The Drowned Man (24 page)

“Booth was a crazy man,” Renaud agreed.

“But I don't think that's why Hilfgott's so zealous about retrieving the letters. Rather, she's the matching, mirror image of Professor Seep. She's a troublemaker.”

“Could it be that we're in the presence of two more fanatics, Peter?”

They needed a break. Pascal had overdone it on the beer and he went off to take a nap before his late afternoon seminar. Peter remained in the living room and mulled over his next strategic move.

He called the Bonaventure Hotel and asked to speak with Mr. Malloway. It was an educated guess that his colleague would be at the Bonaventure, and he was right; the desk clerk confirmed that Malloway had registered. But the phone shifted to voicemail. At this point, Peter lost his nerve and dissembled. “Dunning, this is Peter Cammon. I'm in Montreal for a couple of days, on my way back to London. Please give me a ring.”

He left his mobile number. He sighed as he finished his beer in the silence of the townhouse. There was no professional justification for his presence in Canada and Malloway would have every reason to resent a call out of the blue.

Peter napped for twenty minutes. The telephone jangled him back to full awareness.

“Peter, this is Dunning,” said the caller. Peter immediately tried to interpret the man's tone. There was no evident hostility in those four words.

“Thanks for calling back, Dunning. How have you been?” He tried for a neutral tone himself, with maybe a touch of the elder statesman.

“Just fine. So, you're in Montreal, Peter.”

“On my way home in a day or two,” Peter said.

“I arrived yesterday noonish. Where are you staying?”

“It's called the Saint-Henri section. I'm staying with a friend.”

“I'm at the Bonaventure, as you know. Same spot you stayed in, wasn't it?” he said, to show that he'd figured out how Peter had guessed his hotel.

“I'd like a chance to brief you on Washington,” Peter said. He wasn't seizing the agenda; rather, he was prompting Malloway to tell him what he knew.

“I just hung up from talking to Henry Pastern,” Malloway said. “Is he competent, do you think?”

Peter decided to drop a few names. “I think so. Rizeman is a good man at the top end and he will ride herd on Henry, as necessary. Ehrlich, the
ME
, has been helpful.”

What happened next was either coincidence or the collision of two suspicious natures. Peter looked at the call display on his mobile and saw that the incoming number wasn't the Hotel Bonaventure, though the sequence was familiar. He realized that it was only one digit from the number he had been given for Nicola's office assistant. At the same moment, Dunning Malloway understood that the jig was up and he spouted, “Listen, Peter, I'm in a spare office at the consulate. I'm waiting for a meeting with Nicola Hilfgott in about an hour. Meanwhile I'm looking over her replications of the famous letters she's so hot to trot about. Can you join us?”

Peter didn't balk but was wary of the potential for scapegoating. “Let's be strategic,” he said. “The consul general and I don't get along so well. It also may not work to your advantage. She'll have talked to Frank Counter by now and she'll know I'm off the case.
Persona non grata
. She won't welcome you dragging me along.”

“She's a bit crazy, don't you think?”

“In what sense?”

“For one thing, I can't make head nor tail of these letters. Even less do I understand her obsession with them. Why don't you come as my invitee? We'll tag-team her.”

“What are we aiming for?”

“I'll be open about it, Peter. I need to rein Nicola in. The retrieval of the letters is secondary and you can help me blunt Nicola's obsessiveness on that subject.”

But the letters should be important to Dunning, Peter reasoned. Fraud, theft, and murder tainted those historical documents. Nicola's cavalier manipulation of several government agencies amounted to misfeasance. Possibly malfeasance, if she were somehow complicit in the purloining of the Booth letters. Peter was surprised by Malloway's dismissive attitude to the letters. He decided to push harder: “Why doesn't the High Commissioner yank her, send her home?”

“He may. But, ironically, the thing that makes her vulnerable also gives her a measure of protection. Extracting her, or openly cashiering her, would raise questions — the British consul general in Montreal suddenly hustled back to London. You remember the James Cross affair?”

Peter recalled his discussion with Pascal in the Russian restaurant. “In general terms.”

Malloway was in a chatty mood, or else the small thrill of talking about his hostess on her own turf made him bold. “Were you involved, Peter?”

“Not really. Before my time, too, you understand. But the Yard was on alert.
MI
5 contributed and the
SAS
would have been ready to go if called upon.”

