Whispers of the Dead (Tom Gabriel #2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘What will you call him if it’s a boy?’

  ‘Juan, and if it’s a girl – Maria.’

  ‘They’re lovely names. Did he tell you what he did?’

  ‘No. He said it was better that I never knew what he did, or where he went. He wanted to keep me and the baby separate from his work. On that last night, he said that he was trying to make a better life for us, but he never came home again.’

  ‘He never mentioned the people he worked for or with?’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t ever talk about his work.’

  ‘Did you ever see any of the people he worked with?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Did anyone ever come here and pick him up?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he leave anything here with you?’

  ‘No. Wait . . . there might be something. ’

  Tom could see that Rae was making progress and left her to it.

  Julia stood up, and Rae followed her out.

  They came back after a few minutes.

  Rae was carrying a thin A5 hard-covered notebook and she nodded at Tom. ‘I’ll make sure you get this back,’ she said to Julia.

  ‘What for? I don’t want it.’

  Tom spoke for the first time. ‘If that notebook contains what I think it does, then someone was planning to pay a lot of money for it. If that does prove to be the case, I’ll make sure they pay the money to you.’

  ‘That would help. It’s what Samuel was trying to do, wasn’t it – make a better life for me and the baby?’

  He nodded. ‘I believe so.’

  They made their way out of the apartment block.

  Ronnie was still waiting for them.

  ‘Thanks a lot, Ronnie,’ Tom said.

  ‘You’re welcome, Mister.’

  Before they could start walking back, a black SUV with smoked windows pulled up beside them.

  The passenger window came down and Agent Marita Hansen said, ‘Get in the back, Mr Gabriel.’

  He smiled. ‘Hello, Agent Hansen. All of us?’

  ‘Not the boy.’

  Rae said to Ronnie, ‘Thanks for letting me know about the woman, and I’ll bring you the knife as soon as I can.’

  ‘You gonna be all right?’

  ‘Yes. These people are the FBI. We’ll be fine.’

  They watched Ronnie disappear.

  ‘Have you been following us, Agent Hansen?’

  ‘It wasn’t hard.’

  Aftermath

  Special Agent Nelson Brock held his hand out towards Rae. ‘I’ll take that, Miss Raeburn.’

  They were in the wine cellar at the Cadiz Winery.

  She pressed it to her stomach and flinched. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘We have people who will find the microcode in the writing, and then decrypt what it says.’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘We’re the FBI, we know everything.’

  ‘And yet . . . I’m the one with the microcode.’

  ‘Give him the book,’ Tom said to her. ‘Even if we find out what the microcode says, what are we going to do with it?’

  ‘We could . . .’

  ‘More children are being taken as you’re standing here arguing about a stupid book.’

  She handed Brock the notebook, and he passed it to a tall man with thick curly black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Were you going to pay Samuel Kopec for that information?’ Tom asked Brock.

  ‘It depends whether it’s the information we were looking for.’

  ‘He was risking everything to make a better life for his girlfriend and their child – can you give her the money?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Can we go now?’ Rae said.

  The corner of Brock’s mouth creased upwards. ‘Go where? I’m not an expert in these matters, but I have the feeling that there are people out there who want to kill you.’

  Rae looked at Tom, who shrugged.

  ‘How long will it take you to extract the information from the notebook?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I’m sure there are mathematical formulas that could be used to calculate a figure, Mr Gabriel, but I have better things to do with my time than work it out.’

  ‘So, we just wait.’

  ‘Seems like a plan to me.’

  ***

  Monday, October 15

  It was three in the morning when Special Agent Nelson Brock had the information he needed. Decrypting the microcode relied on possession of the Rubaiyat. As long as they had that – decryption wasn’t difficult.

  Including Maurice Stern, Jim Brodie, Ronald Dixon and Herbert Gerhart, there were eleven names revealed in the microcode. The other seven were: Adam Kapernick, Julius Morton, Mathew Buzaglio, Denard Rocca, Robert Standback, Denis Pryke and Keith Brogan. Kapernick was high up in the stock exchange; Pryke was the head of an international pharmaceutical company; Brogan was a deputy police chief. All the others were pillars of their communities.

  There was frenzied activity.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Rae asked.

  ‘We need to take them all at the same time. It will be no good taking them into custody one at a time. Evidence would be destroyed, some of them would go underground, they would make contingency plans, hide behind a wall of lawyers and so forth. We have to make sure we do this right first time round, because we’ll get no second chance.’

  ‘What about Rosalind Winter?’ Tom asked.

  ‘We’ll offer her a deal. She’ll co-operate to save herself.’

  ‘Talking about self-preservation,’ Rae said. ‘What about us?’

  ‘You receive the gratitude of the FBI for your invaluable assistance, and can return home and get on with your lives. The Broken Circle will be too busy trying to save themselves without thinking about killing you two.’

  ‘And the story?’

  ‘Ah yes – the story. You are after-all an investigative journalist, aren’t you, Miss Raeburn?’

