by D. F. Bailey
Toby stared at the tablet screen, waited for Mr. Whitelaw to lay out his thoughts.
“The article is written by Will Finch, the same guy who reported on Ray Toeplitz.”
Toby curled his lips with disdain when he heard Toeplitz’s name. The traitor. Who could respect anyone like that? “Toeplitz,” he repeated and for the first time looked into the lean and worried face of his employer. He knew that Dean Whitelaw had just turned sixty-five. Despite his slim build and his daily exercise routines, he looked closer to seventy.
“The important thing, Toby, is that all the newspaper comments come from one person: Eve Noon. Gianna’s college friend. Did you ever meet her?”
Toby narrowed his eyes and looked away. He decided that it would be better to deny anything to do with Eve. “I don’t think so. Not as I remember.”
Whitelaw swept a hand over his face. “I think she may be the one who stole Gianna’s phone and the flash drive. Have a look at this.”
He clicked another link and Eve Noon’s face filled the screen. This was definitely the woman who’d broken into Gianna’s apartment. The bitch who’d had the better of him before she clambered down the fire escape and left him sprawled across the floor on his back. Toby realized that he’d have to admit to it now. Mr. W wouldn’t accept a denial so bold.
“Yes, that’s her. I think it is, anyway,” he added to allow for an error that might emerge in the future. He expected his boss to put him on her trail. Expected him to do the job right this time. And if he failed, well, then he’d have some real explaining to do.
“That’s the woman you saw in Gianna’s apartment? The one who stole the phone and thumb drive?”
He nodded. “I’m ninety percent sure of it. But it was dark in her apartment.”
“All right then.” He handed Toby a slip of paper and stood up. “This is her address. You need to get Gianna’s phone and thumb back from her. And Toby” — he paused until Toby looked into his eyes — “no more problems. Do you understand?”
Toby nodded.
“Say it.”
“I understand, Mr. Whitelaw.”
“What happened to Gianna can never happen again. Not to anyone.” He set his jaw and fixed Toby in his gaze. “Do you understand me, Toby?”
“Yes, sir. That was a mistake.” He turned his head away, hopeful that the conversation was nearing an end. “A mistake was all it was.”
“That was not all it was! Gianna was my niece, for Christ sake!” His right hand flew out and slapped across Toby’s round, heavy cheek.
Toby turned his head away. The sting of the blow made him wince. Best to ignore it and move forward he told himself. He coughed heavily. “Yes, sir. I know,” he whimpered.
He lifted the slip of paper in his hand and said, “There won’t be another mistake. I promise.” He felt his face flushing from the slap. A tear fell from his eye. “I loved her, too, Mr. Whitelaw,” he stammered and clasped his fingers over his mouth, certain that this was the very worst thing he could say.
Dean Whitelaw stood opposite the coffee table, his right hand throbbing in pain and his arms shaking with rage. Then he turned, walked across the living room carpet and in a flat, contained voice said, “Report back to me when the job’s done. No later than tomorrow night. And take Mrs. Whitelaw’s BMW, not the limo.”
※
Toby Squire sat at the wheel of the black BMW X3 and ground a tiny pebble between his molar teeth. Never before had he felt this kind of disruption. Even as a boy in the east end of London, the times he’d taken his father’s beatings and finally accepted his mother’s disappearance — even those disasters didn’t approach this level of complete disruption. That’s the word he’d settled on to explain the shaking in his arms and legs, the hollowing out of his stomach, the knots in his guts. Ever since the disaster with Gianna. He rolled the black pebble onto the tip of his tongue and spat it through the open window onto the street.
Why — and how — did such a mess get so far out of hand? No matter how often he tried to replay things in his head, he couldn’t identify the one moment in time where he might have done something different to make sure Gianna survived. He could see her face, see the desperation there. But he couldn’t detect any reflection of his love for her. The part missing in her eyes, the look he craved — a message from her that she loved him, too.
