Mavro could clearly see where Tayte was going with this. ‘You mean the real Genie is that Frenchman, Michel Levant, don’t you?’
Tayte nodded. ‘I know it’s just a hunch, and I can’t prove anything right now, but yes, I believe it’s Levant.’
Reese sighed heavily, drawing Tayte’s attention. ‘We ran all the checks on Levant. We even had Interpol look into him. He’s as clean as they come—a law-abiding citizen who just happens to be in DC on business at this time. Do you have any proof to contradict that?’
Tayte didn’t need to think about it. He had nothing beyond a bunch of circumstances and his gut feeling about the man. ‘No, but he’s way too smart to be in any of your files, or Interpol’s for that matter.’
‘You’re a smart man. You’re in our files.’
Tayte could feel his shock turning to anger. ‘I’m in your files because I don’t have any reason not to be,’ he snapped. ‘Have you thought about that? Maybe Levant’s file is just a little too clean.’
Reese stood up and leaned in. ‘You’d do well to leave the direct investigation of these murders to us, Mr Tayte. If I were you I’d be far more concerned about saving the lives of your former clients. You need to stay focused. Can you do that? Because you’re no good to me otherwise.’
Tayte sighed through his nose. He nodded.
‘Good. When you’re feeling up to it, Mavro will take you back to the safe house. Stay there until Westlake calls you again. Once we have him, we’ll be in a better position to find out who may or may not be behind this.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Reese is dismissing Levant too easily,’ Tayte said as he and Mavro headed back to the safe house in the lunchtime traffic. He was cradling his briefcase in his arms, as though overjoyed to see it again, and to know that Westlake hadn’t set fire to it or otherwise destroyed it out of sheer spite as he’d left the disused car dealership.
Mavro didn’t seem to agree with him. ‘Until you’ve got something stronger than your gut feelings about the man, I don’t see what else Reese can do. I think he’s right about the need to focus on stopping Westlake.’
‘And I totally agree with that,’ Tayte said, ‘but rather than trying to catch Westlake, which so far we’ve been hopelessly unable to do, maybe there’s another way to stop him.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean it’s about time we stopped playing by the Genie’s rules. Westlake knows he’s never going to get caught in the act. He sets up his murders so he’s long gone by the time his victims actually die. We may be able to get the authorities to the scene early enough to save someone now and then, but I don’t think we’re going to catch him like this. If we keep playing this sick game his way, it’s just going to go on and on.’
‘So how do we bend the rules?’
‘Simple. We go after the man who’s really behind this. Stop the game maker and we stop the game.’
Mavro’s shoulders slumped. She heaved a sigh. ‘You’ve really got it in for this Frenchman, haven’t you?’
‘I’m right about this, Frankie. I know I am. Take a left up ahead onto 6th Street. I want to go to the National Archives Museum. Levant’s first event on genetic ancestry begins today.’
Mavro shook her head. ‘I think that’s a very bad idea. Reese told me to take you back to the safe house and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
‘Okay, take me to the safe house, but I’m going to see Levant. I’ll get a taxi.’
Mavro gave another sigh and kept driving. A moment later she said, ‘What are you planning to do when you see him?’
‘I’m just going to talk to him—ask him a few questions and maybe rattle his cage a little.’
Mavro raised her eyebrows. ‘Rattle his cage?’
‘Just a little.’
The turn-off Tayte had indicated was coming up fast.
‘Come on, Frankie, what harm can it do? I’d sooner have you with me.’
Mavro slapped the steering wheel with both hands. ‘Okay, but if something goes wrong and I lose my job over this, everything that’s going on here is going to seem like a stroll in the park by comparison.’
