“On that,” he said, pointing to the stove.
“Isn’t it marvelous,” Kate said. “It’s a La Cornue Grand Palais 180. One of the ovens is gas, the other electric.”
The name meant nothing to Scarne, who knew she could burn a roast in either.
“Coffee will be fine,” he said. “Don’t forget to add water.”
She laughed and they exchanged a look. It was the first time Scarne felt comfortable with her since taking the case.
A few minutes later Kate poured them both steaming mugs of coffee and put out cream and sugar. The coffee was good and he said so. Kate stuck her tongue out at him.
“Now, will you tell me what happened?”
Scarne looked at her, trying to gauge how much he would tell her, and how much she could bear. He decided she deserved to know everything.
“You were right, Kate. Bryan’s murder was a setup, made to look like the random act of a crazed man.”
Scarne left nothing out, except the goriest of the details in the crime scene photos involving her husband. Kate’s face remained impassive. When he finished, she got up and walked out of the kitchen. He assumed she wanted time to compose herself, but he was mistaken. Instead, she came back holding a bottle of brandy and her cigarettes. She took some water glasses from a cabinet and sat back down. Scarne poured their drinks while she lit a cigarette, offering him the pack. He took a cigarette. Scarne thought smoking was a dirty, unnecessary habit. Unless you really needed a smoke.
Kate poured more coffee and found an ashtray.
“I can’t find it in my heart to hate Campbell,” Kate said. “He died to save his family. And the bastards killed them anyway. Except for the child.”
“No good deed goes unpunished,” Scarne said. “That’s how I found Burke.”
“I’m glad you killed him.”
“I didn’t plan to. He left me no choice.”
Scarne knew that wasn’t exactly true. There was a point where he could have let up when he was throttling the hit man. Perhaps gotten him to reveal more than he had. But he had been taught, both in training and in combat, to fight to the death. Like cigarettes, some old habits were hard to break.
“Did he work alone?”
Kate let out a long stream of smoke. She was remarkably calm. But, Scarne knew, finding out what one suspected can concentrate the mind. Humans prefer targets over suspects.
“No. He would have needed others to help control the family, and someone to report that Campbell had succeeded. At least one, but probably more.”
“Can you find them?”
“Eventually. But it will take time. And I don’t know what good it will do.”
“They killed my husband. And the others.”
“They were hired help. Professionals. They probably don’t know who was behind the contract.”
“I would still like them to pay for what they did! To kill them!”
Scarne looked at her. Her eyes were flashing.
“Kate, I’m not an assassin or a vigilante. I didn’t sign on to be your sword of vengeance.”
She lit another cigarette and drank.
“God. I’m sorry, Jake. Forgive me. What shall we do next? Go to the police?”
He reached out and covered her free hand, which was trembling.
“It’s OK. This is hard, I know. But this is what I do. It’s too early to bring the cops in. But I’ve given some information to Dick Condon in New York, just in case.”
Kate gripped his hand.
“You mean, in case something happens to you. Do you think you are in danger?”
“Not really. None of the bad guys should know what I’ve been up to. But I always try to prepare for the worst.”
“What about Burke? When his death is reported won’t that alert whoever hired him?”
“I doubt it. Men like Burke go through life collecting enemies. They’d probably figure his past caught up with him. But if we go to the police now I’m pretty sure someone will put two-and-two together and link it to Bryan’s death. Then the people behind this, who have to be very powerful, might decide to tie up all the loose ends. They’d probably go after the others on Burke’s team. They might cover their tracks so well that we’d never find out who they are. And there’s another consideration.” He smiled. “Knowing how the cops work, especially the Feds, and I’m sure they’d get involved, they’d want to know how I got to Burke and why he’s suddenly dead. They’d probably arrest me. Withholding evidence would be the least of the charges.”
“But it was self-defense!”
“Sure,” Scarne said, “in a manner of speaking. But to them it might not look that way. It would be my word against a dead man’s. A man whose wife and kids were waiting for him back at the house.”