Yes, all that trouble had started his disruption, but he knew now that he needed to push it aside. Once he parked the car opposite Eve Noon’s building he tried to make himself feel better. After all, he’d actually found a place to park less than ten feet from the address Mr. Whitelaw had written on the slip of paper. And on Geary Boulevard, no less! People often said that on a day when you have luck like that, you should buy a lottery ticket.
“You should buy a lottery ticket,” he said aloud and pressed his sunglasses up to the bridge of his nose and looked along the length of the street for a store that might sell tickets. The idea that you should push harder whenever you hit a lucky streak made sense. You should double-up. The opposite of doubling-down, which you did if your luck hit a rough patch and you needed to even a losing score.
He rattled his thumb against the gear shift and forced himself to concentrate on the second story windows that he assumed looked into Eve’s condo. Three big double-hung windows off the living room and two more on her bedroom. At least that’s what he guessed but he knew immediately that this kind of thinking could get him into trouble. The last thing he needed was to force his way into the wrong apartment.
Then, a surprise: The left-hand curtain on the living room window pulled away from the glass and he could see Eve Noon gazing into the street. She held a phone in one hand and as she talked, her eyes swept up and down Geary. But she didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular. No, she appeared distracted, as if she were trying to decide the air temperature from the way the sky looked.
Toby tugged the chauffeur cap over his forehead, pulled the sun visor down and leaned his face into the interior shadows. From where he sat he felt invisible and he took his time to study her. Even at a distance, her striking good looks seemed to mock everyone passing on the sidewalk below. She stood there almost radiant with sexuality — but she couldn’t hold a candle to a true beauty like Gianna. Eve possessed none of Gianna’s frailty, none of the vulnerability that filled her face and settled on her lips. Maybe that’s why so many people were drawn to Gianna, he thought. She offered them something so sweet and subtle it seemed like a dream. And everyone wanted to touch that dream, to see if they could make it real.
But Eve had the look of an Amazon warrior: big boned, tall, full breasted. No wonder she’d been able to manage herself so handily when he tangled with her in Gianna’s condo.
Despite what he’d told Mr. W, he knew full well who Eve Noon was. He’d met her plenty of times when she’d invited herself to one of Gianna’s week-long escapades. The two of them just about drove the senator insane with their antics. Then Eve joined the cops, parted company with Gianna and seemed to sort her life out. Until the two of them reunited a few years ago. Just after Eve tried to turn the tables on the SFPD and the cops forced her out onto the street with no uncertain terms.
No, he didn’t want to mess with Eve again. She was a tough bitch and had no loyalty to anyone but herself. Instead, he’d play it smart. Wait her out. Wait in the BMW until she left the building, then make his way upstairs, find Gianna’s cell phone and thumb drive.
Then he’d hand everything over to Mr. Whitelaw and smile. Just as if he’d won the lottery.
※ — SEVEN — ※
EVE STOOD AT her apartment window until she saw Will Finch park a Ford Focus across the street. A moment later he emerged from the car, stretched, and walked toward the Ton Kiang Restaurant. When he opened the glass door and passed into the restaurant, she felt her heart thrumming. “Oh please,” she whispered and wondered how she’d worked herself into such a state of confusion.
She’d spent the night in
a broken, restless sleep, her mind turning to Finch again and again. Frustrated and annoyed by her fixation, she tried to divert her thoughts to other problems. To the mystery of Gianna’s death, the thumb drive that she could not open, the humiliations she endured at the SFPD. But every distraction led her back to the comfort she found in Will Finch. The image of his face and the shape and scent of his body filled her mind. Finch — of all people!
Since her days at Berkeley she’d known several men. She never possessed the magnetism that bewitched everyone who knew Gianna. But men liked her looks, certainly. During her police training, she’d embraced the strenuous fitness regime and continued her workouts at the local gym. She liked to think of herself as fit, fast and very firm. But after an initial attraction to her, most men veered away after a week or two. Her height dissuaded any number of suitors. If she detected an uneasiness, she purposely wore high heels to test their resolve.