“Cross was the commercial attaché and trade commissioner in Montreal, pretty much the same position Nicola Hilfgott holds. It won't do to have her pulled all of a sudden. By the same token we can't tolerate her out there denouncing separatists. Charles de Gaulle in reverse.” Peter understood the reference: the president of France had famously chanted “
Vive le Québec libre
!” on a state visit to Canada, causing a major scandal.

Peter heard a voice in the background. Despite its faintness, he recognized it as Neil Brayden's. The words were unintelligible.

Malloway's side of the conversation was bland and self-conscious. “Okay . . . I'll be there . . . Right.”

Peter heard a door shutting, and then Malloway again. “Sorry about that, Peter. I'll clear the way with Nicola for you to participate. I could really use your help.”

Dunning Malloway had a narrow face and smooth skin that made him seem boyish, an impression that he tried to offset by sporting a thin moustache and an older man's suit. Peter, watching him enter the consul general's boardroom, was reminded of Malloway's sartorial pretensions: he wore a summer suit from Davis & Son, complemented by a silk tie, Thomas Pink button-down shirt, and Italian loafers. Peter rose and they shook hands, just as Nicola Hilfgott thundered in.

Nicola and Dunning quickly took chairs across the table from Peter. He was surprised that she had excluded Neil Brayden. He saw that she was determined to take charge from the outset. She at once turned red, as if she had hit an arterial switch, and expostulated, “Gentlemen, there has been a distinct lack of progress in this case. Let me say, Dunn, that I am not criticizing your office and, in fact, I am grateful that someone has been appointed full-time on the investigation.”
Did she almost say “anointed”?
“But we are no closer to finding the missing letters. I'm disgusted.”

Peter immediately reassessed what was going on. Nicola must have delivered the same harangue at dinner the night before with Malloway, so why repeat it? Had she threatened Malloway? Had Tom Hilfgott served barbeque?

“Do we agree that Leander Greenwell knows more than any other person about this case, both the letters and the death of Peter's and my colleague?” Malloway said. His manner was smooth, but his query sounded rehearsed to Peter. Was he cuing Peter to express support, in effect, double-teaming Hilfgott using the professional interplay of two policemen? If so, Peter couldn't think of anything to say.

“If he has the letters, that's all I need to know,” Nicola said. She voiced no sympathy for John Carpenter.

Malloway continued. “I spoke with the
RCMP
's ‘J' Division in New Brunswick yesterday afternoon, as soon as I arrived. They paid a visit to Greenwell's family cottage and took a look around.” He paused and looked over at Peter to make sure he was understood: Malloway was taking charge. “Greenwell's cousin welcomed them in. No evident sign of the letters, or any facsimiles thereof. And, of course, Greenwell is in custody here.”

Peter weighed Malloway's judgement. Deroche would not react well to his calling in the Mounties. He remembered Pascal Renaud's admonition: everything is different in Quebec, everything is political. Malloway must have known that his move could provoke the Sûreté. Peter concluded that he had called the
RCMP
as a sop to Nicola.

“Where do things stand with Greenwell?” Nicola said. “Has he revealed where the letters went?”

Already Nicola was growing tiresome; the interrogation of an accused was a delicate matter. Malloway and Cammon made eye contact, achieving unspoken agreement to limit their disclosures to the civilian in the room.

Malloway spoke. “He has been charged with second-degree murder . . .”

“Second-degree? Why not first-degree?” Nicola said.

It was to Malloway's credit that he did not overtly grimace. His manner turned formal as he diverted to another subject. “Peter, could you debrief on Washington?”

Peter roused himself and leaned forward, hands folded on the table. With a minimum of speculation he reviewed the Anacostia River murder, leaving out specifics of the jellyfish attacks and most of the forensics while making certain to convey the desperation Alice must have felt as she abused her victim and made her escape. He emphasized the teamwork that the Bureau was bringing to bear on the hunt for Alice. He summed up. “The young woman did all this to buy time. It's highly unlikely she'll return to Canada, so our best chance is the
FBI
. Dunning, you've talked to Special Agent Pastern. Anything more to add?”

Malloway shrugged. “The warrants are out there. Alice Nahri is a vicious piece of work, I'll say that.”

“Where do we think the girl is now?” Hilfgott said with impatience.

Peter and Malloway fell into a rhythm. It was in no one's interest to overstimulate Nicola, to drive her to make any form of contact with the American government.

