born in East Germany and spoke Russian as well as German. He was also an art dealer working in a gallery that specialized in Russian art. I suspect that Viktor had a bad case of sticky fingers.”

“I don’t understand sticky fingers,” Kosovsky said.

“He was a thief.”

“Ah . . . go on.”

Decker said, “Maybe Gerrard was the rogue agent you’re referring to. Or maybe he’s just a rogue, period. Whoever he really was, Gerrard had contacts in Russia, including you, Mr. Kosovsky. Could be he was trying to buy something from you. More likely, he was trying to sell you something. Because like Latham, Gerrard probably had a side business in stolen goods. I believe he accidentally came across the codebook in a client’s house in Russia and he knew he had found something big. So he decided to take it back to America. How am I doing so far?”

“I hold judgment,” the Russian said.

“Always a good thing to be open-minded,” Oliver said.

Decker held back a smile. “The problem was that Gerrard couldn’t break the code. So he enlisted help. Enter John Latham who was clever enough to figure out enough of the code and realize what he was dealing with. But instead of cluing Viktor in on what he had, he embarked upon his own blackmail scheme against you, Mr. Kosovsky.” Decker turned to Beckwith. “And possibly against you.”

“Me?” Beckwith’s cheeks had pinkened. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

“Obviously something because you’re here,” Rina said.

Smiling, Decker wagged a finger at her. “I have no idea what’s in the codebook other than meaningless foreign words that transliterated into cliché Latin phrases. But . . . I suspect it was all about art negotiations between the U.S. and Russia. For the last six years, Mr. Beckwith has been trying to curate the foremost traveling exhibit of art by Leonardo Da Vinci. Because Da Vincis are so few and far between and so rare and priceless, they never travel. What’s the payoff for you, Mr. Beckwith, if you succeed in this coup? You not only get a pat on the back, you probably get a percentage of the exhibit ticket price, which, if you could pull it off, could amount to a fortune. But there was a chink along the way. No one is lending the United States valuable art, especially Russia, because the Russian government is involved in a messy lawsuit with Chabad where the U.S. judge has already sided with the Jewish organization. So you, Mr. Beckwith, were stuck, unless you had something remarkable to give Russia in return for the loan of a Da Vinci. How am I doing so far, Mr. Beckwith?”

Silence. Then Beckwith said, “For the record, we refer to the paintings as Leonardos.”

“I stand corrected.”

Kosovsky said, “And what does that haff to do with me, I wonder?”

“You, Mr. Kosovsky, were negotiating with the Hermitage to get one of their two Da Vin—excuse me—Leonardos. What are the titles, Tyler?”

McAdams had them in his notes. “Madonna Litta and Madonna Benois.”

“Thank you,” Decker said. “But you knew, Mr. Kosovsky, that the Hermitage would never, ever release such masterpieces unless the government got a truly one-of-a-kind in return.”

“Which would be?”

“I’ll get to that,” Decker said. “The point is you had negotiating powers, but Latham was getting in the way. So someone told Viktor Gerrard to solve the problem. I can’t swear to it but I suspect that someone in this room knew that Latham and Gerrard were in cahoots. What I suspect is that Gerrard was scared enough of you, Mr. Kosovsky, to solve any problem you might have. Angeline was a by-product because she had gotten too close to John Latham and no one knew exactly how much Latham told her.”

“Your theories are very interesting, I must admit,” Kosovsky said. “But alas . . .” He threw up his hands. “They are just theories.”

“You’re right,” Decker said. “But given enough time, I know I could substantiate them. Not that it would matter to you, Mr. Kosovsky, but it might matter to those of us here who reside in America.”

The lieutenant governor finally piped up. “Detective Decker, the perpetrator of these horrible murders is not in the country. And as Mr. Kosovsky has pointed out, he has been dealt with. It’s not in anyone’s interest to continue on.”

“You mean it’s not in the interest of New York to continue because the first museum to get a Leonardo exhibit would be the Met. And that would be quite a coup for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Decker, what’s the point?” Radar said. “It’s over. You’re not going to get anyone’s cooperation. So unless you want to go rogue, just put a fork in it.”

“He’s not going rogue,” Rina said.

“Ah, the little lady seems to have a grasp on the situation,” Kosovsky said.

Decker started to boil, but Rina held him back with the palm of her hand. “I can’t control what my husband might do. What woman can? But maybe if you do me a favor, Mr. Kosovsky, I’m betting that Detective Decker might think twice before going to the press.”

“That wouldn’t be wise,” said Agent Blond.

Decker said, “I’m not wise, sir, just practical. And I’m not asking for money or anything illegal, God forbid.”

“Ho-kay,” Kosovsky said. “Let us hear what the little lady wants.”

“It is always wise to let the little lady speak,” Rina said. “I do believe that my husband is right. That you, Mr. Beckwith, must have some great bargaining tool that Russia really wants.”

“And what might that be?”

“Maybe like . . . the original Amber Room. That’s what Detective Decker and Detective McAdams have thought all along.”

Kosovsky tried to hide it, but he looked stunned. When no one answered, she said, “Well, maybe not all twenty-seven cartons. Maybe just a couple of them were magically ‘found’ in America in some unknown warehouse.” Rina made quotes with her fingers. “And as a gesture of goodwill, perhaps the U.S. government has agreed to return a carton or two to Russia in exchange for the willingness of the Hermitage to loan out a Da Vi . . . a Leonardo.”

The room was absolutely silent.

“But that’s just a theory,” Rina said.

Beckwith spoke first. “Mrs. Decker, you can hardly compare the value of a Leonardo with a box of amber from the original Amber Room.”

