Even (29 page)

“We have no proof Mansell ever made it to the alley,” Lavine said.

“And everything else would have unfolded the same whether Mansell made it or not,” Weston said. “Mike was in place ahead of time. Lesley’s guy stumbled across him by chance. David showed up. We just don’t know about Mansell, either way.”

“I’m sorry, Tanya,” I said.

“None of that’s conclusive,” Tanya said. “He could easily still be alive. We must keep on looking for him.”

“We’ll look,” Varley said. “But I want the focus on Hamad. What was behind his killing spree? Stealing payoffs? Or is there more to it?”

“We know Hamad took Mansell’s phone,” I said. “We should focus on that. Forget everything else.”

“Why?” Weston said.

“Because he didn’t take anyone else’s,” I said. “So there’s something special about Mansell’s phone. And if he was after Mansell’s money, why not take his ID, or something with his bank details?”

“He probably did,” Weston said. “We won’t know till we search his place and his work. He’ll have them stashed, somewhere. That’s why we need the warrant.”

“No,” I said. “We need to pull in Taylor. The boss we saw at Tungsten. He blanched when he saw the photos of his dead employees. We should show him the pictures from Mansell’s phone. We know he was hiding something. That might loosen him up.”

“Chat to him about holiday photos?” Weston said. “Sure. The dam will really bust open.”

“We don’t have cause to pull him in,” Varley said. “Not yet. So here’s the plan. Kyle—fast-track that paperwork. I want a team all over Tungsten, first thing in the morning. Bartman—get onto the NYPD. I want Mansell top of their missing persons list as of five minutes ago. David and Tanya—contact the cell phone providers. See if they’ve got any GPS data on either of those phones. Any questions?”

No one spoke.

“OK then. That’s it. Reconvene at noon. And Mr. Trevellyan—last night you took a gamble. It paid off, in a sense. You were lucky. But I don’t want you going off on your own again. Are we clear?”

I shrugged.

“Are we clear?”

“Depends on them,” I said, nodding toward Weston and Lavine. “I tried to get them involved yesterday, but they had forms to fill in.”

Weston and Lavine trotted away to start on their tasks, trailing out of the room behind Varley like a pair of obedient schoolboys. I stayed behind and started on the leftover coffees. Tanya watched me for a moment then excused herself and left the room. She was looking a little flustered about something.

“You OK?” I said, when she returned a couple of minutes later.

“I’m feeling a little paranoid, to be honest,” she said. “I thought I saw a couple of guys watching my place last night. And again this morning.”

“Really? What did they look like?”

“Well, they were male. Early twenties. Nothing really distinctive about them.”

“What about their clothes?” How were they dressed?”

“I don’t really remember.”

“Their height? Build?”

“I’m not sure. I got more of an impression than anything.”

“OK, well, I’ll stop by later, if you like. See what’s what.”

“No. Don’t worry. I’m probably just tired. I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Because of Mansell?”

“Partly. And I was a little freaked out, with Hamad getting shot. That kept me awake for a while. How about you?”

“I slept like a log. Nearly missed breakfast.”

“How could you eat breakfast, after what happened? A guy died, right in front of our eyes. We watched his lifeblood literally drain out onto the pavement. I was so close it nearly went on my shoes.”

“Tanya, he wanted to die. You saw him smile. He knew they’d shoot
him if he went for his pocket. Suicide by police, they call it. Not the way I’d do things, but it was his choice. You’ve got to respect that.”

“Respect it? You’re warped. Anyway, let’s stop talking about it. I don’t want that picture in my head all day. And we should be getting on with this phone company GPS thing.”

“Why?”

“Because Varley told us to.”

“And?”

“David, why do you always go looking for trouble?”

“It’s hardly trouble. Being told off by Varley’s like being savaged by a piece of lettuce.”

“You’re so awkward. Why can’t we just do the job we’ve been given? Do you want to be the only one with nothing to say?”

“I’d rather have something useful to say. The whole GPS thing is nonsense. Varley just wants us out of the picture while he tries to wrap things up his own way.”