But it was her assertiveness that deterred most admirers. “Eve,” her mother had said, “you are no shrinking violet.” She’d intended this as a joke after Eve had talked her way onto the boys high school basketball team and secured a second-string position as point guard. Damn it, she’d decided, everybody better learn to take me the way I am. Balls and all.
Years later, hearing this story for the first time, Gianna fell into a fit of laughter. “Balls and all?” she shrieked. “Look, Eve, don’t ever change,” she commanded. “Not ever.”
Over the last six months, Eve had spent a dozen nights with Stefan, her trainer at the gym. While they shared an energetic sexual synergy, he offered nothing substantial to hold her interest. Stefan never read a book. Never understood the idea of jazz. (“If I can’t hum it, it ain’t music.”) No matter how beautiful he made his tiny world, it consisted of little more than pop tunes, veggie burgers and vitamin supplements. Attractive as he first appeared, she knew that Stefan’s life ran along a track that was narrow, flat and gray.
But Will Finch.… Although she’d spent less than five hours with him she’d already found a dozen flattering words to describe him. Intelligent. Unafraid. Purposeful. Driven. Talented. Empathetic. Balanced. Fair-minded. Dangerous (possibly). Independent. Calculating (or is it cunning?). Sexy (oh yes). Gorgeous (hard to imagine any woman would deny this). Tall (finally, someone). Was that a dozen? More than, she told herself as she watched him settle into a restaurant booth. Go get him, girl.
She let the curtain fall back across the window, walked into the bathroom and studied her face in the mirror. She applied some blush to the bruise on her cheek, made an adjustment to her tank top straps, pulled the scoop neck an inch lower, brushed out her hair again and applied some gloss to her lips. As an afterthought she set the zirconia stud in her belly button and studied its bright sparkle. At just the right moment, it would offer a surprise. She grinned at her image: friendly, inviting. Satisfied, she pulled her hair over one shoulder. A hint of seduction. She waited another minute, then walked out of her building, crossed the boulevard and joined Will at his booth near the far wall.
“Okay, this is a little strange,” he said once she sat down.
“What is?”
“That you live in Little Russia.”
“But most of the Russian ex-pats are long gone.” A mock frown crossed her face. “It’s a little sad, isn’t it?”
“That’s not my point. I just moved into a co-op building called Mother Russia.”
“You live with Russians?”
“No, tech geeks. But they share this elaborate fantasy about Russia. Frankly, I don’t quite get it.” He smiled, still bemused by the strange preoccupation of his house-mates.
“Anyhow, forget that,” he continued. “The eXpress published our article about Gianna after I went home last night. So it’s out there. Now you’re publicly linked to her.”
“So. We’ll see if the story dredges up something new. Maybe another lead. Who knows?” Aware of his staring, she could feel herself flushing and pretended to study the menu. When the first dim sum cart approached their booth she slapped the menu closed and set it aside.
“Okay, trust me, Will. I eat dim sum here at least twice a month. Let me pick what we eat and I promise you’ll have one of the best meals in town.”
He nodded mutely and gazed at the variety of mysterious foods before them. He’d tried dim sum only two or three times in the past. The sticky rice he remembered, but little else.
Thirty minutes later, after their plates were cleared away and nothing remained but the pot of tea and their cups, he pulled Gianna’s diary from his courier bag. “As promised,” he announced and waited for her to produce the thumb drive.
Eve laid the book flat on the table and leafed through it randomly. Once or twice her lips curled in an amused grin. Then she flipped to the last few entries, studied them with some care and closed the book. “Like you said. It’s cursory. But I want to take a few days with it, okay?”
“What about the thumb drive?”
“No, I didn’t forget,” she said in a tone intended to dismiss his doubts. She dug through her purse and held the drive between her thumb and forefinger. “Sixty-four gigabytes of password-protected mysteries. Like I said, my tech guy couldn’t open it. More power to you if you can.”