“Of course there is no comparison in rarity and value. Any Leonardo is priceless and even amber from the original Amber Room isn’t anywhere in that league. But I happen to know that your fearless leader, Mr. Kosovsky, was once the deputy mayor of St. Petersburg. To bring home part of a historical treasure would no doubt endear him to his people. The PR would be enormous.”

“You have still not told us what you want,” Kosovsky said.

“I’m getting to that,” Rina said. “The Marylebone Police have been working on a case of missing icons by the famous Russian artist Nikolai Petroshkovich. They were taken from the local church. It would be nice if they could be recovered before the poor detectives passed. They’re elderly and it would be grand to give them some closure.”

Kosovsky was stoic.

“Perhaps you know what I’m talking about?” Rina asked.

“Perhaps.”

“And perhaps you can help?”

“Perhaps . . . with one.”

“Or two.”

Kosovsky’s eyes narrowed. “At the most.”

“That would be lovely.”

Kosovsky looked at his Rolex. “I have a plane—”

“I’m not done.” Rina smiled. “Just another minute, please.”

“What now?”

It came out with anger. Rina spoke quickly. “The Russian Library still holds a vast amount of books and papers from Rav Schneerson’s collection. And while I know that your fearless leader has given the Jewish Museum around five hundred books and articles, there are still many items in dispute. Perhaps you can arrange for another batch of items from the collection to be donated to the Jewish Museum or to the Museum of Tolerance. Think of all the wonderful PR it would generate, Mr. Kosovsky.”

Again, the room went quiet. Rina simply waited him out.

“I can do my best, but that is all I can do,” Kosovsky said. “I am not the fearless leader as you call him.”

“I’m sure your best is better than almost anyone, Mr. Kosovsky.”

“You are a clever woman, Madame Decker. I admire that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kosovsky.” Rina turned to the CIA agents. “Now you are done.”

The Russian stood up. “I extend the same invitation to you, Madame Decker, and your husband that I do to Detective McAdams. If you ewer find yourself in Moscow, please allow me to host you. I think you would learn a lot about Russia from me.”

“I’m sure that would be true.” A small arch of her eyebrow. “Thank you very much for the invitation.”

The Russian again looked at his gold Rolex. “As I said, I do have a plane to catch. Good day.”

As he headed for the door, Beckwith followed without a word. With Beckwith and Kosovsky on their ways, the lieutenant governor got up. He thanked Rina and then he hurried to catch up. The CIA agents and Mayor Brettly tailed him at a brisk pace.

As soon as they were all gone, Mordechai Gold said, “Check your place for bugs and not of the insect kind.”

“That fast?” Rina said.

“Your house, your cars, your phones, laptops, tablets, ovens, dishwashers, refrigerator . . . and your Jacuzzi.” Gold smiled. “I used to sweep my house and office every few months after I left the CIA. I found bugs all the time. In the last ten years, they’ve given up although I’m sure that will change after this afternoon.”

“How close were we in our theories, Professor?” Decker asked.

“That Kosovsky was willing to negotiate with you should tell you how close you were.” Gold smiled. “Please feel free to call me if you’re concerned about anything. I know these guys and they can be a bit intimidating.” He looked at Rina. “For most people, that is.”

“Never let them see you sweat,” Rina said.

Gold smiled. “I do have to get back to school. Stop by if you’re ever in Cambridge. I’ll show you around.”

“That’s an offer I can take you up on,” Rina said. “I don’t see Russia in my future.”

“No, that trip has been deleted from the bucket list,” Decker said.

“Glad I saw it when I did,” McAdams said.

“I couldn’t afford it anyway,” Mulrooney added.

“You and me both,” Radar said. “Besides I don’t see a lot of vacation time in my future. Brettly’s pissed.”

“Sorry about that,” Decker said.

“Screw him. You, Oliver, McAdams, and Mulrooney did good.” A pause. “Not as good as Mrs. Decker I have to say.”

“I blush,” Rina said.

Decker shook his head. “I have to call Angeline’s parents.” To Mulrooney, he said, “You’ll take care of Latham’s parents?”

“Of course. The news won’t make any of them whole again, but at least we can say the guy was . . . dealt with. Maybe it is better . . . sparing everyone an emotional trial where bad things can come out.”

“Pleasure working with you, Chris.”

“Same here, Pete.” He smiled at Rina. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Decker.”

“You’re earned the right to call me Rina.”

“Thank you.” Mulrooney waved and left.

With the locals remaining behind, Rina said, “How come it feels like midnight when it’s only five o’clock?”

“Did you know about the Amber Room or was that just a lucky guess?” Radar asked.

“I did happen to know that the fearless leader was the deputy mayor of St. Petersburg. So since I couldn’t think of anything else, I went with what Peter and Tyler have always said.” Rina picked up the kettle. “Tea, anyone?”

“Are you sure Kosovsky didn’t slip a Mickey in it?” Decker asked.

Rina laughed. But then she looked inside. “I don’t see any powder or anything.” She felt the pot. “It’s a little cold. Maybe I’ll just put a fresh kettle on—after I wash it out with soap and water . . . very, very hot water.”

Decker said, “Throw it away, Rina.”

“It’s pure copper.”

“I’ll get you another pure copper kettle. For your contribution to the mess, it probably should be gold plated . . . and studded with diamonds.”

“A copper pot is fine,” Rina said. “No diamonds necessary unless you want to take a trip to Maxwell Stewart’s gallery.”

Oliver said, “This is gonna cost you, Deck.”

“Big time,” McAdams said.

Decker said, “Do you think Maxwell Stewart will give me a discount?”

“After what happened, I think he’d do just about anything to get rid of all of us,” Rina said. “That is only if you’re inclined to prey on the weak, God forbid.”