“It’s not for me to say. It’s for you to say.”
“Right . . .” I wrote on the note and said aloud, “Offered to me by Carl, an employee of the suspect, when he noticed it was . . . what? Stuck in my zipper?”
“You may have to think about that.”
“Right. I’ll finish this later. Okay, so with any luck, some of these hairs and fibers from Custer Hill will match those found on Harry, and similarly, maybe some of Harry’s hair and clothing fibers were left at Custer Hill, and they’ll be mixed in with this stuff.”
Kate had no comment, except to say, “Good job, John.”
“Thank you.” I informed her, “I was a good detective.”
“You still are.”
Shucks.
She said, “I think we have enough forensic and other evidence now to call Tom Walsh, then get back to New York, ASAP.”
I ignored that suggestion and showed her my new wool socks. “We have another shot at collecting evidence from the lodge.” I asked her, “What kind of socks do you have on?”
She didn’t reply to my question, and instead asked me, “Are you serious about that dinner invitation?”
“I am.” I put the lint roller back in my pocket. “How many times does a murder suspect invite you to dinner?”
“Well, the Borgias used to do it all the time.”
“Yeah? They were . . . ? Gambino family. Right?”
“No, they were Italian nobility who used to poison their dinner guests.”
“Really? And the guests kept coming? That’s pretty stupid.”
“Point made.”
She unwrapped the energy bar, and I asked her, “Do you want me to take a bite to see if it’s poisoned?”
“No, but if you’re hungry, I’ll share this with you.”
“I’m saving my appetite for dinner.”
“I’m not going there.”
“Sweetheart, he specifically invited you.”
“And you’re not going either.” She said to me, “Tell me what you and Madox talked about.”
“Okay, but first, call Wilma.”
“Why?”
“Tell her you’ll get her laptop back to her before six-thirty, and ask her for a roll of tape.”
“Okay.” She moved to the desk, and I walked barefoot to the couch, not wanting to taint my new socks with Wilma’s B&B.
Kate picked up the phone, and I said to her, “Also, ask Wilma to call you immediately if your husband drives by in the white Hyundai.”
I thought Kate would tell me I was an infantile idiot, but she smiled and said, “Okay.” She had an odd sense of humor.
Kate called and got Wilma on the phone and thanked her for the laptop and promised to return it before 6:30. Then Kate said, “Could I impose on you for two more favors? I need a roll of tape—masking tape or duct tape. I’m happy to pay you for it. Thank you. Oh, and if you see my husband drive by in the white Hyundai, could you call me immediately?” Kate smiled as Wilma said something. Kate explained, “It’s just a friend, but . . . well . . . yes—”
“Tell her you need enough tape for your wrists and ankles, and see if she has whipped cream.”
“Hold on, please—” She covered the phone and, suppressing a laugh, said to me, “John—”
“And call us if any other vehicle is headed for Pond House.”
Kate looked at me again, nodded, and said to Wilma, “My husband may be driving another vehicle. So, if you see any vehicle coming toward Pond House—yes, thank you.”
Kate hung up and said to me, “Wilma suggests that my friend move his van, and reminded me that there’s a back door off the porch.”
We both got a good chuckle out of that, which is what we needed. Kate said, “As if I don’t know how to get rid of a guy out the back door.”
“Hey.”
She smiled, then said, seriously, “I guess Wilma is now our lookout.”
“She’s motivated.”
Kate nodded. “Sometimes, you think good.”
“I’m motivated.”
Anyway, we belatedly hugged and kissed, then Kate informed me, “I booked us a flight to LaGuardia from Syracuse at eight-thirty A.M. tomorrow. That was the first available flight I could get.”
I didn’t want to argue about that at this point. “I hope you didn’t use your credit card.”
“They weren’t taking checks over the phone.”
“Well, when you get to the airport, tell Liam Griffith I said hello.”
“John, they can’t get credit-card information that fast . . . well . . . we can drive to Toronto tonight. There are lots of flights to New York and Newark from Toronto.”
“We are not crossing an international border.” I asked, “Okay, how’d you make out?”
She opened her notebook on the desk. “All right. First, as I said, I couldn’t reach Major Schaeffer. I called twice and left messages that I’d call him again. But I don’t think he wants to talk to me. You may have better luck.”
“I’ll call him later.” I lay on the couch and said, “There was no visible stakeout team at McCuen Pond Road.”
“Maybe they were concealed.”
“Maybe. But maybe Schaeffer pulled the plug on us.”
“But you went in anyway.”
“I carved a note on a birch tree.”
She continued, “I went through the flight manifests, airline reservation sheets, and car rental agreements. There were no startling names that popped out, except Paul Dunn and Edward Wolffer. And, of course, Mikhail Putyov.” She glanced at her notes and continued, “There were a few other names that sounded familiar, but maybe that’s because I’m reading into these names.” She added, “For instance, James Hawkins. Does that sound familiar to you? And don’t tell me he played third base for the Yankees.”
“Okay, he didn’t. Hawkins. Did you Google him?”
“I did. There is a James Hawkins on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Air Force General. But I can’t tell if this is the same guy.”
