Gone Tomorrow jr-13

by Lee Child

  ‘I thought she was beautiful,’ I said. ‘One of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.’

  ‘Apart from that.’

  ‘Amazing eyes.’

  ‘Apart from her eyes.’

  ‘I thought she was lonely too. Lonely and isolated. She was talking about Susan, but she could have been talking about herself.’

  ‘What about her story?’

  ‘Do good-looking people automatically get more credibility?’

  ‘Not from me, pal. And get over it, anyway. Thirty years from now she’ll look just like her mother. Did you believe her?’

  ‘Did you?’

  Lee nodded. ‘I believed her. Because a story like that is ridiculously easy to check. Only a fool would give us so many chances to prove her wrong. Like, does the army really have press officers?’

  ‘Hundreds of them.’

  ‘So all we have to do is find the one she spoke to, and ask. We could even track the phone calls from London. I could liaise with Scotland Yard. I’d love to do that. Can you imagine? Docherty interrupts me, I say, butt out, pal, I’m on the phone with Scotland Yard here. It’s every detective’s dream.’

  ‘NSA will have the calls,’ I said. ‘A foreign number into the DoD? They’re already part of an intelligence analysis somewhere.’

  ‘And we could track Susan Mark’s calls out of the Pentagon. If they talked as often as Lila claimed, we’d see them easily. International to the UK, they’re probably flagged up separately.’

  ‘So go for it. Check.’

  ‘I guess I will,’ she said. ‘And she must know I could. She struck me as an intelligent woman. She knows British Airways and Homeland Security can track her in and out of the country. She knows we can tell if she ever flew to LA. She knows we can just go ahead and ask Jacob Mark whether his sister was adopted. It’s all so easy to confirm. It would be crazy to lie about stuff like that. Plus she came in to the precinct house and involved herself voluntarily. And she just showed me her passport. Which is the exact opposite of suspicious behaviour. Those are big points in her favour.’

  I took the cell phone from my pocket and reassembled the battery. I hit the on switch and the screen lit up. It was showing a missed call. Lila Hoth, presumably, from her room, ten minutes ago. I saw Lee looking at the phone and I said, ‘It’s Leonid’s. I took it from him.’

  ‘He actually found you?’

  ‘I found him. Which is why I had gotten as far as this hotel.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Walking home from St. Vincent’s Hospital, probably.’

  ‘Is this something you really want to be telling to an NYPD detective?’

  ‘He fainted. I helped. That’s all. Talk to the witnesses.’

  ‘Whatever, it’s going to put the cat among the pigeons with Lila,’

  ‘She thinks gun ownership is compulsory in Virginia. She probably thinks mugging is compulsory in New York. She grew up with propaganda.’

  We got out of the elevator in the lobby and headed for the street door. Lee asked, ‘But if all of this is so innocent, why are here feds involved?’

  ‘If the story is true, then an American soldier met with a Red Army political commissar back during the Cold War. The feds want to be absolutely sure it’s innocent. That’s why HRC’s response was delayed by weeks. They were taking policy decisions and putting surveillance in place.’

  We got into Lee’s ear. She said, ‘You aren’t agreeing with me all the way, are you?’

  I said, ‘If the Hoth family business is innocent, so be it. But something wasn’t innocent. That’s for damn sure. And we’re saying that other something brought Susan Mark to the exact same place at the exact same time. Which is a hell of a coincidence.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘How many times have you known a million-to-one chance turn out a winner?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Me either. But I think it’s happening here. John Sansom is a million to one against, but I think he’s involved.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I spoke to him.’

  ‘In Washington?’

  ‘Actually I had to follow him to North Carolina.’

  ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

  ‘That’s what he said. Then I asked him if he had heard the name Lila Hoth. He said no. I was watching his face. I believed it, and I thought he was lying, too. Both at the same time. And maybe he was.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Maybe he had heard the name Hoth, but not Lila. So technically, no, he hadn’t heard the name Lila Hoth. But maybe he had heard the name Svetlana Hoth. Maybe he was very familiar with it.’

  ‘What would that mean?’

  ‘Maybe more than we think. Because if Lila Hoth is telling the truth, then there’s a kind of weird logic working here. Why would Susan Mark bust a gut on a case like this?’

  ‘She had sympathy.’

  ‘Why would she in particular?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Because she was adopted. Born out of wedlock, presumably wondering about her real folks from time to time. Sympathetic to other people in the same situation. Like Lila Hoth, maybe. Some guy was very kind to her mother before she was born? There are a lot of ways to interpret a phrase like that.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘Best case, he gave her a warm coat in winter.’

  ‘And worst case?’

  ‘Maybe John Sansom is Lila Hoth’s father.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  Lee and I went straight back to the Precinct. Jacob Mark had finished his business with Docherty. That was clear. And something had changed. That was clear too. They were sitting opposite each other across Docherty’s desk. Not talking any more. Jake looked happier. Docherty had a patient expression on his face, like he had just wasted an hour. He didn’t look resentful about it. Cops are accustomed to wasting time. Statistically most of what they do leads nowhere. Lee and I walked over to them and Jake said, ‘Peter called his coach.’

