by Blake Banner
I nodded. “Then we will need to see it.”
“I understand. Are we done? I would like to leave now.”
“There is just one last thing, Dr. Meigh. Agnes has disappeared without a trace. I am quite certain that she was not murdered along with Dr. Robles. Now, disappearing that thoroughly requires a lot of skill. It requires the skills of a trained agent, and even they don’t always manage it. It requires things like fake ID documents: social security numbers, driver’s license… In a word, it requires field craft. You and I both know that Agnes Shine does not have field craft. And that means that somebody is sheltering her. There is only one person that can be. So you need to give some very careful thought to what you do next, Dr. Meigh, because what started out as a desire to help a friend in trouble could end up becoming accessory to murder, or, if the DA feels you didn’t cooperate when you should have, conspiracy to murder. Either way, you are looking at serious time. Think it over, and call me.”
Her cheeks were burning. She stood, snatched her coat and slammed out of the room. Dehan stood and walked across the room till she was two inches from the wall, with her hands stuffed in her back pockets. “Stone, I hate to say it, and I have not exactly shone in this case so far, but I believe her.”
“None of us has shone in this case, Dehan. This case is like wading through mangroves at midnight with no moon and sunglasses on. She is very credible. I’m inclined to believe her myself. Come on, let’s go do some homework.”
She turned to face me. “Homework?”
“Yeah, old fashioned wading through files, eliminating the impossible, checking registers… that kind of stuff. I want you to find out what Meigh’s husband does for a living.”
“Yay. Wait, can we go to Goa instead?”
We went downstairs and spent the next two hours going through births, deaths, marriages, company directories and the land registry. It was slow, tedious and largely unrewarding work. The light was starting to fade outside when my phone rang. The number was withheld.
“Yeah, Detective Stone.”
“Detective Stone, I would like to meet with you, to discuss the Am Nielsen murder.” The voice was pleasant, even cultured.
“Who am I speaking to?” I waved at Dehan and mouthed, ‘Get a trace.’
“I’m not going to tell you, Detective. And I am not going to stay on long enough for you to have the call traced.”
“I need to know at least…”
“All you need to know, Detective, is that I will meet you in an hour at the park gates opposite the Bronx Zoo. Come alone. If there is anybody with you, I won’t show. I have information you need.”
He hung up. Dehan had the other receiver in her hand and shook her head. “Not a chance. Who was it?”
“A guy who wants to meet me alone, park entrance opposite the Bronx Zoo. Says he has information about Am Nielsen’s murder.”
“You can’t go alone, Stone.”
“I can’t afford not to. We’re at a dead end, Dehan.”
“You think so?” She looked doubtful.
I smiled and shook my head. “No, but I do think this is the breakthrough we need, and we can’t afford to blow it.” I pointed at her computer. “Did you find anything?”
She nodded. “I think it could be significant.”
“Tell me.”
She filled me in on what she had found, and bit by bit, the mangrove started to make sense to me. The only problem was, everything was circumstantial; everything was a theory. And Am Nielsen’s killer knew that. As things stood, there was no way of proving a goddamn thing. Dehan looked up at me and shrugged. “What does any of this prove, Stone? I can see by your face that this is what you were looking for, but I have no idea why.”
“I can’t explain right now, it just confirms some thoughts I had. It’s beginning to make sense. Some of it, at least.”
“So share!”
“I have to go.”
She sighed. “You should take back up.”
I shook my head. “He might get spooked.”
“Wear a wire at least.”
I thought about it. “OK, I’ll call you when I get there and leave my cell on. You can listen in. Will that do?”
She didn’t look happy. “OK, but don’t get hurt anywhere important. You still owe me five kids.”
“Five? Last week it was seven, what happened?”
“I’m serious.”
“I’ll call you when I get there.”
I had left with plenty of time. It’s less than a three mile drive from the station house to the zoo, but at that time of the evening the traffic was heavy going out of town, and the dark and the sleet made the progress slow. Besides which, I’d wanted to get there early, so I could see him arrive.
I took the Bronx River Parkway going north and came off at the Fordham Road exit, followed the loop around, crossed the bridge and found the entrance to the park on my right. There I pulled in, killed the engine and the lights, took my phone out of my pocket and settled down to wait.
I waited fifteen minutes. My feet were going numb and I was thinking about getting out of the car to stamp around for a bit when the cab was flooded by light and a large, dark Land Rover pulled in past me. It moved up to the gate, did a three point turn so it was facing me, killed the lights and the engine and waited.
I pressed call on my phone, put it in my pocket and got out of the car. It was dark, but there was enough light from Fordham Road for me to see the driver’s window slide down. Through it I could see a dark gray coat sleeve, but nothing else. I approached a few steps and the same voice I’d heard on the phone said, “That’s close enough.”
“What do you want?”
“I have a message for you, Detective. You and your partner are out of your depth. You need to back off and close this investigation.”
I gave a small, rather humorless laugh. “Get real, pal.”
“It’s you who needs to get real, Stone. There are big interests involved here, you are just a pawn. Now, I am going to do you a favor, and you had better accept it. Am Nielsen killed Dr. Robles. You have his confession. Close the case.”