“Well . . . if he went to the Custer Hill Club, it probably is. Did he rent a car?”
“No. He arrived from Boston on Saturday, at nine twenty-five A.M., and departed on the twelve forty-five P.M. flight back to Boston on Sunday, connecting to Washington.”
“Okay . . . if he went to Custer Hill, he was probably picked up by the van.” I added, “It’s interesting that Madox didn’t send his corporate jets for any of these VIPs. But I guess he and they probably didn’t want that direct connection between them. And that’s always a little suspicious.”
Kate replied, “Often, it’s just a matter of government officials not accepting costly gifts or favors from rich people. It’s an ethical issue.”
“That’s even more suspicious.” I said, “So, Madox may also have had a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at his gathering. Air Force general.”
“I wonder if these guests knew Harry was there, and what happened to him . . .”
I couldn’t imagine that people like that would be complicit in a murder. On the other hand, if the stakes were high enough, anything was possible. “What else on the airport info?”
“That’s it. As for the dozens of other names, we’ll need a team to work that list to see who these people are, and what, if any, connection any of them might have to Bain Madox.”
I said, “I hope our colleagues are already working on that. But we’ll never know the results.”
She didn’t comment on that and said instead, “Then, I went online and Googled Mr. Bain Madox, and there’s surprisingly little on him.”
“That’s not so surprising.”
“I guess not. Most of what I found were corporate facts—his position as CEO and principal shareholder of Global Oil Corporation. And not much on that. Also, very little in the way of biography, almost nothing personal—no mention of his ex-wife or children—only a half-dozen quotes from published sources, and not a single unpublished quote or comment from anyone.”
“Apparently,
he’s able to get blogs and other third-party information deleted.”
“Apparently.” She glanced at her notes and went on, “The only thing vaguely interesting is that about fifty percent of his oil and gas holdings, and half his tanker fleet, are owned by unnamed interests in the Middle East.”
I thought about that, and what Madox had just said about his Iraqi oil-minister buddy during my chat with him. This meant that, like most Western oil executives, he had to kiss some ass in Sandland. But since Bain Madox did not seem like the ass-kissing type, he might be planning a way to eliminate his partners, forever and ever. Maybe that’s what this was about.
Kate continued, “I then went online and researched ELF.” She informed me, “There’s not much more than what John Nasseff told us, except that the Russians use their ELF system differently than we do.”
“Right. They have more letters in their alphabet.” I yawned and listened to my stomach growl.
“There’s another difference.” She looked at her notes again. “Listen to this—the U.S., as we discovered, sends ELF messages to the nuclear sub fleet as a bell ringer, but the Russians, during times of heightened tensions, send a continuous message to their nuclear submarines that, in effect, says, ‘All is well.’ When the positive message stops, that means there’s a new, urgent message on the way, and if that message doesn’t arrive within the time it would take for an ELF signal to reach the submarines, then the silence is taken to mean the ELF station has been destroyed, and the subs are then authorized to launch against their predesignated targets in the U.S., or China, or wherever.”
“Jeez, I hope they’re paying their electric bills on time.”
“Me, too.” Kate continued, “This is why our ELF receiver in Greenland was able to home in on the Russian ELF signal on the Kola Peninsula—because they were using this continuous ‘All is well’ signal during a period of heightened tensions, which, according to this article, we precipitated in order to get the Russians to switch to their continuous-message system, which, in turn, enabled us to find their ELF transmitter on the Kola Peninsula.”
“Wow. Aren’t we clever? And talk about nuclear brinkmanship. Aren’t we glad the Cold War is over?”
“Yes. But this got me thinking that Madox, who had once obtained American ELF codes, may have obtained the Russian ELF codes.” She informed me, “According to this article—written by a Swede, incidentally—Russian encryption software is not as sophisticated or impenetrable as ours, so it could be that Madox has changed his ELF frequency to the frequency used by the Russians, and he’s going to try to send false signals to the Russian sub fleet to nuke . . . China, or the Mideast, or whoever he doesn’t like these days.”
I thought about that. “I guess if the Russian codes are easier to penetrate than ours, that’s a possibility.” I added, “Same Custer Hill ELF transmitter, different nuclear submarines. Any more interesting ELF stuff?”
“Just that the Indians are looking to build an ELF station.”
I sat up on the couch and asked, “What the hell do they need that for? Launching tomahawks? They have the casinos, for God’s sake.”
“John, the India Indians.”
“Oh . . .”
“They’re developing a nuclear submarine fleet. So are the Chinese and the Pakistanis.”
“That sucks. Next, it’ll be the postal workers. Then we can kiss our asses good-bye.”
Kate informed me, “Actually, the world is becoming a far more dangerous place than it was during the Cold War when it was just us and them.”
“Right. What’s the median price of a house in Potsdam?”
She didn’t seem to recall and sat at the desk, lost in thought. Then she said, “I also discovered some . . . not good news.”
“Like, bad news?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I’m still trying to sort it out. Let’s finish the rest of what we need to discuss first so we have a context.”
“Is your mother coming to visit?”
“This is not a joke.”
“All right. What’s next?”