“My God, Jake. How do you feel about that?”
He laughed, harshly.
“Just peachy. Look, Kate, I didn’t like doing it, but the guy was a stone killer. Who knows how many widows he’s made. I’ll sleep fine and I’m certainly not anxious to go to jail for killing the son-of-a-bitch. What would I say to the cops? This guy attacked me with a fishing rod, so I stuck a hook in his eye and strangled him with monofilament line?”
“But he had a knife.”
“All fishermen have knives. And it’s probably buried under the sand by now. Look, I would beat it. I have friends. The cops would find out about Burke’s past. But while they were sorting it all out, I’d be no use to you.”
“Condon knows you went after Burke. Won’t he figure out what happened right away?”
“I don’t try to abuse our relationship,” Scarne said, with a grin. “But he tends to give me the benefit of the doubt where dead bodies are concerned.”
“Oh, Jake. What have I done to you?”
“Don’t be an ass, Kate. You haven’t done anything to me. This is what I am. It’s why I’m good at what I do. Our past relationship aside, it’s why you came to me. And you were right to do so. Don’t forget that.”
“What now?”
Scarne poured more brandy.
“Now? I guess I’ll visit BVM and do my Hemingway impersonation. Burke told me he got his marching orders from someone with a German accent. I know you think that must be Lenzer. But we need proof. There’s a lot of Germans running around the Midwest. I still can’t figure out a Russian connection. It’s like I’ve fallen into a Cold War spy novel.”
“When will you leave?”
“Tomorrow. But now I want to lie down for a couple of hours. I’m going to accept your hospitality. Give me a bottle of Advil and point me in the direction of the nearest bed. Make a reservation at your favorite restaurant. I’m taking you out to dinner. We can discuss what my next move is then. I’ve been living the bad life recently. I want some of the good life.”
“Are you sure? Do you feel up to it? I could make us something here.”
“I know you could, Kate. But I’ve cheated death enough lately. Let’s eat out.”
It was good to hear Kate laugh, Scarne thought.
“I’ll make the reservation,” she said.
***
“Is this a restaurant or a museum?”
They were sitting at a window table in Everest, a restaurant located on the 40th floor of the Chicago Stock Exchange on South La Salle Street. The city gleamed below them. Their table, like all those in the restaurant, had as its centerpiece a small bronze Ivo Soldini sculpture. The restaurant’s walls displayed the modernistic paintings of Adam Siegel.
“You said you wanted a taste of the good life,” Kate said.
“I was thinking more in terms of food,” Scarne said. “I’m more a Richard Prince guy myself.”
“Oh, I love him, too. I have one in my bedroom. But I think you will find the food here rivals the artwork. Chef Joho is a marvel. He is Alsatian and does wonders with French cuisine. He is a member of the Academie Culinaire de France.”
“I’ll have to ask him to cater my arraignment.”
Kate laughed.
“I’m sorry. I know that sounded pretentious. But the food is really good.”
They were both drinking Grey Goose martinis. Scarne began reading from his menu, with a faux French accent: “I can’t decide between the Magret of Mulard Duck, Pine Honey and Marinated Turnips à la Colmarienne; the Roasted Maine Lobster in Alsace Gewurztraminer Butter and Ginger, or the Roasted Grass-Fed Rack of Lamb, Mitonnée of Coco Beans, with Veal Bacon Flambée.”
“You mean ‘among’.”
Scarne smiled. That was Kate. In all their time together, she never failed to correct him when he used the wrong terminology.
“You use ‘between’ when it’s two items, and ‘among’ when there are three or more.”
“I was confused by all the ingredients,” Scarne said. “I think Chef Tonto is cleaning out his pantry.”
“It’s Joho, you dope. And I know you are teasing me. Just order the steak. I know that’s what you want.”
In the end, that’s what Scarne did, although he couldn’t resist asking the waiter why a restaurant featured “Dry Aged New York Steak” in the middle of Chicago.
