No Way Out, page 12
“I accept your apology.” If that was an apology. Sometimes I don’t know what the hell they’re saying.
Carter joined them and Reid briefed him on Vail’s theory.
Carter seemed to read their faces, which clearly indicated the residual effects of a disagreement. “There are two more dead inside the station,” he said. “Device was placed on the side of one of the turnstiles. Could’ve been much worse.”
“I guess that’s something,” Reid said.
Vail elbowed DeSantos. “You want to take a look in there?”
“No, I’m good.”
“I thought you’d have some genius whiz-bang observations for us.”
DeSantos puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. “Nope. No genius whiz-bang observations. I’m not feeling it.”
Vail eyed him dubiously, then turned to Reid. “Are you guys hanging around?”
“For a bit. You need a ride?”
“Hector and I will take the tube.”
“We will?” DeSantos asked.
“Yes, we will.” She nodded good-bye to Reid and Carter. “Meet up with you later.”
THEY HIKED SEVERAL BLOCKS along Northumberland Avenue toward the Charing Cross station, located adjacent to the entrance of her hotel. They walked in silence for a block, and then Vail stopped in front of a storefront for Garfunkel’s restaurant, near Trafalgar Square.
“I’m hungry,” she said as she pushed through the door.
“I’m not.”
“Then you can watch me eat.”
They were seated at a booth in the storefront window. She took a quick look at the menu and ordered an American Hot pizza and an iced tea. DeSantos asked for “loaded jackets” and “chilli” poppers.
“What’s an American Hot pizza?” he asked.
Vail leaned back in her seat. “It said ‘American.’ Right now I find that comforting.”
He laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Okay, enough bullshit, Hector. I want to know why you’re really here.”
The smile faded from his face. “I knew that’s where this was headed.”
“Of course you did, because you’re a semi-intelligent person.”
“You didn’t really mean that.”
“You’re right,” Vail said an empathetic tilt of her head. “I didn’t. That’d be giving you too much credit.”
Hector turned away. “Fine. You’re angry because I haven’t been completely honest with you.” After a moment’s thought, he said, “I am on a mission. And I do have to be careful with what I disclose. That much is true.”
“You’re talking about me, Hector. We’ve trusted our lives to each other, more than once. Don’t you think it’s silly to keep things from me?”
“Not my decision. I also wasn’t lying when I told you I got myself into some real deep shit.”
“With Knox?”
DeSantos looked down at the table. “And others. Knox has my back, but…it’s complicated.” He met her eyes. “So you want to know why I showed up at the gallery.”
“Good place to start.”
DeSantos nodded slowly. “Gavin Paxton might be someone we’re looking for.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Can’t say.”
“Give me a break.” Vail stared him down but DeSantos did not yield. “Why are you looking for him?”
“Better if I answer that once I have confirmation that Paxton is the right guy.”
“You’re not giving me much information.”
The waitress set the iced tea on the table and moved off.
“No offense, Karen. But that’s the point.”
“Are you really on a diplomatic mission?”
DeSantos laughed. “You really don’t get this game, do you?”
“I didn’t realize what we do is a game.”
DeSantos grabbed the iced tea and took a drink.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
“I was thirsty. We’ll get you another. And no, I realize this isn’t a game. But you and me, we’re sparring because you can’t help yourself—you need to know. But I don’t think you need to know; I think you just want to know—and as you know, that means I can’t tell you.”
Vail rolled her eyes. “I love it when you talk in circles to me.”
“It is kind of like sex, isn’t it? I tease you, you want more—”
“And if you have any hopes of staying in the relationship, you give me more.”
DeSantos held up the tea in a toast. “Very good.” He set down the glass and thought a moment. “Let me do this. If things work out the way I think they will, I’ll read you in on what’s going on. But until I know more, stay away from Paxton.” He rose from the booth, pulled out a £20 note, and dropped it on the table. “Enjoy my jackets and poppers. And get yourself another tea. I’ll be in touch.”
15
As Vail headed to the Charing Cross Underground station, she couldn’t put Gavin Paxton out of her thoughts, and the more she played back the security recording, the more she was convinced that the curator had a hand in the bombing. But what was his motive? What did he have to gain by seeing the manuscript destroyed?
Theoretically, it should be a positive for the gallery, and thus for him—the more money Turner made, the more secure his job would be. But she didn’t know the finances of Turner’s business. It was something Reid, Carter, and Losner needed to look into, if they had not already done so.
As she swiped her Oyster card in the stainless steel turnstile, she received a call from Losner about the visit he had set up with Merlin Hughes. He was on his way to join Reid and Carter at the crime scene.
“I hate it when things don’t seem to be going anywhere and now we’ve got another mess to deal with. I hope these people don’t keep setting off bombs about town, or we’re gonna have a bloody hard time managing the media.”
“Then I’ve got some good news for you, Ingram. We have a potential lead on the gallery bombing and if it helps you any, the Underground case is probably unrelated.”
“How ‘potential’ is this lead?”
DeSantos’s comment to stay away from Paxton echoed in her mind. “It’s probably nothing.”