I shook my head. “First of all, who is this message from? Second, what motive did Am have? Third, where is Agnes Shine? I know for a fact he didn’t kill her.”
He was silent for a moment, like he was thinking about the questions.
“Dr. Robles was going to sell his research, and Am’s, to the LightYear Corporation. Am found out and killed him.”
“How do you know? Who is this message from?”
“Enough questions, Detective.”
“What about Agnes?”
“Agnes Shine is dead.”
“Who killed her?”
“She did. The case is closed, Detective Stone.”
“I need proof.”
“No. You don’t. You have a confession. I told you, you are out of your depth. This no longer concerns the NYPD. Now, take your wife, go to Goa, and close the case. Otherwise you’ll be attending her funeral instead.”
The window slid up, the engine rumbled to life and the big truck pulled out onto Fordham Road, where it disappeared west into the city.
I stood for a moment looking at the amber-washed blacktop, with its sporadic stream of cars. Then I walked back to my Jag and leaned on the roof, thinking. My teeth were beginning to chatter with the cold, but all I could think of was his last words.
A car approaching from the east began to indicate right. It slowed and pulled in beside the Jag. The door opened and Dehan got out, in her woolen hat and gloves.
I smiled at her. “I should have known.”
“The inspector is looking into the LightYear Corporation now. Who was that guy? Did you get his registration?”
“Yeah, but two gets you twenty they were fake, magnetic plates. He tried to imply he was from some kind of government agency. But that was bullshit.”
I put my arms around her and held her for a moment. She gave me a squeeze and I kissed her hat. �
��Come on, Bombur, let’s get back to the station and have a chat with the chief.”
She looked up at me. “Bombur?”
“Yeah, you know, Bofur’s brother.”
I kissed her nose and climbed in the Jag.
FIFTEEN
We sat in the Deputy Inspector’s office listening to the recording Dehan had made of the conversation. When it had finished, he grunted and leaned back in his chair.
“No longer concerns the NYPD? Out of your depth? And Detective Dehan’s funeral.” He turned to consider me. “Did you recognize him?”
I shook my head. “No, but there aren’t that many people it could be. I can only think of two, and one of those is very unlikely.”
“I agree. Carmen?”
“One thing struck me, sir. The repetition, twice, of the phrase, ‘you have a confession’. We’ve heard that before, very recently. Also, he knew I wanted to go to Goa. We need to think who’s heard me mention that.”
He nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Costas. It’s a shame. He’s a good man, but it’s a slippery slope. It starts with what seems to be a harmless lie, and before you know it…”
The silence was more eloquent than any words he could have used. I said, “We can’t prove it was Costas, sir. Did you turn anything up on the LightYear Corporation?”
“Not much so far. Started small in San Francisco. Very aggressive. Expanded quickly. Their thing seems to be launching cutting edge, innovative technology. They have expressed an interest in collaborating with companies like Tesla.”
Dehan shrugged. “But any approach they made to Robles would have been untraceable and a hundred percent deniable by the company.”
I scratched my head. “But let’s assume that it’s true. It is certainly credible. Let’s assume that the LightYear Corporation approach Robles and make him an offer for his research, which as we know, legally, belongs to the university, and which morally belongs partly to Am Nielsen. The first question is, how did Am learn about Robles’ planned sell out? The only people who would know about it would be Robles himself and LightYear.”
Dehan shook her head. “Unless he told Costas? He might have consulted Costas as to the legal implications, trying to cover his back.”
I nodded. “OK, so that means that Costas then informed Am? What purpose could he have for doing that? We still draw a blank there. And here is another blank. What motive has anyone got for murdering Am?”
The inspector frowned at me. “Surely that was suicide, John?”
“No. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he was murdered. And I’m pretty sure I can prove it. First of all, there was the phrasing of the letter. It was unnatural, like somebody trying to write like a redneck and not knowing how. Second, drowning yourself is probably the most difficult way to commit suicide. The reflex against inhaling water is just too powerful. He was young, strong and fit, there was no way he was going to drown in ten or fifteen feet of water in a small bay six or seven feet from the pier. That just isn’t credible.” I pulled out my phone and called Frank.
“Stone, what a surprise.”
I put it on speaker. “Listen, Frank, this is important.”
“More surprises.”
“I mean it. Did Am Nielsen have bruising on his lower arms and wrists?”
“You know he did.”
“So the water in his lungs, I need you to…”
“I’m looking at the initial results right here, John. I know my job. I can’t tell you yet what kind of water it is, but I can tell you it’s not saline, which it would have been if he had drowned in the Harlem, it being tidal. He was drowned somewhere else, in clear water. And yes, the bruises are consistent with having had his arms held behind his back. He also has bruising to his scalp, where his head was held down.” He paused. “By the way, Robles’ last meal was Scotch whiskey.”
“Yeah, I kind of knew that. Thanks, Frank. You’re one of a kind.” I hung up and looked at them. “Somebody used Am to kill Robles.”
