Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  “All right. Be careful, Gavin.”

  “I’m always careful.” Nim snorted in his ear and hung up.

  The apartment was huge, at least two thousand square feet. The short entrance hall led into the main living area, all polished hardwood floors and brass trim. The place was fully furnished but lifeless, with none of the knickknacks and personal touches that would have marked it as someone’s home. Pendragon had apartments like this in all of the major cities around the world for its executives and special operatives, but he would have been just as happy in a good hotel. At least there he wouldn’t be as concerned about accidentally breaking something expensive.

  The dining room showed signs of recent use, namely a folded newspaper and a plain mug half full of cold coffee. The kitchen itself was spotless, other than the pot of coffee on the counter, enough for two more cups. Hawk considered the mug with a scowl and then looked inside the dishwasher. A number of dishes and utensils were stacked neatly in the racks, waiting for someone to start the cycle. Why is that cup still sitting out? he wondered. Did Lucas leave in a hurry?

  He continued on through the archway leading to the master bedroom. It had a king-size bed, two side tables with lamps, a tall dresser, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The closet was large enough to pitch a tent in and a small collection of shirts and pants, presumably Lucas’s, hung on the rail. A quick search through the dresser revealed his underwear and socks. There wasn’t enough clothing in the drawers to hide anything, even if Lucas was careless enough to try, but Hawk looked through everything anyway.

  The master bath boasted a double vanity, a glassed-in shower, and a full tub large enough to hold a pool party. Lucas’s toiletries were nearly arranged on the counter and a look through the cabinets and drawers revealed nothing interesting.

  Hawk went through the rest of the apartment, including two more bedrooms with a shared bath, a small laundry room, two storage closets, and an exercise room with a treadmill and a stationary bike. Other than Lucas’s belongings and the meager groceries in the fridge and pantry, there was almost no sign that anyone was staying there and absolutely nothing that even hinted at the Quest.

  He went through the apartment again, slower this time, searching under every cushion and behind every drawer, even sticking his head into the fireplace and looking up the flue. By the time he convinced himself that there wasn’t anything to find, he was tired, sore, and filthy.

  He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and dried them with a dish towel as he scowled through the bay windows at the huge park spreading out below, sparkling white under the afternoon sun and dotted with people hurrying along the criss-crossing pathways. He upped his estimate of the apartment’s cost to two million.

  He draped the towel around the faucet and leaned back against the counter with a frustrated sigh. The only thing out of order in the entire apartment was the coffee mug and he couldn’t imagine how it could have anything to do with the Quest. He picked it up anyway, peering under its base and then tilting it to see if there was anything submerged in the dregs. He carefully poured it out in the sink, but there was nothing in the liquid or inside the cup. He set it down in the sink and looked around again, trying to decide what to do. The apartment seemed to be a dead end.

  His gaze fell on the newspaper and his eyes narrowed. It was folded backwards, exposing one of the inner pages, which meant that Lucas had probably been reading it just before he left. Hawk picked it up and something flat and heavy slid out from between the pages, clattering on the table and nearly tumbling onto the floor before he caught it. It was a large tablet, the kind Pendragon issued to key employees for secure access to corporate data, complete with the ubiquitous pass key slot on the top.

  He tapped the screen and the Pendragon logo appeared, along with a prompt for a six-digit code. He didn’t try to guess what it might be. Three wrong attempts and the tablet would lock up permanently and delete all its data. He dug out his phone and called Nim. She answered immediately.

  “Did you find anything?” she asked.

  “I found his tablet. He had it stuck inside a newspaper for some reason. Is there any way to unlock it?”

  “Yes, but it’ll require some specialized equipment.”

  “Do I need to come back to New York?” He hoped not. It was a long drive and he didn’t want to leave Boston without Lucas.

  “No, the local office will have what you need. Head over there and I’ll let them know you’re on the way. You think he kept his notes on his tablet?”

