“Shit! Is he handing out a ticket to me?”
“It’s metered bays on the street. Did you put in your pennies?”
Bex shot Walt a heated glare. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“Maybe you were in such a rush you failed to read the signs? In fact, I seem to recall alternative street parking’s enforced here. Look, no one else is parked out front,” Zane said.
“Shit!” she said again. “I’d better go see what it’s about. The city’s fines are astronomical and we can’t afford to lose hundreds of dollars just before Christmas!”
She had hurried outside to discover Zane was right about the alternative street parking. She had spent five minutes cajoling, but despite flashing her badge the parking officer refused to budge, insisting Bex remove the car. She spent the next ten minutes circling the block until she managed to snag a spot as someone pulled out of Norwood.
By the time she walked back inside Zane had drunk her coffee.
“Walt told me not to let it get cold. Here, I’ll grab the waitress and get you another cup,” Zane told her, kissing her on the nose. “Have I told you how adorable you are when you’re angry?”
Walt laughed. “Now I know what to say when she gets snippy at work!”
Zane waved the waitress over and ordered another coffee.
At the server’s puzzled look, Bex felt obliged to explain, “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to drink that last cup. My husband took it. Forget about the coffee. Zane, we have to get going. At least that caffeine kick will keep you awake for driving.”
But they had never reached her parents. Her memories of the crash were a hazy recollection of glaring headlights and Zane slumped over the steering wheel.
Forcing herself to enter the restaurant, Bex spotted Walt and Neil chatting animatedly. Walt caught sight of her and waved enthusiastically.
Bex heard Neil’s knees creak as he rose to give her a hug before Walt swallowed her into his arms against his barrel chest. When he released her he held her at arm’s length, taking in her sinewy frame from head to toe.
“She’s still too thin, isn’t she, Neil?”
“Give me a break, Walt, it’s all muscle,” she tried to deflect their concern.
Walt’s eyebrow lifted into an exaggerated comma, expressing his disbelief, but he bit back any rejoinder.
“So, how did your meeting with the lawyer go?” Neil asked, pulling out a chair for her.
Bex collapsed onto the seat.
“I don’t know if Schroeder’s just presenting the worst case scenario so when he wins it looks like he overcame incredible odds, but it hasn’t left me feeling optimistic. Schroeder explained the complication is because Zane’s divorce from Karen was based on a ‘publication divorce.’ When he was unable to locate her present address, Weiss followed the court’s requirements of publishing a notice of intent to dissolve their marriage in the newspaper for three consecutive weeks. The court then granted a default divorce because Karen never responded. Karen’s now claiming she had no chance to respond because during that period she has proof she was undergoing rehab. Apparently that means it wasn’t ‘conscious indifference but was due to accident’ and there was no way she could have responded. That’s the basis of her petition to vacate the default divorce judgment. Schroeder thinks she has a fifty-fifty chance of swaying the judge her way.”
Walt shook his head in commiseration.
“Dammit, I told Zane to pursue a death certificate in absentia when Karen went missing. He could never stomach the thought. Said she wasn’t dead and he wasn’t going to claim she was. He always knew Karen and Kristian were out there somewhere. And it wasn’t as though Karen had any property that needed settling, so he never could see the benefit of declaring her dead. Looks like that decision has come back to bite you.”
“The worst part is that if Karen’s claims are substantiated it means my marriage to Zane becomes null and void, leaving Karen as his widow with a claim to Zane’s inheritance. This is a nightmare!” She wasn’t able to eliminate the wobble in her voice.
“If you’re not confident this Shroeder character is up to the job, I can foot the bill for Joachim Weiss,” Neil said. “I’ve already been to the bank and they’re happy to renegotiate my mortgage. Come hell or high water you’ll have the money to keep the Zane Wynter Halfway House running!”
Bex placed a hand over knuckles contorted with arthritis and patted gently without squeezing.
“Thanks, Neil, but I’m not taking your money.”