“I’ve only known you a little while, Karen, but you blew me away with your presentations at the conference. I trust your judgment.”
A man bumped her from behind—she was blocking passengers trying to reach the boarding areas.
She told him why she thought the cases were unrelated.
“And the gallery case?” he asked.
“What kind of backgrounder have you put together on Gavin Paxton?” Just an innocent question. Besides, she’d already told Reid about her suspicions—and DeSantos had no say over whether or not Reid or Losner decided to pursue Paxton.
“You think Paxton’s involved?”
“Let’s just say that I have some concerns.”
“Clive was putting that together. Let me touch base with him. I’ll ring you back.”
“If you’re at Kennington, I’ll meet up with you in however long it takes to get there from Charing Cross.’
“Right then. See you shortly.”
VAIL CLIMBED THE STAIRS and emerged in the Murder Investigation Team unit, where Grouze was arguing with one of his inspectors. He saw Vail and stopped in midsentence. He pushed away from the man and intercepted her before she could reach Losner’s desk.
“What the hell is this bollocks about you having a lead on the gallery bombing?”
“I have a theory. You can ask Reid about it—”
“That’s who I heard it from. See, this is the problem with your profiling analysis.”
“We prefer behavioral analysis—or criminal investigative analysis.”
“Oh, it’s criminal all right. We finally agree on something.”
“Watch the tapes for yourself. Reid was there. He can tell you what I saw.”
“That’s the problem. He thought you were seeing things. Imaginary things. Like they weren’t doing something you thought they should be doing. But the absence of something can’t be used to prove the existence of something.”
Here we go again. I’ve had this argument before. Problem is, there’s no good answer.
“I study human behavior. I know what I saw. Does that mean it’s a slam dunk? I’d be the first to argue that it’s not. But I do think it means we need to check it out.”
“We can agree to disagree. The beauty, of course, is that what I say goes. So I’m putting this in Reid’s hands. Thanks for your opinion.” He turned and walked away.
Vail stood there—counting backward from ten—when Losner came up from behind her. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
“I just got here.”
“I need a change of scenery, stretch my legs.” He led the way to the elevator, and then stopped. “Wait—you prefer apples and pears, right?”
Vail swiveled her head in both directions. “Did I miss something? Were we talking about fruit?”
Losner snickered. “It means stairs. It’s kind of an outdated saying, but I still like it.”
“You Brits,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re right. I prefer apples and pears. I’m not too keen on elevators, especially small ones.”
They exited the building and started down the street. “Ever been to the Imperial War Museum?”
“This is my first time in the UK. And I’ve been a bit busy since I got here.”
“Let’s head that way, talk through your theory on the way.”
“But your boss said—”
Losner kept his gaze ahead. “Yes. I heard. But I also think he has some bias. You can’t be arsed by those things.”
“You think I’m on to something.”
“I watched the recording. I’m not as convinced as you are, but I think there could be something there, yeah.”
“I think your partner disagrees.”
“No ‘think’ about it. He had some choice words. But this case has him on edge. Not sleeping, not a fun guy to be around, I say.”
“Never would’ve guessed that. Until about an hour ago, he seemed very laid back.”
“Wait till you really get to know him.”
They walked briskly, hashing out Vail’s theory. By the time they were done, Losner was more excited about Paxton as a suspect than she was.
“I’ll poke around, see what there is in the system on him. We did a preliminary backgrounder on everyone involved and nothing came up.”
“I don’t think we’ve got enough for a search warrant.”
“No solicitor would let us poke around his flat.”
“Surveillance?”
“That’d take manpower—and Grouze’s approval. Not to mention Clive would find out. But maybe we’ll get lucky and turn up something that’ll change their minds.”
Losner led the way to the entrance of the Imperial War Museum. Two enormous rocket-shaped projectiles stood on the front lawn, pointed out toward the street.
“What the hell are those?”
“Fifteen inch naval guns, from 1912. They weigh something like a hundred tons.”
“I can’t believe how long they are—they must stretch fifty feet.”
“A bit more, actually. The ultimate phallic symbol, eh? If you like that, there’s lots more inside. Wanna take a look?”
Vail consulted her watch. “I’d better get back to my hotel. I’ve got a threat assessment to write up and reports due with the FBI’s legal attaché. It’s like having a watchdog.” A rabid watchdog.
“We all have people we have to answer to.”
Vail thought of DeSantos and his usual autonomy on missions. Some of us more than others.
16
Known by Londoners as the “Wobbly Bridge” because of a design defect that caused it to rock when pedestrians traversed it, the steel suspension Millennium Footbridge crossed the River Thames and sat between two noteworthy landmarks, St. Paul’s Cathedral to its north and a reconstructed facsimile of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre to the south.
Workers hurried across the span as tourists gawked and shuffled along, stopping to aim their camera phones at the rising and falling metal cabling, which contributed to its sleek, futuristic angles. Below, the Thames flowed toward the Tower Bridge.