  “I sure hope so, because there’s nothing else here. If he had them with him last night –”

  “Then they’re long gone,” Nim sighed. “Unless –”

  “What?”

  “Did you look through his belongings at the hospital? If Savard – or whoever it was – was interrupted, perhaps they were still in Lucas’s pockets when he was brought in.”

  “Oh, er, no, I didn’t think to ask. I just assumed ... I’ll head back over there now.”

  “No, the tablet is more important. I’ll have the guard we sent ask about his personal effects when he gets there.”

  “All right,” Hawk grumbled, masking his embarrassment. Forgetting something like that was a rookie mistake and he was supposed to be a senior operative. “I’ll get a change of clothes for him and drop them off when I’m done with the tablet. I don’t imagine the clothes he was wearing are in good shape.”

  “Good idea. Thank you, Gavin. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

  “Yes, well, he’d do the same for me. I’ll let you know if we find anything on the tablet.”

  “All right. Good luck.” She hung up before he could complain about her choice of words.

  “I don’t need luck,” he muttered to himself, heading back into the master bedroom. “I need answers.”

  6

  Trisha hurried along the sidewalk, keeping her head down to watch for any patches of ice. The wind had thankfully died down but her scrubs didn’t do much to protect her legs from the cold air. She was already thinking about everything she needed to do as soon as she got back to the hospital and she wondered if she should have just grabbed lunch in the cafeteria. She was so focused on reaching her destination as quickly as possible she didn’t notice the vehicle pacing her until someone called her name.

  “Miss Macmillan!”

  She stopped in surprise and stared at the dark green Range Rover right beside her. She didn’t recognize it, but the passenger window was down and Detective Lionel leaned towards her from the driver’s seat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating half smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Trisha assured him. “I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone I knew out here.” She waved vaguely around her. The sidewalk was all but deserted and there were only a handful of cars on the street. “Were you looking for me?” she asked doubtfully. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “Not directly,” Lionel said. “I was heading back to the hospital to see how our patient was doing and I happened to see you passing. I don’t mean to hold you up if you need to be somewhere.”

  “No, it’s okay, I’m just getting lunch.” Lionel made a show of looking at his watch. It was already past two o’clock. “We got busy and I didn’t have a chance to eat anything earlier. Naomi – the head shift nurse – sort of pushed me out the door,” she added ruefully.

  “Well, good for her. Come on, hop in.” The passenger door lock clacked. “I know a good Italian place.”

  Trisha hesitated. “I don’t have much time,” she hedged. “I was just going down to a sandwich place.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad to give you a lift and take you back when you’re done.” He shook his head with a sigh at her uncertain expression. “I just want to ask you how our patient is doing. We could talk right here but you’d probably freeze to death.” Trisha had her arms wrapped around her despite her winter coat and scarf. The waft of warm air t
hrough the window was very tempting.

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “It’s just down the block.” She opened the door and pulled herself up and in. She couldn’t help but sigh as she closed the door and leaned back in the passenger seat. It was wrapped in hand-sewn leather and had a built-in seat warmer. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “This feels so good.”

  Lionel chuckled as he put the Range Rover in gear. The passenger window hummed up quietly, shutting out the cold and the street noise. The radio was turned down low, playing some classical concerto. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said with a smile. “You’re going to have to get out again in a minute.”

  “Is this what police detectives drive these days?” she wondered, running her hands along the burlwood dash. “I’m in the wrong line of work.”

  “You’re exactly where you need to be, Miss Macmillan.” If that was supposed to be a compliment, it was a strangely worded one. The grimace on Lionel’s face suggested he hadn’t meant it to come out that way. “Sorry, that sounded a lot better inside my head. What I meant to say is that from what I saw this morning, you’re an excellent nurse.”

  “Thank you.” Trisha couldn’t meet his eyes. She wasn’t used to compliments from strangers.

  “So where are we going, exactly?”