“Listen, we can’t discuss important matters like this on an empty stomach. Neil and I have already ordered. What’ll you have, Bex? You know the Manhattan Club is famed for their club sandwiches,” Walt interrupted.
“A BLT and coffee will do.” Her stomach rebelled against food, but now she was pregnant she wasn’t just eating for herself. She signaled to a server who sidled over with a pot to fill Bex’s cup. When the waitress left, Bex said quietly, “Do you realize I haven’t been to this restaurant since the day Zane died?”
“Shit, Bex! I’m an insensitive idiot! I should’ve thought. It’s just that it’s only a few blocks from the attorney’s office and it was convenient…” his voice trailed away.
“It’s fine, Walt. In the scheme of things, it’s a small point.” She gave a weak smile before sipping her coffee.
“Sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine once I’ve had my caffeine hit.”
“Dammit, Bex, I can still read you like a book. You’re sitting there remembering the last time we were here with Zane.”
She bowed her head.
“I just wonder if the outcome would’ve been different if I’d parked the car properly. If I’d stayed here and drunk that coffee instead of shifting the car, we might have left at a different time and Zane might still be alive.”
“He would’ve had a heart attack no matter what,” Neil said.
“You can’t torture yourself with what ifs,” Walt added, making room for the waitress to place their meals on the table. “I mean, what if our waitress that day hadn’t turned down my proposition for a drink when she knocked off work? Who knows, I might be a married man by now.” He gave a broad wink to their current server. “Isn’t that right, Tracy?”
“You just need some new pick up lines, Walt, because they must be lousy if they don’t even work on the new girls working here,” Tracy teased as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear before heading to the next table.
Bex knew Walt was trying to lighten the mood. She ventured a chuckle to let him know she was on board.
“That must be the answer, Walt, the waitress wasn’t new enough for you to impress.” Instead of deflecting her memories, the words simply etched the scene more sharply in her mind’s eye. “She wasn’t your type anyway, Walt. You’re not equipped to deal with high maintenance women. Remember how upset she was that I hadn’t drunk my coffee? She got such a look of consternation on her face! That’s why I canceled the order.”
“Yeah, well, if she was new she was probably concerned you were going to complain to management that she’d poured you a bad cup of coffee.” Walt frowned. “Bex, I know what you’re doing. Stop looking for clues where there aren’t any. Neil and I hate it as much as you do that Zane’s dead. As part of the police investigation, I told you then and I’m telling you now, Zane had a heart attack and crashed the car. There never was any evidence of another car hitting you head on. What are you doing now? Trying to drum up some non-existent clues from the last place Zane visited before his death?”
Walt chomped down on his burger, while Neil looked on with anxious eyes.
“What clues do you think you’ll find here, Bex?”
“Yes, exactly what are you looking for, Bex?” Walt’s voice sounded exasperated.
Leaning on the heel of her hand, Bex stared sightlessly at her club sandwich. Was she a fool to hang onto the hope that she would one day discover someone to blame for Zane’s death?
“I wonder if
you’re just struggling to get your mind off your current court problem by filling it with yesterday’s troubles?” Neil reached over to pat her shoulder.
“I think Neil’s hit the nail on the head, Bex. I can assure you there was no other car and if there was anything in Zane’s toxicology the ME would’ve found it. You know Jeanne Prudhomme wouldn’t do a shoddy job of Zane’s autopsy and she sure as hell wouldn’t botch it up,” Walt said.
“I don’t know, fellas, maybe being back in New York is letting the memories crowd in,” Bex said, trying not to take affront at Walt’s frustration.
“Well, I hate to say it, but maybe staying in London is doing you the world of good. I’m telling you, for your own sanity, you need to let Zane rest in peace,” Walt said.
They fell to eating their sandwiches. When the check came, Bex insisted on splitting it evenly so she paid her share.
As they were preparing to leave, she said as casually as she could, “I want to visit Karen.”