  She smiled. ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘You can print the story, but no names, place names or specific details – keep it general.’

  ‘Will you be able to find the children?’ Tom said. ‘That is, after all, why I began all of this.’

  ‘The one thing about a global business, Tom, is that records need to be kept. Rosalind Winter will have records, and there will be more records in other places. It will take a long time to unravel everything and put the pieces back together again, but I’m in this for the long haul. You see, my eight year-old son was taken three years ago. I’m not going to stop until I find him, and make every one of these sick bastards pay. Yes, we’ll find the children – I promise you.’

  While the FBI agents were busy coordinating the arrest of all those involved, not just in America, but all over the world, Tom and Rae found a dark corner to get some sleep in.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Rae said.

  ‘Seems to be.’

  ‘I’ll write a story that will give parents some hope that they might one day see their children again.’

  ‘That would be good.’

  Sally Stackhouse appeared.

  ‘Hello, Mister.’

  ‘Hello, Sally.’

  ‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  ‘They said I have to.’

  ‘Because we’ll find the children?’

  ‘Yeah. Of course, some of them are here with me, but most of them will be found.’

  ‘We did our best, and that’s all anybody could ask of us.’

  ‘Still, I would liked to have stayed around for a bit longer, but they said I’d just get into trouble, and I guess they’re right.’

  ‘You’ll get into trouble wherever you are, Sally.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Thanks for helping.’

  ‘Have a good life, Mister.’

  ‘Goodbye, Sally.’

  And she was gone.

  ‘Has Sally
gone?’ Rae said.

  ‘Yes. Those children that can be found, will be. There was no reason for her to stay.’

  ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘Of course. Cassie wouldn’t let anything happen to Sally Stackhouse.’

  ‘What about us? What’s going to happen to us?’

  ‘We’re going to go to sleep.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I know.’

  ***

  At nine o’clock he rang Mary Lou and told her to forget about carrying out any research on Alpine Dry Cleaning, Maurice Stern or Tony Dreyfus.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘The case is closed.’

  ‘That’s probably a good job, because you have four other clients who want to employ you. Do you want to know what they’re about now?’

  ‘No, I’ll come in later. We’ll discuss them then.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Next, he rang Laura.

  ‘Are you psychic as well?’ she asked.

  ‘I have many talents.’

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone with my art friend.’

  ‘I called to say don’t bother – the case is being resolved as we speak.’

  ‘You don’t want to know who bought the loupe then?’

  ‘Let me guess – Maurice Stern?’

  ‘Your psychic powers have deserted you.’

  He guessed it would be one of the other men in The Broken Circle. ‘Surprise me?’

  ‘Max Lindros.’

  ‘You have surprised me – that’s not a name I know.’

  ‘Are we done?’

  ‘We’re done. Thanks for all your help, Laura.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  He found Brock. ‘Ever heard of Max Lindros?’

  ‘The federal judge. He’s issuing all our arrest and search warrants.’

  ‘He’s one of them.’

  ‘No – we have eleven names.’

  ‘He’s one of them. He bought the magnifying glass that Rae found inside the slippers that Samuel Kopec had in his suitcase – He’s one of them.’

  Brock’s face drained of blood. ‘Shit!’ He hurried off to stop a disaster happening.

  Thirty minutes later Brock returned. ‘Just in time. Another five minutes and he’d have warned the others.’

  ‘I thought you said there was eleven,’ Tom said.

  ‘They must have increased the membership to twelve.’

  ‘Maybe thirteen, fourteen . . . twenty,’ Rae suggested. ‘What about one in each State?’

  Brock half-smiled. ‘That’s not funny.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be.’

  ‘Remember, there’s still a hell of a lot we don’t know about their organisation, but we’ll find out. Now that we have the members of The Broken Circle, it’ll only be a matter of time before we know everything there is to know about them.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, Brock,’ Tom said.

  ***

  It wasn’t until twelve o’clock that the FBI drove them to the multi-storey car park on East San Carlos Avenue to collect the wreck of his Nitro.

  ‘Do you want me to come up with you?’ he said, when they reached Rae’s apartment.

  ‘Are you going to hold my hand for the rest of my life?’

  ‘I was thinking more of helping you to sort the place out.’

  ‘Oh! No, I’ll see you soon. And don’t forget you have that computer course at the Flagler Community Centre between two and six.’

  ‘I can’t . . .’

  ‘After I went out of my way to arrange a place on the course for you – you’d better go.’

  ‘I suppose I could . . .’

  ‘I’ll call you later and you can give me a full report of how it went.’

  After telling Mary Lou he wouldn’t be in today, he phoned Barbara Harrison and said he’d come round later to explain what appeared to have happened to her husband. Then, he drove back to the hotel, grabbed a shower, three coffees, a change of clothes and made it to the Community Centre just in time.

  ‘That’ll be fifty dollars, Mr Gabriel,’ Gwenda Fox said with her hand outstretched.

  Tom’s face creased up like a rotting avocado. ‘Fifty bucks! I hope it’s going to be worth it.’