  “It’s called Carver’s. Go past the light and it’s on the right. It’s just a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop but it’s good, fast, and cheap.”

  “I’m intrigued. Usually you only get two out of the three.” The light turned red and he stopped smoothly. “So what made you decide to become a nurse?” he continued.

  “I wanted to help people and I couldn’t afford medical school.” His eyebrows lifted questioningly and she shrugged apologetically. “Mom was a nurse so I just picked it up from her, I guess.”

  “Was? She’s retired?”

  “Yes. She quit when I was born. She and Dad live back home in Virginia.”

  “Is your father in the medical profession as well?”

  “No, he was a radar technician for the Air Force. He met Mom in Edinburgh when he was stationed over there at the USAFE base in Suffolk.”

  Lionel frowned. “Suffolk is a long ways from Edinburgh.”

  “According to Dad, he was on leave visiting some distant cousins in the highlands and they happened to end up in the same pub at the same time. They stayed in touch afterwards and one thing led to another.” A horn blared behind them and Trisha pointed at the green light. “I think it’s our turn now.”

  “Ah, I always wondered what those lights meant.” Trisha smiled at his dry humor. Apparently Lionel didn’t take himself too seriously. “Don’t you drive,” he asked, “or are you just a fan of brisk weather?”

  “I have a car,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “It’s just hard to find parking around here and the bus stop is just a couple of blocks from my house.”

  “Is this it?” Carver’s was a small shop wedged in between a sushi place and a dry cleaners. They were well past the lunch rush, so Lionel had no trouble parking right in front. Trisha braced herself for the influx of cold air as soon as she opened her door and she jumped out and hurried to the glass door. Lionel followed at a more leisurely place but he still wore his suit and overcoat so he was well-protected from the elements.

  “Quaint,” he observed as he followed Trisha inside. The place was small, with a long row of small tables on one side and the glass-fronted counter on the other. The decor was minimal, mostly posters advertising products and services from the fifties.

  “The food’s the important part, not the interior design. Hi, Tony!” she called to the portly man with a white apron and a paper hat balanced on his bald held. “The usual, please.” Tony nodded solemnly and reached for a long loaf of wheat bread. “How about you?”

  Lionel studied the hand-written menu on the wall behind Tony, looking a bit overwhelmed by the array of choices. “I’m still in the mood for Italian, so the Italian hoagie, I suppose.” Tony nodded again but his attention was focused on assembling Trisha’s tuna melt.

  “Do you want chips or anything?” Trisha indicated a sampling of small bags clipped to a rack by the cash register but Lionel shook his head. “How about a drink? They’ve got soda, juice, coffee, tea, um, water ...”

  “Coffee will be fine. Cold drinks in the winter seems counter-productive.”

  Trisha smiled at that and grabbed two nondescript mugs from the stack by the coffee machine, handing one to Lionel and filling the other one nearly to the brim. She doctored it with a dollop of cream and a lot of sugar, testing it carefully as Lionel prepared his own. It looked nearly white to her by the time he was done but it didn’t have any sugar at all. He smiled at her dubious look.

  “To each his own. Or hers.” They moved to one of the tables and sat across from one another, sipping their coffee quietly while Tony worked his culinary magic behind the counter.

  “That’s an unusual ring you have there,” Lionel observed, finally breaking the silence. “Is it an antique?”

  Trisha held up her right hand to inspect the silver cuff wrapped around the first knuckle of her index finger. It was just a silver band with a thin line of Celtic knotwork around the edges and a polished oval of greyish-brown crystal mounted in the center. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “I bought it from one of the street vendors on St. James Avenue last year.”

  “You should have it appraised, just in case. May I?” He held out his hand expectantly and she reluctantly removed it and gave it to him. He held it up in the light, squinting at the inside of the band, and hefted it thoughtfully in his palm before returning it. “There’s no maker’s mark but it’s heavy enough to be real silver. It might be worth quite a bit.”