“Even if that’s true, is it a problem?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Because he doesn’t do things the same way as you?”

“No. Because he’s got a different agenda. He’s soft-soaping you, Tanya. He’s only bothered about his railroad case. Making sure nothing comes back to bite him. Finding Mansell is on the back burner. And he’ll leave it there, if we let him.”

“Maybe. But how do we change that?”

“Go after Taylor.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s only one link between everything that stinks in this whole affair—the teams that were fired, the people who were killed, the hospital where they worked, and Hamad who pulled the trigger. It all points straight back at Tungsten. Nothing else ties it together.”

“I agree. But to arrest him, we need evidence. That’s why they’re also working on the warrant.”

“Which won’t be here until tomorrow. That’s too late. Taylor will
have buried everything by then. Tanya, you need to ask yourself something. About Mansell. Are you really serious about this whole thing?”

“Of course. Absolutely. I know you think it’s silly but—”

“Then we need to lift Taylor today. This morning. Right now. And you know what? That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

“How? We can’t force him.”

“We don’t need to,” I said, taking out my phone.

“What are you going to do?”

“Call and ask him to meet us.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Taylor answered on the first ring.

“Yes?” he said. “What?”

“Good morning, Mr. Taylor,” I said. “This is David Trevellyan. We met at your office yesterday.”

“Yeah, I remember. What can I do for you?”

“Thing is, I’ve got a bit of a problem. Turns out we both do. I was hoping we could get together, and see if we could find a way around it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember I’m working with the FBI at the moment? Well, they’re a pretty suspicious bunch. And they’ve got the idea you weren’t quite straight with us when we met.”

“That’s baloney. I told you everything I know.”

“I believe you, Mr. Taylor. Really, I do. Trouble is, the feds are also pretty stubborn. I’m struggling to convince them. It’s me against them. And right now they’re drawing up warrants for your phone records, computers, premises, vehicles, the whole nine yards.”

“Are we on tape? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if they go down that road, it’ll take weeks to wrap it up. Months, maybe. I’ve seen your place. And the fed’s comb is pretty fine.”

“Tell them to go ahead. Knock themselves out. They won’t find anything.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But here’s my problem. I don’t want to hang around for months making sure. My day job’s back in London. The longer I’m out of the loop, the harder it’ll be to get back in.”

“Like you said. Your problem.”

“Yours, too.”

“How so?”

“Hard to imagine a business surviving, these days, without computers. Or phones. Not having any vehicles could be problem. And what about your clients? They could get jumpy, with all those crime lab people wandering around, in and out of meeting rooms. . . .”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. Just giving you a heads-up about what’s on the cards, unless we figure out a way to stop it.”

“So how do we do that?”

“We meet. You and me. Off the books. I’ll talk you through what’s eating the feds. Then, if you can give me something to work with, I’ll feed in the right answers. Save you a lot of hassle. Save me a lot of time.”

“And if the investigation closes quicker, you’ll take the glory.”

“If things work out that way, who am I to demur?”

“Now I see what you’re doing. OK then. I’ll meet you. When?”

“As soon as possible. They’ve started the paperwork. It needs to be before lunch.”

“Today?”

“The task force is penciled in for tomorrow morning.”

“Are they crazy?”

“Be ready in an hour. I’ll come to your office.”

“Today’s an out day. I’m at my apartment.”

“See you there, then. Twenty minutes.”

Tanya had turned away and moved over to the far window while I was talking, but as soon as the call ended she spun around and almost ran back toward me.

“David, what are you thinking? You’ve deliberately compromised the whole investigation. How can this possibly help?”

“What did I compromise?”

“The whole case. You told Taylor about the warrants, the raid, everything.”

“They were already expecting those things.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. At Tungsten’s offices, did you see a metal carrying case down on the floor next to the filing cabinets?”

“About twelve inches tall? Yes, I did.”

“Do you know what was inside?”

“How could I? I don’t have X-ray eyes.”