DeSantos rested on the steel handrail and casually checked his watch: his contact was four minutes late. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark-suited man ambling toward him with a slight limp. DeSantos returned his gaze to the water, and a moment later his companion took a spot beside him.
After a moment of silence, the visitor pulled out his phone and brought it to his face. “I’m getting concerned.”
DeSantos knew he was talking to him and that the phone was a ruse. “I can handle her. No problem.”
“She’s already a problem. If you can’t rein her in, something will have to be done. And it might be better if you do it than if we do it. Am I making myself clear?”
DeSantos stood up straight. He was tempted to turn and make direct eye contact. But he knew better. “I said I can handle her. Stay out of it.”
“I’m afraid this isn’t America, Mr. Cruz, so you don’t make the rules.”
“I don’t make the rules there, either.”
“If you don’t fix this, we will take appropriate action. This is a very serious matter. I don’t have to tell you why you’re here, do I?”
DeSantos clenched his jaw. He had a mission to carry out, and sometimes things had to happen that were both beyond his control and outside his comfort zone. It wasn’t the first time in his career—and it wouldn’t be the last.
He turned and walked away, leaving the man holding a dummy phone and staring out at the river. At least DeSantos was able to control one thing: the last word.
It meant nothing, of course—but it made him feel better.
17
The morning did not begin well. The hotel room phone rang at 4:30, rousing Vail from a dream of making love with Robby by the ocean. As she sat on the bed listening to the shrill ring, she realized how much she missed him.
She lifted the receiver while rubbing her eyes with two fingers of her right hand. “Yeah.”
“It’s Reid. We’ve got a body. I thought you could help us out.”
“What kind of body?”
“A dead one. A very dead one. They think it could be a serial.”
“I thought you didn’t think much of my opinion.”
“Don’t take all this stuff personally. We have different opinions of how things work. It’s not a crime to disagree with you, is it?”
“Of course not.”
“And I do value your input. You know that. That’s why I’ve defended you with Grouze. And—I wouldn’t be asking for it now if I didn’t think you knew what you were talking about.”
“Fine. Give me a half hour to get ready.”
“Make it fifteen. We’ve got a bit of a ride.”
“Where is it?”
“Stonehenge.”
“Stonehenge?”
“Do we have a bad connection, or are you suddenly mutt’n?”
If I knew what mutt’n meant, I’d be able to answer that question. “Fine.” She fought back a yawn and said, “Pick me up out front at a quarter to five.”
STONEHENGE SAT A GOOD distance southwest of London and carried a mystique that belied its outward appearance—a circular arrangement of large stones. Reid and Losner told Vail that it was one of mankind’s most ancient structures at five thousand years old, with some of its pillars and cross-pieces weighing fifty tons.
“What’s even more impressive,” Losner said, “is that these weren’t from native or even local rock. Whatever civilizations built Stonehenge, they mined the materials from 150 miles away and carted them here. No one’s sure how they did that—the wheel hadn’t been invented yet. But that’s not even the most impressive feat.”
Reid turned off the A303 and onto a secondary road. “Can’t really see it in the darkness, but there’s lush countryside all around us. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“The thing that baffles me,” Losner continued, “is how they lifted fifty-ton boulders twenty-five feet off the ground and placed them atop the vertical columns to create cross-pieces.”
“Dinosaurs? You know, like in the Flintstones.”
Losner chuckled. “Would have to be something like that. Makes as much sense as some of the explanations I’ve heard.”
Reid gestured off to the left. “There she is.”
The predawn darkness was yielding to a brightening sky, giving Vail a vague sense of the enormous circular structure. “It’s fenced off, so we’ll park in the tourist lot and walk through the underground tunnel.”
They passed by the Hooker’s green ticketing office pitching “English Heritage” passes and then came upon the café—which was closed. Its sign advertising baguettes and drinks elicited a hunger rumble in Vail’s stomach.
They proceeded through a subterranean tunnel sporting forest-themed wallpaper and crossed beneath the roadway. It meandered left and right as it ascended back to ground level.
Upon exiting the underpass, they were greeted by a crime scene manager, who logged them in and gave them booties to wear. “Stick to the path, where it’s marked. Walk there and only there.”
Reid moved on without a word—he knew the drill. “I don’t need a plastic policeman giving me orders.”
“A what?” Vail asked.
“Ah, it’s a bit derogatory,” Losner said. “We try not to use it in public. Refers to community service people who sometimes handle crime scenes. They’re not police but they get to boss us around in times like these.”
As the sun continued its slow rise behind the dense cloud cover, Vail could make out the borders of the Stonehenge complex more clearly. It was an impressive sight—much more so than she had thought it would be, based on a description she had once heard from a friend.
“What’s that nipple-looking thing at the top of the tallest column?” she asked as they walked closer.
“That,” Losner said, “is part of the wonder of this thing. They carved holes in the bottoms of the horizontal blocks and corresponding pin-type projections in the tops of the columns. That way, when they laid the blocks horizontally across the columns, that mortise-and-tenon type joint served as a locking mechanism that prevented the blocks from sliding off. It’s a concept used in wood-working—except these people were doing it thousands of years ago.”