“Mikhail Putyov.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Mikhail Putyov,” I said. “No sign of him at Custer Hill. How about his home or office?”
“I called his office first, and his secretary, Ms. Crabtree, said he wasn’t in, so I said I was a doctor and this concerned a serious health matter.”
“That’s a good one. I never used that.”
“It works every time. Anyway, Ms. Crabtree loosened up a bit and told me that Dr. Putyov hadn’t shown up at work, hadn’t called, and that her calls to his cell phone went right into voice mail. She had also called Putyov’s wife, but Mrs. Putyov did not know where her husband was.” Kate added, “Obviously, Putyov never told anyone where he was going.”
“Did you get Putyov’s cell-phone number?”
“No. Ms. Crabtree wouldn’t give it to me, but she gave me hers for after hours, and I gave her my beeper number.” Kate added, “Ms. Crabtree sounded concerned.”
“Okay, so Mikhail is AWOL from MIT. How about home?”
“Same. Mrs. Putyov was on the verge of tears. She said that even when Mikhail is with his mistress, he calls and makes an excuse for not coming home.”
“He’s a good husband.”
“John, don’t be an asshole.”
“Just kidding. So, Mikhail is not just AWOL, he’s missing in action.”
“Well, he is as far as his wife and secretary are concerned. But he’s probably still at the Custer Hill Club.”
I shook my head. “If he was, he’d have called. A man in his situation, with FBI chaperones, doesn’t disappear and put his wife, family, or office in a position to think about calling the FBI. That’s the last thing Putyov wants.”
Kate nodded, then asked, “So . . . ?”
“Well,” I said, “apparently, not everyone who walks into the Custer Hill Club leaves in the same condition as when they arrived.”
“Apparently not.” She pointed out, “You’ve been there twice. Want to try again?”
“Third time’s a charm.”
She ignored that and continued, “So, I Googled ‘Putyov, Mikhail,’ and pulled up some published articles and unpublished pieces that other physicists had written about him.”
“Do they like him?”
“They respect him. He’s a star in the world of nuclear physics.”
“That’s nice. Then why is he hanging around Bain Madox?”
“There could be a professional relationship. Although, for all we know, it could be some sort of personal relationship. Maybe they’re just friends.”
“Then why didn’t he tell his wife where he was going?”
“That’s the question. Anyway, all we know for sure is that a nuclear physicist named Mikhail Putyov was a guest at the Custer Hill Club and is now missing. Anything beyond that is speculation.”
“Right. Hey, did you call The Point?”
“Yes. There were two new messages from Liam Griffith saying it was urgent that we contact him.”
“Urgent for who? Not us. Did you say we were shopping for moose heads in Lake Placid?”
“I told Jim at the front desk to tell anyone who calls that we are expected back at The Point for dinner.”
“Good. That might keep Griffith cooled off until he shows up at The Point and discovers he got snookered.” I asked, “Did Walsh call?”
“No.”
“See? Our boss cut us loose. Nice guy.”
“I think we cut him loose, John, and now he’s returning the favor.”
“Whatever. Screw him. Who else called?”
“Major Schaeffer called The Point, as per your suggestion. His message to you was, ‘Your car has been returned to The Point. Keys with front desk.’”
“That’s nice. He forgot to leave the stakeout team in place, but he didn’t forget to cover his butt with the FBI.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you w
ere cynical?”
“Sweetheart, I was an NYPD cop for twenty years. I’m a realist.” I reminded her, “I think we’ve been through this before. Okay, what else?”
She dropped her favorite subject and continued, “A man named Carl—sounds familiar—called and left a message that said, ‘Dinner is on.’ Jim asked for the details, but Carl said that Mr. Corey already had the details and please bring Ms. Mayfield, as discussed.” She added, “So, Madox wasn’t leaving his name, or anything that could connect our disappearance to him or his lodge.”
“What disappearance?”
“Our disappearance.”
“Why are you so suspicious of people?”
“John, fuck off.” She continued, “We also had three voice-mail messages in our room.”
“Griffith and who else?”
Kate referred to her notes. “Liam Griffith, at three forty-nine, said, cheerily, ‘Hi, guys. Thought I’d see you earlier. Give me a call when you get this. Hope all is well.’”
I laughed and said, “What an asshole. How stupid does he think we are?” I quickly added, “Sorry. That sounded cynical—”
“Second voice mail asking if we’d like to schedule a massage—”
“Yes.”
“Last voice mail from Henri, who sounds cute, asking what type of mustard you’d like with your . . . pigs-in-the-blanket.”
“See? You didn’t believe me.”
“John, we have more pressing matters to deal with than—”
“Did you call him back?”
“I did, to keep up the pretext that we were returning to The Point.”
“What did you tell Henry? Deli mustard, right?”
“I did. He’s very charming.”
“He wanted to show me his woodcock.”
She ignored that. “I also made a massage appointment for both of us tomorrow morning.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to that.”
“We’re not going to be there.”
“This is true. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint Henry after all the trouble he went to, but I’m not sorry to miss cocktails with Liam Griffith.”
Kate looked a little fatigued, or maybe worried, and I needed to give her a pep talk, so I said, “You did a great job. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”
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