Walt gave her a beady stare. “That’s not a good idea. You’ve got the emergency hearing tomorrow. You’ll see Karen in court.”
“That’s just it, Walt. I don’t want to meet Karen for the first time in court. I’m hoping that we can talk woman to woman so she knows what I’ve done with Zane’s insurance. If she cared about Zane at all, she might concede the money.”
“Sumabitch, Bex, will you listen to sense for once! Both Weiss and Schroeder have told you this court case is going to get nasty. I don’t claim to know Karen well and it’s been fifteen years since I last saw her, but she was always a high-strung woman. Calling her clingy is being kind. Zane had to be everything to her and when he wasn’t, well she was jealous and needy as all hell. Inside her twisted mind, I’m sure Karen thinks you’ve taken what’s owed to her and that Zane should’ve provided for her after his death. My advice to you is to stay away from her. Deal with the matter in court. Don’t you agree, Neil?” Walt appealed for back up.
“I’ll go with you, Bex. I’d like to see Kristian. I’d really love to see my grandson again.”
Neil’s voice was saturated with pain, his eyes watery with unshed tears.
Walt threw his hands in the air, swearing profusely, before spitting out, “Dammit to hell, you’re as bad as each other!”
“Come with us, Walt. You can show her photos of the house where the boys live and provide evidence of all the good Zane’s money is doing.”
“How in hell I survived three years as your partner, I’ll never know! You’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion if you think a visit’s going to put Karen on your side.”
Walt’s grim opposition only boosted her determination. She lifted her chin. “I don’t see how it can make the situation any worse.”
Chapter 13
National Crimes Agency, London
Tuesday, 24 April
A message from Fausch recalled Cole to the office before approaching the last café on his list. The project room held a somber and serious air, and Cole noted Caleb Whittaker’s empty chair. The agent’s death had dampened everyone’s spirits while hardening their resolve to nail the elusive Bluebird.
Lloyd Fausch entered the room with a purposeful stride in a navy blue chalk-stripe suit that screamed Savile Row and an expression that indicated he was not here to take prisoners.
“We’ve had a breakthrough on the security footage sent over by Chicago FBI. Before I get to that, Nolan Weaver has an update from Heathrow,” Fausch addressed them from the head of the long oval table.
Nolan greeted Fausch’s introduction with barely concealed excitement.
He explained to the group that his investigation into stolen cars had got lucky very quickly. From a series of stolen license plate numbers, Heathrow had been able to match one to a car that had been abandoned in one of the short stay parking bays beside Terminal 3. Irate drivers dropping off and picking up passengers had alerted airport security to the stationary vehicle and it had been towed away. The description of the car and its license plate matched one that had been reported stolen early on Monday morning when the owner went to leave for work. It was likely the car had been taken the night before, Nolan reported.
“The Madrid flight with Ivy Booker aboard took off from Terminal 3,” Cole added, after consulting his notes.
“Chicago FBI have confirmed your theory that Ivy Booker is Sophie Dresden,” Fausch addressed Cole. “I’ll go into details in a minute. Nolan, is there anything else you want to add to your report?”
“I managed to obtain the terminal’s CCTV footage showing the car’s arrival.”
On one of the large screens mounted on the side wall the image of a blurred figure in a dark suit, head bent, was shown striding briskly from the stolen car with a bulky briefcase in hand.
“Unfortunately, we’re not able to get a full, clear visual of the face because of the camera angle and the manner in which the POI kept their head tucked down.”
“Looks masculine which fits the description I got from a server at one of the Shoreditch cafés,” Cole said. He went into detail about Janet’s description.
When he concluded, Fausch spoke again.
“Let’s not underestimate who we’re dealing with. It’s obvious that, despite the time constraints Dresden was under, she managed to plan this carefully. The evidence we’ve gathered points to her detonating the bomb from a café in the area, before taking off straight to the airport, still dressed as a man, in a car stolen the night before. She must have changed in the toilets before assuming the Ivy Booker identity to board the Madrid flight. Nolan, I want that stolen car transferred to the police compound so forensics can do their job.”