‘It’s just a conversation,’ Tayte said as Mavro made the turn on to 6th Street, heading for the National Archives Museum. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’
First opened in 1935, and informally referred to as Archives I, the original headquarters of the US National Archives and Records Administration in Washington, DC, was built in the Classical Revival style. It was home to many important records, from the reissued Magna Carta of 1297 to the formative documents of the United States of America: the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. As Tayte and Mavro climbed the stone steps, passing between tall Corinthian columns towards the Exhibits entrance near the corner of 9th Street and Constitution Avenue, Tayte could already feel his blood begin to boil in anticipation of coming face to face with Michel Levant again.
The Exhibits entrance was largely used by visitors with advance reservations, saving the need to queue at the General Public entrance. Mavro showed her badge to the attendant, and once inside the building, they headed across the polished marble floor of the Orientation Plaza towards the David M. Rubenstein Gallery. There were plenty of people around, although the well-lit area never seemed too crowded to Tayte, who had been there more times than he could recall.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Mavro asked as they arrived at the gallery entrance before a glowing amber wall panel that read ‘Records of Rights’.
Tayte smiled and led Mavro to their right. ‘Of course. Levant’s event will be in the William G. McGowan Theater. It’s on the lower level.’
They passed the myArchives shop on their left, heading for the elevators and stairwells that were located at either end of the building. They took the stairs down, and emerging on the lower level it was immediately apparent to Tayte that the event had either just finished or was breaking for lunch. Throngs of people were coming out from the walkway that led into the theatre. Most were heading away from them, towards the cafe.
‘Looks like we just missed his talk,’ Mavro said.
‘Yeah, that’s too bad,’ Tayte said, glad that he didn’t have to sit and listen to the man for an hour before he could get to speak with him. ‘He’s drawn quite a crowd.’
They fought their way through the people in the walkway until they came to the theatre, which was steeply tiered with close to three hundred red velour seats arranged in a subtle curve around the stage below. Tayte saw Levant right away. He was standing in front of the stage, wearing a shiny silver-grey suit and tie, surrounded by half a dozen people—no doubt revelling in their compliments.
‘Just take it easy,’ Mavro warned him, but Tayte was already marching down the steps ahead of her, bent on confronting Levant. All he could think about was the tormented expression on George Alexander’s face as he was electrocuted right in front of him, and how powerless he’d been to prevent it. As he reached the bottom of the steps and strode across the red and gold carpet towards the stage, he didn’t feel like taking it easy on this man he believed was ultimately responsible for the murders of so many people.
‘Levant!’
Every head turned towards Tayte as he called the Frenchman’s name. As soon as Levant saw him, Tayte thought he looked uneasy, as if trying too hard to hold on to his thin smile, which began to quiver more and more as Tayte approached.
‘Monsieur Tayte, what a pleasure to see—’
‘Cut the crap, Levant. It’s not a pleasure for either of us and you know it.’
Levant’s smile was suddenly gone. ‘What is it you want? As you can see, I’m very busy.’
‘I’ll bet you are. Tell me, has Adam Westlake been in touch yet to tell you how the latest murder went, or shall I fill you in?’
‘Murder? But what are you suggesting? I’ve already told you I have no idea who this Adam Westlake is.’
‘I’d tell you he was th
e man the press are calling the Genie, but we both know that’s not quite true, don’t we?’
Tayte was aware that Mavro had now caught up with him, and that the crowd of people who had previously been standing around Levant had backed away. They weren’t leaving though. Mention of murder and the Genie had seen to that.
‘Is Westlake paying you to work out these sick genealogical puzzles for him?’ Tayte continued. ‘Is that it? Or perhaps it’s the other way around? Maybe you’re paying Westlake to do your dirty work for you just so you can get back at me for what happened in London? Are you on some personal revenge trip to destroy my life?’
‘This is preposterous,’ Levant said, turning to the people around him. He gave a shake of his head as if to suggest he was being confronted by a madman. Then he offered them a faltering smile and Tayte knew the accusation had shaken him.
He didn’t let up. ‘I denied the heir hunter his ultimate prize, didn’t I? And I’ve no doubt I lost you a potential fortune in the process. I beat you at your own game and you can’t let it go.’
