The Mentor

by Monticelli, Rita Carla Francesca

  The things he was dealing with today unquestionably fell into this last category.

  He put an image of the bullet up on the screen. All the characteristic lines and streaks left by its high-velocity voyage down the barrel of the gun were clear and in focus. Then he called up the findings from the McKinsey murder in the database. The computer took just a few seconds to analyze the data, but he didn’t have to wait until the word Corresponds popped up on the screen in order to see he was right. It was obvious even to the naked eye.

  For a moment he’d hoped this wouldn’t be the case. It would mean he’d been wrong from the start. It would have been better if it weren’t true, even though that would mean he had an entirely new case to resolve. But it was true. It was the same case. The man dressed in black, the Black Death, had struck again.

  “Find a match?”

  Eric jumped a little when he heard Jane’s voice behind him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” said his second in command, walking into the laboratory.

  Eric was relieved it was her and not someone else. “You’ve got cat’s paws, Jane,” he said.

  Jane smiled. “And you’ve got the look of someone who just got caught doing something he’s not supposed to be doing.”

  Eric raised his hands. “You got me. I was working on a Sunday.”

  “I can see that.” Jane stopped by his side and looked at the computer screen. “Same weapon?”

  “Apparently so.” He tried to keep his tone of voice neutral, to hide how agitated he felt.

  His colleague sighed. “I just stopped by to bring back my kit. I forgot it in the car, but something tells me I should stay a little while.” She put her bag down on a chair nearby and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “You should go,” he said. “You, at least, have a life outside this office.” Irony seemed like the best path to follow. Right now he needed to think things through carefully, and the last thing he wanted was Jane hanging around with him.

  “Are you kidding?” she said, adjusting her ponytail. “We’ve got three homicides on our hands. Technically we can start talking about a serial killer. And two of those within the last couple of days to boot. For all we know, our killer might be out there right now, hunting down his next victim. We don’t have any leads, and you expect me to wander on home? You should be calling everybody in here to work overtime!”

  The new reality, the one that Eric knew and Jane did not, was that they had a lead—a big one—but in order to follow it Eric really needed to be alone.

  Jane picked up her bag again. “I’m going to leave my stuff in my office. I’ll be right back.”

  Just then the phone rang, and before Shaw could do anything, Jane answered and hit the speaker button.

  “Ballistics lab, Jane Hall speaking.”

  “Oh . . . Detective Hall,” said Mills hesitantly. “I was looking for Detective Shaw. We talked a little while ago.” At this, Jane shot Eric an inquisitive glance.

  “I’m here,” said Eric, ignoring his colleague.

  “Sorry for earlier. We got cut off, and I had to wait a little while before I called back because I think I saw some movement.”

  Jane’s expression was eloquent: What?!

  “Movement?” asked Eric. He didn’t know what the officer was talking about either.

  “As I was telling you, I looked into that thing you asked about, and you were right. It appears Ridley does have a connection with Christopher Garnish.”

  Hall’s inquisitive expression turned into a look of confusion and preoccupation.

  “The New Arts Gallery. I’m standing outside right now. The victim worked here, and as it turns out Garnish owns the place. And that’s not all! Tom Ridley was Garnish’s uncle on his mother’s side.”

  This was news Eric wasn’t expecting. The connection with the first two victims was weak—they’d done a little work together a number of years ago—but now there was an actual family relative involved. Every detail of the way they were killed was leading back to the 1994 case. Was it possible that all four were involved?

  “Just a minute,” said the detective, interrupting the flow of his thoughts. “You’re outside the gallery right now?”

  “Yes. I thought I’d come down and take a look around, even though I wasn’t hoping for much, seeing as it’s Sunday. But in the end I was lucky.”

  “Mills, don’t do anything yet. Garnish might be extremely dangerous.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You said you were lucky?” asked Jane.

  “Yes, because the gallery is open on Sundays. I was just about to leave, but then I saw a woman unlock the place and go in. A little while later a man showed up too . . . For a moment I was hoping he was Garnish, but then I realized he’s Muslim.”

  Eric wanted to drop everything he was doing, race down to meet Mills, and interrogate those two people, but that sort of impulsive and unexpected gesture would undoubtedly pique Jane’s curiosity. He swore softly to himself but kept his outward calm.

  “If you want . . . ,” continued the officer, “I could go in and pretend to look at a few paintings.”

  “Do you have any idea who the woman is?”

  “Well, given what I’ve seen so far, she might be Lorna Dillon. She works at the gallery too, and according to the people I spoke with, she might be Garnish’s woman.”

  “Oh my God, Mills,” interrupted Jane. “If that man is really involved in all these murders, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go around asking about his woman, at least not alone!”

  “I agree,” said Eric. “And in any case, I don’t think Dillon would tell you where you can find him. Maybe you could continue to keep an eye on the place for a while, see what happens down there.” He hoped he’d get a chance to free himself and go join the officer in the meantime. “If you see anything interesting, call me right away.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk later.”