  “So you’re a jewelry expert on this side?” she teased, slipping the ring back on her finger.

  “It comes in handy in burglary cases.” A bell dinged on the counter and Tony set a small tray with two plastic baskets by the register. Trisha made to get up but Lionel waved her back. “I’ll get it.”

  He paid cash for the two sandwiches and two cups of coffee, leaving a generous tip in the small glass jar. He slid the baskets onto the table and set the tray aside.

  “You didn’t have to pay for mine,” Trisha protested. “I may ride the bus but I’m not destitute.”

  “My treat. Bon appetit.” He picked up his hoagie and eyed it, no doubt wondering how it was going to fit in his mouth. Tony was generous with the deli meats and fixings. He took a careful bite, chewing thoughtfully, and then nodded his approval. Trisha smiled, thankful he liked it, and started on her own lunch.

  They ate in amiable silence and Trisha took the opportunity to wonder why a police detective in the middle of a case would be sitting in a deli eating a sandwich instead of searching for clues. It wasn’t like she was a key witness or anything. All she did was treat the victim and she’d already told him everything she knew. Except for one thing, she suddenly realized. She swallowed her mouthful quickly.

  “About John Doe,” she said.

  “Yes?” Lionel lifted an eyebrow as he studied his hoagie. He’d only gotten halfway through it and Trisha was nearly done with hers.

  “His real name is Lucas Butler.”

  Lionel froze in the middle of taking another bite. He blinked at her and then carefully laid his sandwich back in its basket. “How do you know that?”

  “A friend of his came in and identified him.” Trisha thought he’d be excited about the news, which had to be a major breakthrough in his case. Instead, he slowly brushed his fingertips along his jawline, looking worried.

  “His friend,” he said carefully. “Did he give his name?”

  “Yes, it was Hawk. Gavin Hawk.” Lionel went very still and Trisha couldn’t read the emotion behind his gray eyes. Is that fear, she wondered uneasily, or anger? “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Lionel made a visible effort to compose himself. “Yes, I’m fine, just surprised. Was Butler awake? Did he and Hawk talk a
t all?”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Butler was still unconscious when we moved him up to the trauma center a couple of hours ago. You’ll have to ask the duty nurses upstairs about his status.”

  “I will, thank you.” He looked at his half-finished sandwich and then at the remains of hers. He took a breath as if he was about to say something and then he subsided into silence, toying with the handle of his coffee mug.

  “You can go if you need to,” Trisha offered. “I’ll just walk back.” She nodded at the hoagie. “Tony can wrap that up for you if you want.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be glad to give you a lift back whenever you’re done. I happen to be heading in that direction anyway.” His smile was more like his old self.

  “I’m done.” She briefly considered taking the rest of her sandwich to go – she hated wasting food – but leftover tuna salad was worse than leftover pizza. She stood and collected the baskets, carefully dumping their contents into the trash and setting them back on the table for Tony to clear away later. “Are you ready?”

  “After you.” Lionel rebuttoned his overcoat as Trisha wrapped her scarf around her neck and braced herself for a rush of frigid air as she reached for the door.

  “Thanks, Tony!” she called over her shoulder. The chef silently waved a wicked-looking knife and went back to slicing cucumbers as they stepped outside.

  The Range Rover’s heaters kicked in before they even left the parking lot and Trisha basked in their warmth as Lionel heading back towards the hospital. He didn’t say anything but his long fingers tapped on the steering wheel in an irregular rhythm.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked finally.

  Lionel looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Nothing. There’s no need to worry.”

  “Telling someone there’s no need to worry is the best way to worry them.” A faint smile quirked the corner of Lionel’s mouth but it vanished almost immediately. “It’s about Butler’s friend, isn’t it? You’ve been acting strange ever since I told you about him.” He shook his head but it looked more like an I don’t want to talk about it sort of response rather than No, you’re mistaken. “You know him, don’t you?” she persisted.