  I asked, ‘When?’

  ‘Two hours ago. The coach called Molina and Molina called me.’

  ‘So where is he?’

  ‘He didn’t say. He had to leave a message. His coach never answers his phone over dinner. Family time.’

  ‘But Peter’s OK?’

  ‘He said he won’t be back anytime soon. Maybe ever. He’s talking about quitting football. There was a girl giggling in the background.’

  Docherty said, ‘She must be some girl.’

  I asked Jake, ‘You OK with that?’

  Jake said, ‘Hell no. But it’s his life. And he’ll change his mind, anyway. The only question is how fast.’

  ‘I meant, are you happy that the message was for real?’

  ‘The coach knows his voice. Better than I do, probably.’

  ‘Anyone try calling him back?’

  ‘All of us. But his phone is off again.’

  Theresa Lee said, ‘So we’re satisfied?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Relieved.’

  ‘May I ask you a question about another subject?’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Was your sister adopted?’

  Jake paused. Switched gears. Nodded. ‘We both were. As babies. Separately, three years apart. Susan first.’ Then he asked, ‘Why?’

  Lee said, ‘I’m corroborating some new information received.’

  ‘What new information?’

  ‘It seems that Susan came up here to meet a friend.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘A Ukrainian woman called Lila Hoth.’

  Jake glanced at me. ‘We’ve been through this. I never heard that name from Susan.’

  Lee asked him, ‘Would you expect to? How close were you? It seems to be a fairly recent friendship.’

  ‘We weren’t very close.’

  ‘When was the last time you talked?’

  ‘A few months, I guess.’

  ‘So you’re not comple
tely up to date with her social life.’

  Jake said, ‘I guess not.’

  Lee asked, ‘How many people knew that Susan was adopted?’

  ‘I guess she didn’t advertise it. But it wasn’t a secret.’

  ‘How fast would a new friend find out?’

  ‘Fast enough, probably. Friends talk about stuff like that:

  ‘How would you describe Susan’s relationship with her son?’

  ‘What kind of question is that?’

  ‘An important one.’

  Jake hesitated. He clammed up and turned away, physically, like he was literally dodging the issue. Like he was flinching from a blow. Maybe because he was reluctant to wash dirty linen in public, in which case his body language was really all the answer we needed. But Theresa Lee wanted chapter and verse. She said, ‘Talk to me, Jake. Cop to cop. This is something I need to know about.’

  Jake was quiet for a spell. Then he shrugged and said, ‘I guess you could call it a love-hate relationship.’

  ‘In what way exactly?’

  ‘Susan loved Peter, Peter hated her.’

  ‘Why?’

  More hesitation. Another shrug. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Peter went through a phase, like most kids do. Like girls want to be long-lost princesses, or boys want their grandfathers to have been admirals or generals or famous explorers. For a spell everyone wants to be something they’re not. Peter wanted to live in a Ralph Lauren advertisement, basically. He wanted to be Peter Molina the Fourth, or at least the Third. He wanted his father to have an estate in Kennebunkport, and his mother to have the remnants of an old fortune. Susan didn’t handle it well. She was the daughter of a drug-addicted teenage whore from Baltimore, and she made no secret of it. She thought honesty was the best policy. Peter handled it badly. They never really got past it, and then the divorce came, and Peter chose up sides, and they never got over it.’

  ‘How did you feel about it?’

  ‘I could see both points of view. I never inquired about my real mother. I didn’t want to know. But I went through a spell where I wished she was a grand old lady with diamonds. I got over it. But Peter didn’t, which is stupid, I know, but understandable.’

  ‘Did Susan like Peter as a person, as opposed to loving him as a son?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘No. Which made things even worse. Susan had no sympathy for jocks and letter jackets and all that stuff. I guess in school and college she had bad experiences with people like that. She didn’t like that her son was turning into one of them. But that stuff was important to Peter, in its own right at first, and then later as a weapon against her. It was a dysfunctional family, no question.’

  ‘Who knows this story?’

  ‘You mean, would a friend know?’ Lee nodded.

  Jake said, ‘A close friend might.’

  ‘A close friend she met quite recently?’

  ‘There’s no timetable. It’s about trust, isn’t it?’

  I said, ‘You told me Susan wasn’t an unhappy person.’

  Jake said, ‘And she wasn’t. I know that sounds weird. But adopted people have a different view of family. They have different expectations. Believe me, I know. Susan was at peace with it. It was a fact of life, that’s all.’

  ‘Was she lonely?’

  ‘I’m sure she was.’

  ‘Did she feel isolated?’

  ‘I’m sure she did.’

  ‘Did she like to talk on the phone?’

  ‘Most women do.’

  Lee asked him, ‘Have you got kids?’ Jake shook his head again.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t have kids. I’m not even married. I tried to learn from my big sister’s experience.’