  ‘I’m sure that if you embrace the idea of all this new technology, you’ll get as much out of it as you want to.’

  ‘A coffee, please.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Coffee’s very bad for you. We have Darjeeling or Earl’s Grey tea.’

  ‘I don’t like tea.’

  ‘I see, you’re one of those people.’

  ‘One of what people?’

  ‘The type who are determined to be the sour face at every party they go to. People have come here to enjoy themselves and to learn what technology can offer them. I suggest you sit down, Mr Gabriel and embrace the moment.’

  He didn’t like the biscuits they were offering either.

  ‘Sit over there,’ Gwenda Fox said. ‘Mrs MacDowell will look after you.’

  She guided him to a circular table with four more women on it. ‘Mrs MacDowell, can you look after Mr Gabriel, he seems to think he’s not going to have a good time.’

  ‘Leave him to me, Gwenda dear, we’ll make sure he enjoys himself.’ She grabbed Tom’s arm. ‘Come and sit down . . . ?’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Come and sit down next to me, Tom.’ She patted the seat of a chair.

  He sat down. ‘I don’t think . . .’

  ‘You don’t need to think, Tom. Let me introduce you to the ladies in your harem. That young lady with the white hair, glasses and nice smile is Ann McLarty; the one over there who looks like Lauren Bacall is Bea Wright; then there’s Beanie Durstan with the beanie on because she’s having chemotherapy; and last but not least is Lauren Appleby with the ridiculously long earrings, the tattoo and the ring in her nose – don’t ask.’

  ‘Good afternoon ladies, I’m Thomas Gabriel.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a young black woman in front of a projection screen said. ‘My name is Kelly Veater and I’m here to bring you into the twenty-first century.’

  ***

  ‘Well?’ Rae asked.

  He was sitting on the sofa reading Caribbean Fire by Rick Murcer when his mobile jangled. He’d visited Barbara Harrison on his way back to the hotel and told her what her husband had been up to and that he was now probably dead. He had arranged check-ups for later in the month at the doctors and with Mr Rosen at the dentist, and he was taking Mona out for meal to Los Rancheros in the old town next Tuesday night – his life was back on track.

  ‘I have five proposals of marriage.’

  ‘That’s not why you went there.’

  ‘When you’re as good looking as I am these things happen.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘So, did you learn anything?’

  ‘Oh yes! I learned to stay clear of the Flagler Community Centre.’

  ‘About technology?’

  ‘A bit. I might buy a tablet.’

  ‘Be still my beating heart.’

  ‘Anyway, enough about my troubles. What about you?’

  ‘I called in a locksmith and had deadbolts put in.’

  ‘Is Franchetti paying?’

  ‘Damned right.’

  ‘What about the mess?’

  ‘Not so much of a mess now.’

  ‘Did you find your tablet or cell?’

  ‘No. I’ve had to cancel everything, set up new accounts and generally erase my online footprint. I also emailed Lillian Taylor and thanked her for her help. I paid her by electronic transfer, but you now need to pay me two thousand dollars.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I think we’ll have sit down and discuss how much was down to me, and how much was down to you. Mr Franchetti needs to get his hand in his pocket.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll meet tomorrow for lunch. Twelve-thirty at the Black Molly Grill
again.’

  ‘I’ll check my appointment schedule.’

  ‘Right, I’ve got to go, ciao.’

  ‘Ciao! I wish you’d stop speaking in a foreign language . . .’ but she had already gone.

  ***

  Tuesday October 16

  Mary Lou had transformed the office. There were desks, chairs, whiteboards, pin boards, filing cabinets, a coffee percolator, a fridge . . .

  ‘This is brilliant.’

  ‘I agree,’ Mary Lou said. ‘Also, we’re on the internet, I’ve paid the licence fees to access public records, criminal histories, licence plates and so forth. You want to know anything, you ask me.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary Lou, would be a good start.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary Lou.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘So, who are these four clients you’ve got for me?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘Six?

  The phone rang.

  ‘Tom Gabriel Investigations,’ Mary Lou said. ‘Just one moment, Sir.

  She held out the phone. ‘Giuseppe Montelbano.’

  He pulled a face, but took the phone anyway.

  ‘Tom Gabriel.’

  ‘It’s Giuseppe, Mister Gabriel.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘From Staten Island – the hot dog stand.’

  ‘Oh yes. What can I do for you, Giuseppe?’

  ‘Remember Horty?’

  ‘I remember her . . . and Hank.’

  ‘Hank’s here with me now, but Horty’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Giuseppe.’

  ‘She was murdered.’

  ‘Who would . . . ?’

  ‘The police don’t have a clue. Between you and me they’re not interested in finding her killer.’

  ‘I don’t see what you expect . . .’

  ‘She helped you when you needed it, Mr Gabriel. Now, she needs your help.’

  ‘You’re right, Giuseppe. Give me your number.’ He wrote it down on a pad that Mary Lou pushed in front of him. ‘I’m on my way.’

  He phoned Detective Gerry McCullough at the 122nd Precinct.