“We’ll see.” Finch smiled and looked at the drive. Finally. Proof that she would work with him on equal terms. Perhaps now he could trust her. Yet the nagging doubt returned; she still held evidence that linked his DNA to Gianna’s corpse. Was there any way to eliminate that liability?
As Finch took the drive in his hand their fingers touched and held a moment. A mild current of electricity flashed between them and he smiled again. This time Eve let his eyes sweep over her without any self-consciousness. She pressed her shoulder blades against the back rest and with one hand draped a strand of her hair over her left shoulder and exposed her neck to him.
Finch swallowed, overwhelmed with impulsive desire. He decided to move the conversation back to safer ground. Back to Gianna. “You know, Eve, I was thinking of something.” He paused, tried to imagine what to say. “On my way home last night I started thinking about Gianna’s cell phone.”
“You did?”
“That maybe I could have a look at it, too.”
Her head slumped to one side. A look of disappointment crossed her face. “Maybe. Anyway, I’ve sent it in for forensic analysis. Once I get it back and read the report, maybe we’ll know if there’s some missing pieces still out there.”
“Who does your forensic guy work for?”
“Will, what do you care?” She paused and inched forward. Then she took his hand into her own and in a near whisper said, “Tell me what you’re thinking. I mean, right now.”
“You really want to know?”
She nodded.
He looked into the blue ice of her eyes. “I’m thinking I’d like to devour you.” There. He’d said it. He grinned. “Or maybe let you devour me. I’m not sure which.”
“Oh my. Now there’s a serious dilemma.” She feigned a look of surprise and placed her other hand on his wrist. “Don’t you think we should find out which one it is?”
He waited a moment before answering. He liked the feeling he had, a sense of pending certainty. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Most definitely we should get some kind of answer to that question.”
“It’s the fourth date, Mr. Finch.” She tipped her head to one side and her eyes brightened, a gesture that asked, Remember what I said about fourth dates?
Eve stood up and walked toward the door. When she reached the cashier she said, “Connie, can you add the bill to my tab?”
“Yes, Miss Eve.”
Finch held the door open for her and Eve stepped onto the sidewalk, turned to him and said, “Come with me.”
She looped her hand into the crook of his arm, crossed the boulevard, walked past a black BMW, pushed the street door open and led him up the staircase to her condo.
※
By the time Toby Squire disco
vered the box in the floor vent of Eve’s apartment he’d already raked through all of her drawers and closets, leafed through all her books, magazines and CDs, dumping everything onto the floor as he went. How long did it take anyone to finish a Chinese breakfast? Thirty minutes, max, he told himself. Get to it! He didn’t mean to make such a mess but after ten minutes had passed and he couldn’t find either the cell phone or flash drive, he felt the anger pulsing in his chest and he began to tear apart Eve’s condo in his furious rush.
By eleven-thirty he found himself glancing out the window every few seconds to ensure that he’d see Eve as she left the Ton Kiang Restaurant. He intended to make his escape through the back exit before Eve reached the median on Geary Boulevard. That would give him time to steal away unnoticed. Then as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, he’d slip back into the BMW and drive off just as she opened her front door. That was his plan.
But when his head bobbed against the window sill as he checked for her arrival, he noticed the air vent under his feet. It reminded him of a home-security ad he’d seen on the Shopping Network. A very clever deception. A box placed under a false vent would rarely be detected by the typical b-and-e junkie looking for loose change and jewelry.
Toby applied his knife to the edge of the vent and lifted one side of the steel grate a half-inch up from the floor. Damn, it was too tight. He pressed his fingernails along the vent edge and tried to pry it straight up. Nothing. Convinced now that this is where Eve had stored the phone and thumb drive, he squatted on the floor to brace himself for another try at the duct. He gazed through the window to ensure Eve hadn’t left the restaurant. Nothing. Then he set the knife blade along the back edge of the duct and with the fingers of his left hand under the rim he gave it a hard, swift jerk.
“Damn it!”
He stared at the blood weeping through the cuts in his index and middle fingers. A second later the blood flowed into his palm and began to drip onto the floor.