“Don’t you have the largest stockyards in the nation? Why can’t I get a Chicago steak? Carl Sandburg must be turning over in his grave.”
“Actually, sir, he called Chicago the ‘Hog Butcher for the World.’ So, might I suggest the Crusted Berkshire Pork Cheeks, Poached Veal Tongue, Choucroute Salade, with Petite Ravigote?”
“Touché,” Scarne laughed. “The steak will be fine, rare.”
“Since Madame is having the lamb, may I suggest a bottle of the 2006 Highland Estates Cabernet Sauvignon. It will complement your steak, as well.”
“As long as you first complement us with another two martinis.”
“Of course, sir.”
***
The stress, drinks and meal worked their magic on Scarne. By the time they returned to Kate’s apartment, he was pleasantly exhausted. He accepted her offer of a bed for the night “in the guest room.”
He took a long, hot shower and was asleep moments after he slipped between the luxurious silk sheets. He fell into a deep sleep and dreamed about Kate lying naked next to him, her hands on his ….
Except it wasn’t a dream. It must have been close to 2 A.M. when he felt her hand. When he rolled over, she threw the sheets aside. They were both naked in the moonlight streaming in from the wall-to-wall windows of the room.
“Kate.”
He had to clear his throat.
You don’t have to say anything,” she said, moving her hand in familiar circles. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lay back.”
“Kate.”
Her hand was gentle, but practiced. She remembered exactly what he liked.
“I haven’t made love with anyone since Bryan died. I need this. I want this.”
Kate moved astride him and he settled into her. She began to move slowly, her breasts swaying above him. He reached up and fondled them, and drew them down to his mouth. She groaned and her hips began to pump faster. A moment later she cried out and collapsed on top of him. When she finally controlled her breath she said, rather sheepishly, “I told you I needed it.”
“That has to be a record, even for you,” Scarne said. When they were together, he had often teased her on the quickness of her response. “But I feel so … used.”
She looked at him and saw his grin.
“You’re a son of a bitch, Jake,” she said, laughing.
He rolled her on her back. In a few minutes, neither of them was laughing.
***
“It’s almost the same, but not quite.”
“What is?”
“The sex,” Kate said. “We remember what each of us likes but it’s more, I don’t know ….”
“Mechanical. Clinical. Automatic. By the numbers.”
“Oh, God. Not that bad. I loved it. You saw that I did.”
“And heard it. As did Cleveland.”
Kate blushed to her roots. She had turned the lights on, as she always did during sex. She liked to watch.
“You know what I mean. There was passion, but not the passion. Oh, hell. What am I trying to say?”
“We’ve moved on, Katie. You broke my heart ….” She started to speak and he put his hand over her mouth. “…. and it mended. Things have happened to both of us since, things that put our years together in perspective. I wish they didn’t happen, because they’ve scarred us even more.” Scarne got a strange look in his eyes. “I’ll always love you. I probably loved you more than any man will ever love you again. Including me.”
They were lying side by side, exhausted, just talking. At his last words, Kate began crying.
“Hey,” Scarne said. “I don’t mean to be so candid. I don’t mean to say that I don’t find you desirable. The first day I saw you out at the pool I wanted to jump your bones.” He teased. “But when Aurelia served the lobster, I got distracted.”
Kate punched him in the side and smiled.
“No. It’s all right. I know what you mean. I just miss it so. That feeling. I wonder if I will ever have it again.”
“Don’t worry. Women live in the moment. You’ll love again.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to try to go as long as I can without complicating things.”
She looked at him.
“Who was she? What did she do to you?”
“It’s what I did to her,” Scarne said, and then told her the story.
When he finished, Kate said, “Oh, my God.”
“I always could talk to you, Kate.”
Kate Ellenson looked at Scarne and saw a hardness in him she’d never seen before. For a moment, she was actually frightened.
“Why are you doing this for me, Jake? Really.”