When Levant turned back to Tayte, his brow was set in a deep furrow. He tipped his head back and began to study Tayte, shaking his head as he did so. ‘It’s a good thing our mutual friend Marcus Brown is no longer alive to see the depths to which you have fallen.’
Tayte didn’t like to hear Levant talk about his old friend Marcus Brown. His was another death Tayte held Levant indirectly responsible for, although again, he had no proof. ‘Marcus was no friend of yours,’ he said. ‘I don’t care how long you two had worked together in the past. He told me he didn’t want to see you that day.’
The Frenchman gave a whimsical laugh as he leaned close to Tayte and, whispering in his ear so that only Tayte could hear him, said, ‘Marcus was a very clever man. He should have known when he was in over his head.’
Tayte recoiled at hearing that. He felt his cheeks drain of colour. Had Levant just admitted to being an accessory in his friend’s murder? He stared into Levant’s eyes, trying to read him. The Frenchman was still smiling. Why was he smiling after saying such a thing?
‘You did have him killed,’ Tayte said under his breath.
Levant heard him well enough. ‘Did I?’ he said, his eyes flashing with menace as he spoke.
Tayte gave no conscious thought to what he did next. He grabbed the slight Frenchman by the lapels of his jacket and clenched his fists tightly around the material, squeezing with all his might to quash the anger that had risen inside him before he did the man any harm. Then he lightly shoved him away towards the front of the stage. It was such a light shove that Tayte was shocked to see Levant react as he did. He staggered back, and his legs seemed to slam hard into the low stage wall. He cried out as though in great pain as he tripped and fell up on to the stage. Then he immediately began to clutch at his right leg as if it were broken.
‘Security! Somebody call security!’
Tayte went to help Levant up. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the man, but Mavro held him back.
‘I think you’d better leave him.’
Tayte turned to her. ‘This is ridiculous. I hardly touched him.’
Out of the corner of his eye Tayte saw two security guards coming down the steps at the side of the theatre and he figured someone must have called for them as soon as the conversation between him and Levant became heated. Before they could get to him, he turned back to Levant and pointed.
‘This isn’t over, Levant. I know you’re the Genie.’
A moment later, Tayte felt two pairs of strong arms on his and he turned away from the stage. ‘All right, I’m going,’ he told the security guards. ‘There’s no need to get heavy.’
He heard Mavro sigh as he was led out of the theatre, and he knew why. She didn’t speak to him until they were back in the car, when she turned the key in the ignition, shook her head and said, ‘Yeah. What could possibly go wrong?’
The drive back to the safe house was a quiet one. Mavro had said very little, making it clear to Tayte that she was upset with him for turning what was supposed to have been ‘just a conversation’ with Michel Levant into a full-blown, physical altercation. Tayte had been quiet, too, in part because it took him a long time to calm down afterwards, and because he thought it best to give Mavro some time to calm down, too. She stopped the car a block away from the safe house, as was her habit in case anyone was following them, then Tayte turned to her and broke the silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not usually like that. I really don’t know what came over me.’
‘It’s called stress.’
‘Well, I guess it’s getting to me, and Levant just makes it worse. You want to come inside for a coffee?’
Mavro gave a long sigh as she turned to him, as though at last letting go of her anger. ‘Sure, why not?’ she said, ‘Never sleep on an argument, right?’
Tayte smiled. ‘It won’t happen again. I promise.’
‘Be careful not to make promises you can’t keep, JT. This isn’t over yet.’
They walked the short distance to the safe house in the warm early-afternoon sunshine, taking in the cars that passed and the people around them. No one seemed to care who they were or where they were going.
‘He was deliberately goading me,’ Tayte said as they went. ‘You won’t have heard what he said to me just before I shoved him, but do you remember I told you about a good friend of mine called Marcus Brown who was murdered in London last year?’
Mavro nodded. ‘Sure I do.’
‘Well, Levant told me that Marcus should have known when he was in over his head.’