“The federal warrant has nationwide application,” Malloway said. “It's in the hands of the
FBI
. I'll be going to Washington at some point to reinforce our interest in prompt action. Nahri and Greenwell may be in cahoots. Much depends on what evolves with Greenwell here in Montreal and I'll work with Deroche on that.”

Nicola leaned forward. “Does she have any of the letters, for God's sake?”

Malloway took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the consul general. “Alice Nahri is a stupid tart. How did she think she'd dupe anyone, killing a woman of a different race and dumping the body in the river, where it would be found easily? The Bureau will pick her up very soon.”

Malloway's flash of anger shocked Peter. There was no need for it. And then another wild thought occurred to him. Was it possible that Dunning had a completely different take on the girl? Had John Carpenter showed her off at the office, and was Malloway now seeking some form of retribution? His entire focus was on Alice, it seemed.

“We have a file on her,” Malloway said. “Nicola, this is part of the official inquiry, so I ask you to keep it confidential. Alice Nahri was born in Bihar of an Indian father and a British mother. The father is dead but the mother is in a home in Henley-on-Thames. Our people are visiting her to see if her daughter has been in touch. I have also met with the brother of the victim, Joe Carpenter, who is about the only person who has met Alice. It's a long shot but if there is any family contact, we will know. Now, here is the confidential stuff. I have contacted the Central Bureau of Investigation in Delhi. Alice Nahri is known to have had involvement with criminal organizations in India, Pakistan, and Nepal. She was seen with leaders of the Maoist rebels in Bihar State, where there have been numerous attacks on local politicians and gun battles with police in the Kaimur Hills. She is known to Nepalese authorities as a smuggler of gems and drugs across the Indian border. Bihar is adjacent to Nepal, and her hometown is on the main trade route to Kathmandu.”

The briefing was winding down. Neil Brayden came into the boardroom, as if on cue. He nodded to Peter and took a chair on his side of the table as Nicola took charge again, avoiding eye contact with Malloway.

Nicola sighed dramatically. “The next issue is to be kept in absolute secrecy,” she stated, her low tone implying that her fixations outweighed the policing concerns of the Yard's detectives. “Let me put the matter of treason and terrorism back on the table . . .”

To Peter's knowledge, terrorism hadn't yet made it to the table.

“Has everyone read the letters, as I reproduced them from memory?” The question was half-rhetorical, no acknowledgement expected. “The letter from Booth to Commander Williams indicates that in 1864 there were serious anti-government conspiracies operating in Canada East. Wilkes Booth made contact with the conspirators, it appears, and Williams promised to do something about them.”

Dunning Malloway sat back and tapped his fingertips on the edge of the polished table. “As I recall, Williams's response was highly contingent . . .”

Nicola interrupted yet again. “Williams felt compelled to promise ‘to oversee the expression of a French-Canadian cause.'” As Peter had mentioned to Pascal, he was sure that the original had promised “suppression” of the agitators; she had misremembered, perhaps consciously.

“Only ‘if verified,'” Malloway said.

“Which Booth
does
.”

Peter watched the flare-up and began to appreciate why Bartleben wanted Malloway to hammer on Nicola. She was relentless and unstable. She was even loonier than Peter had thought and that's why Malloway wanted him there.

“Nicola, do you believe the three letters are useful for anything in particular?” Malloway asked in an effort to move towards closure.

“Dunning, have you heard of Professor Olivier Seep?”

“No.”

“Chief Inspector?”

“No,” Peter said, looking away.

Nicola got up from her chair and paced. “Monsieur Seep is a prominent separatist. He's an adviser to the Parti Québécois. He supplies their rhetoric, although the
PQ
hardly lacks self-appointed philosophers. He is a radical, make no mistake. The province has endured two referenda, which narrowly defeated the separatist option, and these radicals are waiting for the opportune moment to force a third. It all depends on fomenting the right atmosphere.” She shook her head. “The independence movement is always on the lookout for a trigger, a
cause célèbre
.”

“More like a
casus belli
,” Malloway said, unnecessarily.

“The talk around town has been building, gentlemen. In recent days, Monsieur Seep, who is planning his run for a seat in the National Assembly, has been planting hints that he has seen the Williams letter, the one containing the reply to Booth. He made a speech this week, full of innuendo. He's likely, in my view, to launch more attacks accusing the government at the time of Confederation of suppressing legitimate French-Canadian interests.”