“You asked me.”
CHAPTER 23 - BOONE CITY
Anzor Turchin wrinkled his prominent nose.
“What is that smell?”
“It’s something, isn’t it,” Anne Rasmussen said. “Soybeans. One never quite gets used to it. Do you find it unpleasant?’
“Not particularly,” the Russian said. “I have smelled much worse.”
An understatement, Turchin mused.
“We could put up the windows and I could turn on the air-conditioning,” Rasmussen said. “Although I’m not sure that would help much.”
“No, no. I like the fresh air.” It was a pleasant September day. What was it with Americans? They closed car windows and put the air-conditioning on maximum if the temperature reached 21degrees Celsius. They probably didn’t want to muss their hair, a consideration that never occurred to the totally bald Turchin. “But does the entire state of Illinois smell like soybeans?”
Rasmussen laughed.
“God, no. It’s just that the wind is in the right direction. We’re still 20 miles or so from the BVM complex, but they process a hell of a lot of the stuff, as well as corn and other agricultural products. Wait until you see it. Could be worse. Ever been downwind from a paper factory? Now, that’s a noxious odor.”
Turchin affected a laugh. Might as well humor the woman, he thought. If Rasmussen, a typically dim apparatchik with the U.S. Department of Agriculture, knew how many factories and facilities I’d been downwind from in my life, she’d be stunned. I’ve even had the misfortune of being on the wrong side of Chernobyl after the meltdown, Turchin recalled with a bitter smile, thanks to an idiot helicopter pilot. He would have had the fool aviator shot but it wasn’t the man’s first error. He’d flown into the radiation cloud too many times and soon died quickly, and horribly. Turchin escaped with only the permanent loss of his hair, which, he rationalized, had been thinning anyway.
The Russian looked out the window of the black Ford Explorer at the vast flatland. They had flown in to Terre Haute on the Illinois-Indiana border, where they picked up their car at a Department of Agriculture regional office for the 75-minute drive to Boone City. Turchin didn’t mind the drive. Rasmussen was an excellent
driver, aggressive but alert. She handled the big American SUV with aplomb, and was a pleasant change from drivers in Russia, who were typically overly aggressive and often soon in traction. The vista reminded him of the steppes of his native land, although he admitted that there was no farmland on earth as productive as the American heartland. Blessed with a temperate climate unlike any other on earth, the United States could feed the world, and, in the past, did. Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri; the Americans didn’t appreciate what they had. They spent tens of billions on farm subsidies and crop insurance that lined the pockets of giant agribusinesses and wealthy absentee “farmers” in places like Los Angeles and New York City (including, Turchin knew, a Rockefeller in Manhattan who was paid $340,000 for land he owned that grew nothing). It always amused Turchin when his American friends lectured him on the evils of socialism. Congress ranted about “welfare” and national health insurance while funding, since the 1930’s, one of the largest socialist systems in the worlds, American farming.
Turchin, a student of American agriculture, knew that more than 3,000 American farms had grown no crops for at least five years. He also knew that 20,000 people living in 50 of America’s largest cities, often hundreds, if not thousands, of miles from the nation’s wheat and corn fields, received millions of dollars annually in farm subsidies last year. Even many farmers who actually lived on the land gamed the system, he knew, receiving more millions for not growing crops. They and their legislative supporters argued that the subsidies were needed because crop prices were so volatile, and could dip at any time. That ignored the fact that the past seven years had seen some of the highest farm income ever. Of course, Turchin also realized that several members of Congress owned farmland and supplemented their incomes with the subsidies they, in effect, voted themselves! This, at the same time they were cutting back on food stamps for the poor. Even Stalin would have had a hard time pulling that one off!
The Americans were fools. They, at least those in power, treated the breadbasket of the world as a huge cash register into which they could dip at will. Didn’t they know they had the greatest weapon on the planet? Well, they would soon learn how powerful that weapon could be in the hands of someone who knew how to use it.
THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) Page 14