  Shaw hung up the phone.

  “Why did he go down there alone?” Jane was nervous. Something didn’t add up.

  Eric decided to play the whole thing down. “Oh, you know how zealous Mills can be. Evidently he didn’t have anything better to do today.” He picked back up the bullet he’d been examining, tucked it into its envelope, and sealed the top.

  “In fact, why isn’t Miriam dealing with this stuff? She should be there with Mills,” Eric added, waving his arm vaguely to his right.

  From Mina’s Blog

  Lorna Dillon left the house early this morning—a strange act that took me by surprise. What did she have to do at that hour on a Sunday morning? I’d been keeping an eye on her for a while now, at least whenever I had a chance.

  But now that I’ve finished the job with the other three, Garnish is all I’ve got left to do.

  I know that I should have been more patient. Over the past few months I’ve only been able to see him a few times, even figuring out where he lives, but he never stayed in one place for very long.

  I’d lost him again around a week earlier, but I wasn’t worried. One way or another, Lorna would lead me to him. I was certain that Christopher was nervous about the deaths of his ex-accomplices. Who knew how he’d reacted to Ridley’s death? Maybe he’d become a little less careful than before.

  I followed Lorna all the way to the New Arts Gallery, going into the café across the street for a coffee. Sitting by the window, I pretended to be focused on my computer, when in reality I was keeping a close watch on the gallery. With the help of a little video camera hooked up to my PC, I was able to enlarge the image of the gallery and the exhibition room behind the window. Every once in a while a woman appeared in the frame, walking back and forth as if she were waiting for something.

  I sat there awhile before I saw a man go in and talk to her briefly. Then he left. Lorna disappeared deeper int
o the gallery again and didn’t reappear for at least a couple of hours. When she finally reappeared, she was holding her jacket and purse. She left and locked the door behind her, walking down the street.

  I picked my stuff up right away and started following her.

  It was pretty warm outside today. Evidently summer has arrived. I walked along with a map of the city in one hand and a camera in the other, blending in to look like a tourist. I kept my hair up beneath my baseball cap and wore a pair of dark sunglasses.

  While I was walking, I pretended to follow a route on the map. Roughly twenty minutes later I found myself crossing Admiralty Arch and heading down the Mall toward Buckingham Palace. There were crowds all around me, people walking up and down along the tree-lined street on their way to or from the royal palace for the famous changing of the guards.

  I had to speed up the pace. If I lost sight of her, I’d never find her again in those crowds. I could sense that she’d come here for a precise reason, and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with tourism.

  Near the Victoria Memorial, the crowds turned into an ordered mass lined behind the barriers set up for the ceremony. Police officers were standing around directing human traffic, preventing people from stopping for too long outside the palace gates.

  Lorna stopped near the monument at the center of the roundabout. She looked around impatiently. I was roughly a dozen yards away from her, blending in with a group of Spanish boys, my eyes focused on her at every moment.

  Then I saw him.

  It was the first time I’d had a chance to see him clearly in the light of day. He wasn’t much different from the man who had stood in my living room twenty years ago. He wasn’t a young man anymore, but wasn’t old like the other three either. I guessed he was a little over forty now. He was well dressed in a suit and tie, looking like any other businessman.

  He came up to Lorna from behind, and as soon as she recognized him she gave him a giant hug. They seemed like a normal couple out for a Sunday-morning stroll, aside from the fact that, judging from their expressions, they weren’t particularly happy at all. After the hug, the woman seemed upset and kept talking and making violent, brusque hand gestures. He listened to her without saying anything, keeping his eyes focused ahead and rarely turning to look at her. At a certain point his mouth moved and he said something. She nodded. Then Christopher turned around and started walking on alone in my direction.

  I was forced to backpedal and hide in the crowd. He passed by me, barely two yards away, before crossing the street, then went into Green Park. I wanted to follow him, but the park was a lot less crowded, and I was afraid he might notice me. So I continued along the sidewalk running up Constitution Hill, keeping an eye on him from a distance while he walked along a park path. If he’d decided to cut through the park, I would’ve had to go in and follow him, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. But I was lucky. When he reached the end of the park, he went back out on the road and headed for the entrance to the Hyde Park Corner tube station.

  I went down the stairs, keeping my distance but careful not to lose track of him in that maze of underground corridors. I tried to walk close to other people so that I wouldn’t look like I was alone.

  When he reached the platform to take the northbound train, I stood at the opposite end. When the train came into the station, I waited until he’d gotten on board before doing the same, entering through the door at the far end of his car.

  As I was getting aboard, a man passed by me in a rush, squeezing in and standing right in front of me. I had to lean to one side so that I could see Garnish’s back. I didn’t know where he was going, and I had to be careful if I wanted to see where he got off.

  We crossed most of the city. People got on and off, except for the man standing in front of me, who was now the perfect shield. And except for me.

