Everybody Knows

by Karen Dodd

  “Maybe I felt beholden to her, I don’t know, but I let it go on longer than I should have. But eventually it was time for us to return home—her to the UK and me to Italy. I had someone to return to. She didn’t. She called me repeatedly, and after I told her several times it was over, someone started calling my home and hanging up. I suspected it was Elle and I lived on eggshells, worrying that my wife would suspect something.

  “A few weeks later, I had an assignment in London. It was then that I discovered Elle had been assigned to a desk job at the BBC and subsequently fired.”

  “Do you know why?” Nico asked.

  “No, but a friend who still worked at the BBC told me that they’d forced her into rehab and mental health counseling, neither of which went well.”

  Jesus, and Ariana had entrusted her son with this woman.

  “Anyway, after several days in London, I was out with some colleagues at a popular nightspot in Soho when I ran into her. I was shocked at how much she’d changed. She was rail thin and seemed edgy. Brittle, would be the only way I can put it. Unfortunately, she spotted me and staggered over to our table. She was so drunk, or possibly high, that I was embarrassed to introduce her to my friends. So, I took her aside and tried to talk some sense into her. But she was way past the point of reason.”

  Judging by the change in Testa’s tone, Nico suspected that whatever happened next had gutted him.

  “I tried unsuccessfully to steer her out of the club. Eventually security got involved, and they threw her out. Despite my embarrassment in front of my friends, I went outside to make sure she was all right. When I got there, she was trying to crash the line to get back in. When I tried to intervene and hustle her into a waiting taxi, she hauled off and belted me.”

  That was obviously what Nico had seen on the tabloid video.

  “Then, rather than get into a cab,” Testa said, “she pulled out her mobile, made a call and put it on speaker. With so much noise outside, I couldn’t hear who she was speaking to.”

  But all too soon, he did. While Testa spared Nico the coarse vernacular Elle had used to inform his wife of their relationship while in Iraq, he wasted no words in telling Nico that she was “pure evil.”

  “Like something the devil spawned,” he said. “Elle would absolutely be capable of talking Ariana into letting her take Max somewhere, and then keep it from everyone.”

  Nico felt sick. Who does that? Who tells the wife of a man you’ve had an affair with that she’s pregnant with his child?

  Something the devil spawned.

  He wanted to punch something. How could he have been so stupid to allow himself to be duped by this mentally unstable woman? And Ariana, what the hell were you thinking letting her have anything to do with Max?

  “I understand how angry and betrayed you must have felt,” Nico said. “But Elle doesn’t strike me as the maternal type.” He thought back to her disinterest in helping him with his hospital meal. “Why would she want to keep Max?”

  “Don’t be so sure. On the surface, Elle Sinclair may not appear to be maternal, but she is without a doubt, a bitterly sore loser.”

  “And you say that, why?”

  “Because it was the day after we’d found out my wife had miscarried our first pregnancy that Elle shared her good news on the phone outside the club that night.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “She told my wife she was three months pregnant with my child and she’d never felt better.” Testa’s voice cracked. “But Elle had told me in Iraq she couldn’t have children.”

  * * *

  Still having heard nothing from either Padwick or the UK police, after a quick breakfast, Nico sequestered himself in the hotel’s lounge. The proprietor told him she wouldn’t need the room until cocktail time mid-afternoon. It was with some degree of optimism that he left the door open a crack, hoping Gabriela might pad in and greet him with a lick and a tail wag. In the meantime, he got down to work.

  First, he downloaded everything Testa had sent him via encrypted email. As he drank his coffee, he scanned the copious volume of material before him. Then, reluctant to push his luck by taping pieces of butcher paper to the brocade-covered walls, Nico created a basic mind map on his computer.

  After hours of flipping back and forth between Testa’s notes and his own schematic, he sat back and looked at what he had. Matching what he already knew against the journalist’s detailed research, it didn’t take long to figure out that his own limited knowledge barely skimmed the surface. Testa and Ariana had been light-years ahead of him in how they’d connected the dots between Baldisar Bank and high-profile heads of states and corporations. And, most particularly, their connection with Heritage Pharmaceuticals.

  For at least a decade, it appeared that Baldisar Bank had been cleaning money for clients who needed to stay off the grid. There were references to several individuals being on Europe’s terrorist watch list, as well as a couple of Russian oligarchs and dictators. Whether or not Ariana or Testa knew who these individuals were, if they’d had even an inkling they were being investigated… Nico shuddered to think.

  In addition, the passports-for-sale scheme Francesca had told him about—a Russian could buy a Maltese passport for six hundred and fifty thousand euro—were the commissions the bank received on their foreign investment transactions. If each of the clients gave the bank the equivalent of ten million dollars, at only a five percent commission, the bank’s income per transaction was five hundred thousand. Multiply that by ten highly questionable clients—and from what Nico could see, they had at least that—and you had a hundred million dollars being invested per year. That equated to commissions of ten million a year for the bank. If they’d been doing that for the past five to ten years . . . Well, the amount was astronomical.