‘If whatever your friend was doing got him killed, he clearly was in over his head, don’t you think?’
Tayte had to agree that Levant’s statement, when taken at face value, was little more than an observation of what was evidently true. Were it not, then Marcus would still be alive, but he felt there was so much more to it.
‘It wasn’t just what he said, it was the way he said it. And it was the way he looked at me as he said it—that subtle raise of his eyebrows and the intensity in his stare. Something unsaid passed between us in that moment.’
‘Or maybe you read into it what you wanted to read into it because you’ve convinced yourself that Levant is the Genie.’
There was more logic to that than Tayte cared to admit, but was it true? Was the stress getting to him so much that it was clouding his judgement? He didn’t think so. He came back to the idea that Levant had deliberately goaded him, and he wondered why Levant would have done that if he had nothing to hide.
‘I barely touched the man,’ he said, thinking aloud.
‘You’re a big fella. Maybe you don’t know your own strength.’
‘I know it well enough. Levant was play-acting. The shove I gave him was only enough to rock him back on his heels, yet there he was crashing onto the stage and pretending to have hurt his leg. Someone should give the man an Oscar.’
They came to the safe house and Mavro took a last look around before they climbed the steps to the entrance. ‘It doesn’t really matter whether he exaggerated or not. He’s a much older man, and you’re twice his size. You were the aggressor. You grabbed him and shoved him, and there were plenty of people close by who witnessed it. You’d better hope he doesn’t press charges.’
‘I don’t care what he does. He got away with things before. I’m not going to let it happen again if I can help it.’
As Tayte opened the door and they went inside, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He stopped and took it out. He had a new text message from an unknown number. When he opened it his breath caught in his chest.
‘What is it?’ Mavro asked, concern in her voice.
‘Oh, Christ no,’ Tayte said. ‘Not her.’ He sat down on the stairs and sank his head into his hands.
‘Here, let me see.’
Mavro took Tayte’s phone from him and looked at the message he’d been sent. It was an image of a woman Tayte clearly knew. S
he looked terrified. Beneath the image was the Genie’s latest clue.
Tayte looked up again, his face pale and drawn. ‘This guy isn’t letting up for a minute, is he?’
Having sent his latest text message to Jefferson Tayte, Adam Westlake placed the stolen phone he’d used down on the low stump of a felled tree and crushed it hard several times with the heel of his boot until the phone was barely recognisable. Then he picked up the pieces and scattered them amongst the fallen autumn leaves around him. He stepped out from the cover of trees, towards the railway tracks, and took out another phone from the pocket of his jeans, one he wouldn’t have to destroy after he’d used it because the person he was calling had given it to him to facilitate convenient yet untraceable communication between them. There was only one number in the phone’s memory. He selected it and made the call.
‘It’s done,’ he said, nodding to himself as the person at the other end spoke. ‘That’s right. Noon tomorrow, just as you said, but I don’t like to change things. I don’t like to be rushed, either. Bringing this forward hasn’t left much time to prepare.’
Westlake continued to listen as the person at the other end spoke again. Then he turned away from the tracks, back towards the trees in the direction of the car he’d parked nearby. ‘Yeah, she’s in the trunk,’ he said. ‘I’m taking her there now.’ He listened again, and then he said, ‘And this is the last one, right? Then Tayte’s mine?’
On hearing the answer, Westlake ended the call, smiling to himself. He’d played the game long enough. He’d made Tayte suffer mentally for what he’d done, and he’d enjoyed watching the genealogist sink lower and lower as he’d murdered so many of his former clients and their family members, at the same time making sure that the people of DC would think twice before employing his services. He’d destroyed his home and most of his possessions along with it, but it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to being enough payback for Adam Westlake. As soon as he’d been released from prison he’d wanted to kill Tayte, but as impatient as he was for that day to come, this way really had been far more satisfying. Now the endgame was close at last, and he was all the more eager for it to begin.
Dying Games (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 6) Page 16