Dehan said, “Costas.” She looked at us both in turn. “It makes perfect sense. Robles’ big obsession was dominating people and hurting them, right? He was a sadist and a bully. He used Costas to hurt Mohamed—Daniel Brand—and once he had Costas hooked, he went for him, started threatening to blow the whistle on him. We can’t prove it yet, but it is a pretty safe bet. Then, when Robles consults him about the offer from LightYear, Costas sees his chance. He tells Am about it, convinces him the only way to save his work is to kill Robles. Maybe he even suggests selling the research to LightYear as his own, who knows? Point is, the plan is to frame Agnes as the jealous lover. So Costas gets Agnes out of the house for the night on some pretext, calls Robles to come over, badabim badabam badaboom, they kill him and frame her. And remember, Costas himself told us he knew nothing about wine.”
The inspector nodded. “Then he pressed me to investigate, partly to cover himself but also partly in the hope of casting suspicion on Agnes, whom they had framed. But when the investigation went too deep, he killed Am and planted the partially true confession on him. I imagine the muscle who carried out the actual killing was the same man in the car. I can’t see Costas doing it himself.” He thought for a moment. “How do you want to proceed? We pull in Costas and force a confession out of him?”
I shook my head. “We haven’t much leverage yet. Frank will be looking for prints on Am’s arms and scalp. We might get lucky.”
I went to the window and stood looking a while at where the sleet had turned to soft flakes and was starting to drift on the sidewalks under the yellow light of the streetlamps.
“The key to this whole thing is that research.” I turned to look at them where they were both watching me, Dehan uncertain and the inspector frowning, curious.
“Whatever the motive for Robles’ killing, that research played a central role. I want to go to Costas and tell him we are closing the case, and to rest easy. Then I want a twenty-four hour a day watch on him. If he has that research, he is going to try and sell it.
“Meanwhile, we get a warrant. We go to Dr. Meigh and we tell her the murder aspect of the case is closed, but we need to tidy up the issue of the research which appears to have been stolen. We search her house and the team’s offices and computers at the university. If it shows up…” I shrugged. “We conclude she was telling the truth. If it doesn’t…”
Dehan interrupted. “If it doesn’t, we need to give Costas a choice, confess and save his family public humiliation, or drag them through a trial.”
The inspector nodded. “I agree. Costas is our man. Fine, good work as always. I’ll apply for the warrant first thing in the morning. Now I suggest you two get home and get some rest.”
We went down, grabbed our coats and made our way out to the car. I climbed behind the wheel and she sat next to me, watching me as I stared out at the trees in the parking lot in front of me.
“You going to start the car or are you going to freeze us to death instead?”
I turned the key and the engine roared. I backed out and headed for the boulevard.
“So,” I said, “if some day we decided to have kids...”
“What do you mean, ‘if’? That’s decided. It’s going to happen.”
“OK, when we decide to have kids…”
“Will I continue to work? I don’t know, Stone. I’m old school. Happiest, healthiest kid is the one who has his mom at home. Home smells of baking. You know what I mean? There are probably a thousand psychologists and sociologists out there who can prove I’m wrong. But what the hell do they know? They’re probably all screwed up because their mothers were out burning bras and smoking hash instead of baking cakes at home.”
“And I’m the dinosaur?”
“Hey! Don’t knock the dinosaurs.”
“I’m serious, Dehan. This guy threatened to kill you tonight.”
She gave a short, adolescent laugh. “But he threatened to kill me because you are a cop!”
“Well, ye
s, that’s true. But the point is, being a cop in the Bronx is dangerous.”
We were quiet for a while, looking at the illuminated shop fronts and the Christmas decorations reflecting off the sidewalks, sidewalks that were slowly turning white under the gathering snow.
“You’re right. It’s something we need to think about. Both of us. A kid needs her father as much as she needs her mother. And when you lose your dad, it hurts just as much. I know all about that.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence. My mind kept going back to the dark Land Rover, the heavy coat and the arm and shoulder just visible in the limpid light, the voice, pleasant, educated. This no longer concerns the NYPD. Now, take your wife, go to Goa, and close the case. Otherwise you’ll be attending her funeral instead.
There was something jarring about the chauvinistic phrasing: take your wife to Goa, as though she could not afford to go herself. I had told the inspector I did not recognize the man, and I didn’t, not personally, but the more I thought about him, the more familiar his manner seemed: his manner and his style.
I pulled up outside our house, killed the engine and the lights and climbed out. The road was silent. Patchy snow had accumulated on the sidewalk and banked up against the walls and fences. Lamplight filtered through the naked branches of the plane trees. Dehan climbed out and her boots crunched on the snow on the sidewalk. Her door slammed and she smiled at me from under her brown and white woolen hat.
“Dehan,” I said, “let me always remember you just like that.”
Down the road, a car door clunked. Dehan began to walk carefully across the frozen sidewalk. “I look better in a bikini, you know.”
“A guy can have more than one memory.”
I followed her toward the gate. She pushed through and stopped at the first step. I looked down the road. There was a man approaching, silhouetted against the haze from the street lamp behind him. Condensation drifted from his mouth. He was walking briskly, head down. Without thinking, I said, “Go up, Dehan, get inside.”
“What is it?”