  Ariana had detailed a complex paper trail in her notes. Baldisar had set up so many offshore accounts and shell companies that it made even Nico’s head spin—and he was used to tracking down complex tax-avoidance instruments in the drug and money-laundering cases he prosecuted. What he was looking at reminded him of an ultrasophisticated game of snakes and ladders.

  Now to Heritage Pharmaceuticals. As far back as 2016, Ariana had suspected someone inside the drug company was leaking information. Nico could see that had been relatively easy; she’d simply followed the money. Months before news had broken about a promising new cancer drug the company was developing, Heritage’s stocks had started to shoot through the roof. By the time the positive results were finally lauded in the medical journals, a lot of investors had become significantly wealthier. Alesandru Baldisar being one of them. However, someone in the Cambridge lab had uncovered evidence that there was a serious issue with one of the control groups in the drug trials. If that were true, it would be a game changer.

  Ariana found out who the insider was, and she had managed to interview him. Anonymously— very cloak and dagger. She hadn’t even used initials to identify who it was. In the transcript Testa had sent him, the person was only referred to as “Source.”

  As Nico scanned the more than fifty pages of painstakingly detailed questions and answers, he gained a whole new respect for Ariana’s skills as a lawyer. While characteristically direct, in this case she danced expertly between drilling down when necessary, then backing off to finesse the meat of what she wanted to extract. What struck Nico was the raw emotion the interviewee exhibited in answering some of her questions. Whoever this insider was, there seemed to be some serious vitriol there.

  Nico read on, making more notes of his own, but the next few pages were largely scientific jargon, and his attention waned. It was time to get some questions answered. After messaging Testa via the encrypted app he’d instructed Nico to use at all times, he poured himself a coffee and eyed the bottle of limoncello the proprietor had left as a welcome-back token. What the hell—maybe the liqueur would counteract the caffeine, which would surely keep him awake later. He poured himself a glass, savored the taste
of fresh citron, and stretched out on the bed to await Testa’s call.

  When Nico answered, the first thing Testa asked was whether he had switched on the encryption settings on his mobile phone.

  “Yes, right after you told me to.” Given what he’d seen in Testa’s investigative notes, Nico had a whole new appreciation for the reporter’s abundance of caution.

  “Very good. Now, you said you have some questions for me. Fire away.”

  “OK. They mainly have to do with the relationship between Baldisar and the Braithwaites,” Nico said. “I don’t mean to be judgmental but—”

  “But they’re not as glamorous as the Hollywood set he’s typically seen with, I know.”

  “Well, yes. But I gather they had something more valuable to offer than celebrity.”

  “So you’ve got to the end of my notes,” Testa said.

  “Yes, and they’re very impressive. But why would a respected research scientist, on the fast track to a full professorship at a prestigious university, share the inside secrets of the drug she was developing? And why Baldisar? With Heritage Pharma’s backing, she didn’t need his money.” Nico scratched his head. “What am I missing?”

  “On the surface, you’re correct. She was more than adequately funded by Heritage.”

  “But?”

  “Well, that’s a bit of a long answer.”

  Nico topped up his limoncello. The coffee was as cold as the night threatened to be long.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Alright, first off, I just sent you a few photographs. Have you had a chance to look at them?”

  “I’m looking at them now.” The first was of Alesandru Baldisar. Nico could see why women would be attracted to the CEO. Of average height, he was impeccably groomed and dressed. For a man in his early sixties, he appeared to be in exemplary shape. The stunning people he was photographed with included everyone from famous movie stars to supermodels.

  Next, he scrutinized the one of Anna Braithwaite. While not unattractive, Nico thought she looked quite plain. But apparently, within the scientific community she was reported to be one of the preeminent research scientists to watch.

  “Ariana had discovered the Braithwaites had met Baldisar at a charity event of some sort in Malta,” Testa said. “I think it had something to do with children and cancer research. The bank, and the Baldisars personally, had made sizeable donations and Anna and her husband Clarence were there to lend their faces to the cause.”

  “That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?” Nico said. “I don’t know how things are in Malta, but certainly in the UK, it’s unusual to see scientists at galas.” Typically, they were introverted and preferred to stay in their labs.

  “Not sure about that, but according to Ariana’s notes, Baldisar was very interested in Anna’s research.”

  “The new cancer cell-inhibiting drug.” Nico said.

  “Yes. She might not have discovered the cure for cancer, but what she was working on could have been the next best thing.”

  That matched with what Elle had told Nico in Mdina.

  “This is where it gets interesting,” Testa continued. “From what I observed in Ariana’s notes, Baldisar had a small list of elite but dangerous clients who very few banks in the world would deal with. Based on the Braithwaites’ assurance the trials had succeeded, and the drug was poised to hit the market, Baldisar—being the greedy bastard that he was—systematically approached those clients. Through a complex labyrinth of holding companies, he invested significant sums of their money in a legitimate vehicle—Heritage Pharma.”

  “Well, that must have made them happy,” Nico said. “Why would that be a problem?”

  “They were,” Testa agreed. “Until someone inside the research lab found out some of the data was faulty.”

  Nico let out a low whistle.

  “The potential ramifications were huge,” Testa said. “Investing early on in Heritage Pharma would have resulted in millions in commissions for Baldisar. If word got out about the faulty trials, certain clients who were all too happy to jump on a legitimate investment would come gunning for him.”