“Already done, sir!” Nolan said smugly.
“Good. Does anyone have anything else to report before I present the material from Chicago FBI?” Fausch gave a cursory glance around the serious expressions staring back at him. “Right, well I’m pleased to say we’ve had a breakthrough on the footage from O’Hare. Our IT unit used the police face recognition software to make a match from the passengers disembarking from the United Airlines flight from Madrid. Zia, do you want to take it from here?”
Zia stood up, walked over to another wall-mounted screen and pointed a remote at it. Images flickered to life with people flooding through a pair of glass exit doors. As a woman wearing black pants and a long-sleeved button up shirt emerged, a red circle popped around her head.
“We believe this is Sophie Dresden. We targeted the face recognition software on this point in time because it’s the only spot in the airport that we could be sure Ivy Booker, alias Dresden, would be. You can see she’s done little to disguise herself apart from what we presume is a dark wig with a longer hairstyle.”
Images had been cobbled together from different areas of O’Hare’s security cameras, following Dresden’s progress through the terminal until she stood outside at a taxi rank.
“Here is where Dresden catches a taxi. The FBI pulled the cab records for us so we’ve been able to determine that her fare ended at Union Station.”
Cole leaned forward, his attention riveted to the moving images. He recognized Dresden’s stride as she approached the back door of the yellow cab. Instead of the black brief case, she had a brown purse slung over one shoulder. If he’d had doubts it was Dresden they were eliminated in the next few seconds. Before entering the cab, the woman swung her head around as though seeking something. Her eyes targeted the surveillance camera and she stared into its blinking red eye. A look so challenging and direct it was almost as if she was daring them to recognize and arrest her.
Then she disappeared inside the cab and the vehicle drove out of view.
“Union is an Amtrak station, connecting Chicago interstate to many different towns and cities,” Zia continued. “I’ve put in a request through the FBI to download any security footage from Amtrak. We’ll employ face recognition again, but given the station services around 150,000 passengers each day and we have no idea where Dresden was headed next it’l
l take a while.”
“Thank you, Zia,” Fausch said. “In the meantime the FBI kindly provided us with a timetable for trains scheduled to leave Union around the time Dresden’s cab arrived. There are several possibilities but the two lines leaving closest to the time she arrived are the California Zephyr heading west as far as San Francisco and the Empire Builder heading to Seattle, so we’ll concentrate on those first. While Amtrak requires passengers to carry valid ID if asked to show it while traveling, that doesn’t preclude Dresden purchasing a cash ticket without showing ID.”
“In other words, she could’ve caught a train to anywhere in the US,” Banks said with a grimace.
Fausch flinched as he admitted, “Or further afield. If she headed to Buffalo she could have connected with a train to Toronto.”
“Once we have the Amtrak footage we’ll be able to locate her,” Zia stated with emphasis.
“We may not have an exact location for her, but we do have her pinned to North America. While the FBI has been exceedingly cooperative, I’d like an NCA agent on the ground so that when we get confirmation of where Dresden was headed we won’t waste time. Any takers? Remembering this is not a junket. Whoever goes needs to be able to drop everything and leave tonight. While in Chicago you will be on call twenty-four seven and personally answerable to me.” He surveyed the group, his eyes squinting from tiredness. “Anyone volunteering for this exercise needs to send me an email response within the hour.”
When Fausch left, Cole followed Zia back to her desk. She raised a pale eyebrow in his direction. “Are you after another favor?”
“Can you show me that footage of Dresden leaving O’Hare again?” he asked.
Her look betrayed curiosity but she turned back to her computer and within minutes brought up what he was after. She paused the image on Dresden looking directly at the camera. That was the image that bothered him, sent a wedge of doubt as to Dresden’s motivation. If she wanted to disappear, to make it difficult for them to locate her, why had she stood there so blatantly? The action niggled at him.
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 48