“A portable degausser. I checked when I went to the bathroom.”

“What’s one of those?”

“A device that wipes computer hard drives. Permanently.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. There are new regulations here. You have to wipe hard drives now, before you dispose of them. To safeguard employee data and so on. Having one could be perfectly legit.”

“Tanya, you don’t believe that. Think about it. Whether this is about stealing money or the hospital or something we haven’t even thought of yet, someone organized is at the heart of it. They’ll be prepared for things going wrong. Whole teams of ex-marines don’t end up dead by chance. They obviously have a backup plan, and now they’re executing it. Step by step. If we leave them to it there’ll be nothing left to find.”

“Now they know we’re coming, will they leave anything anyway?”

“That doesn’t matter. That’s not what my call was about. It’s thrown a monkey wrench in the works. I’ve given them a decision to make. How they respond to it will tell us more than any search.”

“And what about Taylor? If they’re so well prepared for contingencies, what will he tell you?”

“Anything I want to know.”

I was sent to a company in France once, where the entire office was obsessed with milk.

A list had been drawn up to determine who had to fetch each day’s supply from the local shop. It sounded easy. But the system never worked. People would forget to pay their dues, so the club ran short of money. Others would say they couldn’t find time to leave the premises. Or they might refuse to go because someone else had missed their turn the previous week. And so it went on until a kind of anarchy broke out. Factions sprang up that brought their own provisions. They refused to share. Then tried to steal from each other if they didn’t have enough. The organizers took steps to hide their supplies. One old guy went to incredible lengths to conceal his. He’d secretly decant his milk into all kinds of unlikely containers, then distribute them all around his workspace.

I wasn’t interested in the milk—I drink my coffee without—but the job was so boring I needed something to amuse myself. So I came up with a game. Trying to locate each day’s hiding place. I was considerate, though. I didn’t root around in the old guy’s stuff. All I did was watch him. I would drop a hint about being thirsty then deliberately hang around in different areas of the office and observe his reaction. I wasn’t concerned with the exact spot—which bookcase, not which
book—and my method worked every time. It formed the bones of a strategy I would use for years to come.

It might not tell you the precise location of the thing you’re searching for.

But it will confirm the direction you should look.

Taylor opened the door to his apartment the moment I knocked and then stepped aside, gesturing for me to come in. He didn’t say a word—just stood back and waited. I guess that was a favorite act of his, because as hallways go his was pretty unusual. Apart from the external door the space was completely circular. The floor was covered in five-bar chequer plate like you find in factories and warehouses, only his was polished to a flawless shine. The paintwork was plain white, and if you looked carefully you could just see the outline of concealed, curved doors set into the walls on the right and the left. A corridor led through an archway in front of us, presumably to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The center of the space was filled by a spiral staircase. The frame was gleaming metal. All the bolts and structural parts were exposed, and the treads were textured to match the rest of the floor.

“There’s nothing to see down here,” Taylor’s said, when he’d finished enjoying my reaction. “Let’s go up. After you.”

The higher floor of Taylor’s duplex had been knocked through to form a single, continuous rectangle. The floor, walls, and ceiling were made from some kind of granitelike material. It was crisp white with tiny silver flecks, and it must have been somehow molded in place like an inner skin because there were no joins or seams visible anywhere.

All the power cables were carried externally in round zinc-coated conduits. These were connected to heavy, industrial-style switches and ran up to three parallel lighting bars hanging on chains from the ceiling. The one on our right was above a dining table. It was made of greenish glass with flowing irregular edges, three-quarters of an inch thick, supported by adjustable metal trestles. Eight chairs surrounded it.
They were covered in suede. There was one in each color of the rainbow, plus one in plain black.

“Is that a dumbwaiter?” I said, nodding toward a square steel hatch set into the right-hand wall.

“Sure,” he said. “The kitchen’s downstairs.”

The other two lighting bars were on our left, hanging over a large white leather sofa. It was L-shaped. The two segments were the same length, and it was set up so you’d be equally comfortable watching TV or looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows opposite us.