  That was an understatement. Baldisar would last only so long, before a poisoned doorknob or an assassin’s silenced gun would get him. That brought Nico to his final question. He hadn’t seen anywhere in Ariana’s notes, the identity of the person inside the lab.

  “Vincenzo, do you know the identity of the whistler-blower Ariana interviewed?”

  There was such a long pause, Nico wondered if he’d lost the call. “Vincenzo, are you still there?”

  “I do, yes.” Testa cleared his throat. Nico waited.

  “It was Clarence Braithwaite.”

  Stunned, Nico sat bolt upright on the bed. “Why would he blow the whistle on his own wife?”

  “Good question. Clarence was a highly regarded PhD in his own right. He had been head of his own department at University College London until Heritage convinced him to jump ship and join them.”

  “Wow, it must have been quite an offer to make him give up tenure where he was.”

  “I would think so. Anna Braithwaite had the full backing of Heritage Pharma, which included her fully funded lab at Cambridge. Basically, she had carte blanche to run her own show. I guess Heritage thought having two highly respected research scientists on the project would be golden. However, it wasn’t long before Clarence discovered that he’d essentially been reduced to working for his wife. There were rumors that he regretted the move and was looking to get back into UCL.”

  Having given up tenure—and moving to the competition—Nico knew the chances of Clarence getting his old job back would be next to impossible. That must have smarted.

  “Two weeks after Ariana’s last interview with Clarence,” Testa said, “he was killed in a car bombing in Saint Julian’s, Malta.”

  Holy mother of God! Exactly as Elle, and Italy’s special investigator, Roberto Pezzente, had said. Except it wasn’t three men involved in a money-laundering scheme who were helping themselves to the profits. It was Anna Braithwaite’s husband. And until someone discovered what Ariana knew, no one would have been the wiser.

  “You said certain clients would come gunning for Baldisar,” Nico said. “If Ariana had a list of who those people were—well, that could certainly explain why she was killed.”

  That could also explain why Francesca had been threatened. As she was known to be close to Ariana, it would be a natural assumption that she might also have known the names of those on the list. And for Testa to be rightfully anxious that he could be next.

  “That’s why you were already in transit to Istanbul when I contacted you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you safe there?” Istanbul was certainly colorful, but not a place Nico would have considered a good hiding spot. Especially not in light of the 2018 killing and dismembering of journalist Jamal Khashoggi.

  “I don’t know that I’m safe anywhere, but now you know why I take such extraordinary protective measures in our communications. I’m blessed to have a wife who’s forgiven me and a baby boy who I love dearly.”

  “I understand. So where do we go from here?” Was there anywhere to go? Or had they been going around in circles only to reach a dead-end? A stalemate. Stuck between a corrupt banker who, until recently, Nico had believed could be responsible for Ariana’s murder. And a list of the most dangerous oligarchs and dictators who would think nothing of silencing someone who got in their way.

  After all this, it seemed he was back at square one. But, if he could get his hands on that list…

  “I have a plan,” Testa said. “But I won’t lie to you, it comes with some risk. The first thing you need to do is check out of where you’re staying.”

  There was a long pause. Nico lay in silence. Tallying: three women murdered, one child missing. Check. Another taken from her apartment where he was attacked. Check. A stint in hospital from which he still ached. Inspector Mifsud in critical condition after b
eing shot. And now Testa wanted him to move from the one place he felt safe.

  Then he thought of Ariana. Of the gentle expression that hid her fierceness. The veracity with which she’d implored him to help put a stop to the corruption that was eroding both their countries. Of the last evening they’d spent together, fraught with anger and recrimination. When he learned about the son he didn’t know he had. And might never get to meet.

  “I’m listening.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nico was still sleeping when he heard a gentle knock on the door. He awakened to find himself looking into a pair of black button eyes surrounded by white fluff. “I hope I was a gentleman,” he said to his bedmate. Then he looked past the little dog and saw the time on the bedside table clock. It was after nine.

  There was another light knock. “Sinjur Moretti, I’ll leave your breakfast tray out here for you. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” he called back as he climbed out of bed. Then he realized he had nothing to feed Gabriela and she most assuredly needed a walk. He threw on a robe and leaped to open the door.

  “Excuse me,” he called as the hotel’s staff member retreated down the hall. “Would it be possible for someone to take Gabriela for a walk and to feed her?”

  She turned and gave him a warm smile. “Of course, sinjur, I’d be happy to.” Gabriela had hopped off the bed and was already at the door.

  “Come on, little one,” the young woman said. “Let’s give you a walkie before breakfast, shall we?”

  * * *

  Nico was fully packed by the time the girl brought Gabriela back to his room. He thanked her and insisted she accept a small tip.

  “Anytime, sinjur. You only have to call the front desk. Everyone loves Gabi and would be happy to help.”

  With some regret, Nico did one last check around before heading downstairs to check out. At the concierge desk, the proprietor looked up from something she was writing. Looking surprised, her gaze shifted to his bags. “Sinjur Moretti, you’re not leaving us, I hope?”