  Lee stayed quiet for a spell and then she said, ‘Thanks, Jake. I’m happy that Peter’s OK. And I’m sorry I had to bring all that bad stuff up.’ Then she walked away and I followed her and she said, ‘I’ll check the other things too, but it will take time, because those channels are always slow, but right now my guess is that Lila Hoth will pan out just fine. She’s two for two so far, on the adoption thing and the mother-son thing. She knows stuff only a genuine friend would know.’

  I nodded agreement. ‘You interested in the other thing? Whatever it was that got Susan so scared?’

  ‘Not until I see actual evidence of a crime committed in New York City, somewhere between Ninth Avenue and Park, and 30th Street and 45th.’

  ‘That’s this precinct?’

  She nodded. ‘Anything else would be volunteer work.’

  ‘You interested in Sansom?’

  ‘Not even a little bit. Are you?’

  ‘I feel like I should warn him, maybe.’

  ‘About what? A million-to-one possibility?’

  ‘It’s actually much shorter odds than a million to one. There are five million men called John in America. Second only to James, for popularity. That’s one in thirty guys. Which means that in 1983 there could have been about thirty-three thousand Johns in the U.S. Army. Discount it maybe ten per cent for military demographics, the chances are about one in thirty thousand.’

  ‘Those are still very big odds.’

  ‘I think Sansom should know, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Call it a brother officer thing. Maybe I’ll head back to D.C.’

  ‘No need. Save yourself the trip. He’s coming here. Tomorrow midday, for a fund raiser lunch at the Sheraton. With all the heavy hitters from Wall Street. Seventh Avenue and 52nd Street. We got a memo.’

  ‘Why? He wasn’t getting much protection in Greensboro.’

  ‘He isn’t getting much protection here either. In fact he isn’t getting any. But we get memos about everything. That’s how it is now. That’s the new NYPD.’ Then she walked away, leaving me all alone in the middle of the empty squad room. And leaving me feeling a little uneasy. Maybe Lila Hoth really was as pure as the driven snow, but I couldn’t shake the sensation that Sansom was walking into a trap, just by coming to the city.

  THIRTY-THREE

  It has been a long time since you could sleep well in New York for five dollars a night, but you can still do it for fifty, if you know how. The key is starting late. I walked down to a hotel I had used before, near Madison Square Garden. It was a big place, once grand, now just a faded old pile, perpetually close to renovation or demolition but never actually getting there. After midnight the front-of-house staff shrinks down to a lone night porter responsible for everything including the desk. I walked up to him and asked if he had a room available. He made a show of tapping on a keyboard and looking at a screen and then he said yes, he did have a room available. He quoted a price of a hundred and eighty-five dollars, plus tax. I asked if I could see the room before I committed. It was the kind of hotel where that kind of request seemed reasonable. And sensible. Mandatory, even. The guy came out from behind the desk and took me up in the elevator and along a corridor. He opened a door with a pass card attached to his belt by a curly plastic cord and stood back to let me enter.

  The room was OK. It had a bed in it, and a bathroom. Everything I needed, and nothing I didn’t. I took two twenties out of my pocket and said, ‘Suppose I don’t worry about that whole registration process downstairs?’

  The guy said nothing. They never do, at that point. I took out another ten and said, ‘For the maid, tomorrow.’

  The guy shuffled a little like I was putting him on the spot, but then his hand came out and he took the money. He said, ‘Be out by eight,’ and he walked away. The door closed behind him. Maybe a central computer would show that his pass card had unlocked the room, and when, but he would claim that he had shown me the accommodations, and that I had been unmoved by their attractions, and that I had left again immediately. It was probably a claim he made on a regular basis. I was probably the fourth guy he had stowed away that week. Maybe the fifth, or the sixth. All kinds of things happen in city hotels, after the day staff has quit.

&nb
sp; * * *

  I slept well and woke up feeling good and I was out five minutes before eight. I forced my way through the crowds heading in and out of Penn Station and got breakfast in the back booth of a place on 33rd. Coffee, eggs, bacon, pancakes, and more coffee, all for six bucks, plus tax, plus tip. More expensive than North Carolina, but only slightly. The battery of Leonid’s cell was still about half charged. An icon was showing some bars blank and some bars lit. I figured I had enough juice for a few calls. I dialled 600 and then aimed to dial 82219 but before I got halfway through the sequence the earpiece started up with a fast little triplet trill pitched somewhere between a siren and a xylophone. A voice came on and told me my call could not be completed as dialled. It asked me to check and try again. I tried 1-600 and got exactly the same result. I tried 011 for an international line, and then 1 for North America, and then 600. A circuitous route, but the outcome was no better. I tried 001 as the international code in case the phone thought it was still in London. No result. I tried 8**101, which was the Eastern European international code for America, in case the phone had been hauled all the way from Moscow a year earlier. No result. I looked at the phone’s keypad and thought about using a 3 in place of the D, but the system was already beeping at me well before I got there.

  So, 600-82219-D was not a phone number, Canadian or otherwise. Which the FBI must have known. Maybe they had considered the possibility for about a minute, and then dismissed it out of hand. The FBI is a lot of things, but dumb isn’t one of them. So back on 35th Street they had buried their real questions for me behind a smokescreen.

  What else had they asked me?