  Finally we reached Arsenal station. Garnish moved to the door just as the train was slowing down. In that same moment, my shield turned and got ready to get off too. That’s the first time I was able to see the shield’s face: Mills. He didn’t notice me at all, too busy watching elsewhere.

  When Mills got off the train and started trailing Garnish, I realized he wasn’t there by chance. For a moment I felt panic take over. If the police got to him now, it was all over. It was too early. I had to make sure that didn’t happen.

  I sped up so that I was just behind the policeman, who was pushing past people in a way that was anything but discreet. What an idiot. Garnish would see him.

  People were slowing down at the staircase that led up to the street. A group of elderly ladies were walking slowly up the steps. I took advantage of them in order to move past Mills. Then I slipped in close to one of the ladies and gave her a little shove, just enough to make her lose her balance. The policeman grabbed her out of instinct, and a little crowd formed around them almost immediately. I barely maneuvered out, then threaded my way up the stairs in a hurry. All this happened behind Garnish, so he hadn’t seen a thing and was continuing on his way. I stayed behind him, this time alone.

  The neighborhood was practically deserted. I was afraid he might turn around and see me at any moment, so I decided to crouch behind cars as I followed. When he turned onto a street lined with houses, I waited at the corner. It was a long street with very few cross streets. He must be close to his destination, I thought. And in fact, a little while later he opened a little gate and walked up to a red and white house with a small courtyard out front. He opened the door with a key and disappeared inside.

  Carefully I moved closer, keeping an eye on the windows. There was plenty of sunlight, and he would be able to see me from inside the house. A blue car was parked outside. It was his—I was sure of it. I’d already seen it several times before during the previous months. It was the only thing aside from his various commercial activities that was actually held in his name. The license plate checked out.

  I wanted to wait until he left to go into the house, but who knew? Maybe he was about to abandon it altogether.

  There was only one logical thing to do.

  I moved to the car from the sidewalk, hiding behind it. I crouched down, removed my backpack, and took out a slim jim.

  A guy like Garnish doesn’t bother with alarms. He knows they’re perfectly useless. If someone wants to steal a car, they’ll do it, alarms or not. But then Garnish’s car—an old, rundown Volkswagen—wasn’t particularly attractive to thieves. It was part of his tendency to keep a low profile at all times.

  It was easy to break the lock. I placed the slim jim back in the bag and put on a pair of latex gloves. I opened the door just enough to sneak in, slithering my way inside on the driver’s side. Even though the car was old, the interior seemed new. The dashboard was clean, and there was no trash or clutter lying on the floor. Staying low, I reached up to the glove compartment. What I found when I opened it proved a pleasant surprise.

  I’d guessed that he might keep a weapon in the car, but the fact that he had that particular model of nine-millimeter was a wonderful and lucky surprise. At first I’d thought I would have to hide my weapon underneath a car seat and hope he wouldn’t notice it, but my discovery permitted me to use a different approach.

  I took my pistol out of my backpack and exchanged it for the one he had in his glove compartment. He’d never realize the difference.

  After taking a quick peek outside, I moved into the backseat. I lowered the seats so that I could get into the trunk, where I left another little present.

  I indulged my own sense of triumph for a few moments. I knew I was close to completing my vendetta and that afterward I would finally be free.

  What would I do then? I would no longer have a specific objective for my actions. Maybe I’d feel lost. I grew up in hatred, and I’m not sure I can live without it.

  But no, I don’t want to think about that right now.

  When I raised my head
a little, I noticed a man a bit off, standing still behind the car. I dropped back down instantly, my heart racing out of control. He was moving slowly along the sidewalk. I couldn’t see who it was, but in any case I could no longer slip out of the car and walk away.

  There was the sound of an engine outside, then the squeal of brakes. A car pulled backward in reverse and came to a stop right alongside Garnish’s vehicle. The man on the sidewalk crossed the narrow street and went over to the car that had just pulled up. I heard voices. Mills. He was talking with the driver. I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  I took a chance and raised my head up so that I could see the other person. Eric! He was driving the car!

  Suddenly I found it hard to breathe. Garnish might walk out that door any minute now, or the two outside Garnish’s car might realize I was here. Or worse yet, both things might happen! Everything would be over just like that.

  But for some reason, the intense fear I felt also made me incredibly excited. In that moment, I felt more alive than I’d ever felt in my life. For several years now, danger had been like a drug for me. For a fraction of a second I even contemplated getting out of the car as if it were nothing and simply walking away. I knew I could do it. It seemed like a wonderful idea, really.

  Then Mills walked around Eric’s car and got into the passenger seat, and the car drove away.

  I watched them as they took off. I was almost disappointed, like a little girl after her favorite doll gets taken away. Then I gathered up my things, took one last look at the house, got out of the car, then walked away in the direction from which I’d come.

  CHAPTER 13

  The apartment had been searched from top to bottom. Things were lying here and there. The drawers had been emptied. The shattered pieces of a few porcelain knickknacks knocked off one of the shelves, now tilted into a table, lay scattered across the floor. A man’s legs stuck out from underneath the table.