The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1)

by Michael Sigurdsson

  "What do you want me to do?" I asked.

  "You have access to information. I want to know everything about him. I want to know what he does all day, his associates, friends and family, if he has a dog, car or fish, what he says on his cellphone, what he texts, emails, and what he watches on TV."

  "What he tweets?"

  "Yes, what he fucking tweets and fucking posts on Facebook, although that I could check myself. I want to know everything about him. I’m sure you'll find something. There's something wrong with this guy."

  "That shouldn't be too difficult," I agreed.

  "That's what I thought. You have the technology to do that. Do that then."

  "Yeah, I have the tech, skills, and the people," I confirmed. "It might take a few days, but I’ll know more about him than he knows about himself."

  "That's what I need."

  "Do we have a deal then? I want Morgenthal."

  "One condition," Ivanov added.

  "I’ve already committed to do a lot. And I don't want to wait too long. This guy is threat to public safety. I‘m being paid to clean it up."

  "I understand. Don't worry. The condition would be a favor for me in the future. I may need some information, research, or investigation. Or something that you do as part of your daily business."

  "That could be anything. Not sure if that's a little too open-ended a request?"

  "You don't have to do it now, I just need your word you'll help me out when I need it."

  "I could live with that."

  "Deal then."

  "Deal."

  "When are you going to send Leo Vermin to me?"

  "Right after our meeting is over."

  "Good. I miss him dearly," he laughed and added through clenched teeth: "Tell him I miss him."

  "I will, no worries."

  After a pause.

  "I’ll need some details about your daughter's boyfriend. And your daughter too."

  "Sure, he's name is Philip Harker," Ivanov said, and gave me some more details.

  "I'll give you a call as soon as I have enough information. Can I, so to speak, 'interview' him?" I asked.

  "Do as you please, but be gentle. If he turns out to be a good guy, which I doubt, I wouldn't like to spoil my daughter's relationship."

  "I'll use my judgment."

  "Please do. If you find something on him, feel free to, whatcha call it, interview him."

  "I'll be gentle."

  "There's one more thing. As I said, I don't want my daughter thinking I had anything to do with it. Premise one, I don't like the guy. Premise two, he’s dating my daughter. Premise three, I don't want him to be dating my daughter. Premise four, I don't want to hurt my daughter's feelings. Conclusion, I'm sure you know how to interview people, but if in the highly unlikely scenario you happen to interview him too eagerly and he doesn't survive the interview, I would be sad about my daughter, but very understanding towards you, if not grateful."

  I looked at the water tank. The turtles were very persistent. Or just didn’t hurry. They would live fifty or eighty years anyway, so why hurry. Every day was the same for them. Anyway, they were persistent. The two males still attached. The female didn’t seem to bother too much, despite the considerable weight attached at her back.

  "Good God, so I'm sitting here watching fucking turtles copulating instead of running research on this Philip Harker guy. Mr. Ivanov, you needn't be so coy, if you want the man out, just say so."

  "I'm very conscious of my daughter's feelings," he smiled.

  "I hope you'll be able to sleep well once it's over," I laughed.

  "You’d better find something good on him before you finish him off. And tell me all his sins and dirty secrets. Then I'll sleep like a baby, even when he's gone. You know, it's all for my daughter, even though she wouldn't necessarily want it. Fathers know better," he laughed too.

  "I knew something didn't seem quite right when you first mentioned Mr. Harker. Information is valuable, but research on your daughter's boyfriend seems a low price for Morgenthal. Having talked that through, since it more than just research, it now seems a more reasonable price for Ron."

  "I could really do it myself, but then I wouldn't be able to look my daughter in the eye anymore."

  "I understand perfectly," I said, assuming an emphatic tone.

  "Good, anyway, do the research first, shoot next. By the way, I'll introduce you to my daughter. Needless to say, don't mention anything about all this to her," he said and told one of the goons to bring his daughter.

  While we were waiting for his daughter, I turned my head to see how turtles were doing. To my surprise, a third male had latched onto the top of the second male, who was already covering the first male. I seriously doubt a female turtle can serve three turtle males, but not being a marine expert I could be wrong. The third male turtle was just as happy as the second and first, as far as you can judge by a turtle's facial expression. It couldn’t be an easy life being a female turtle with three copulating males on top of her. But on the other hand, the buoyancy of the water no doubt helped, so perhaps it wasn't that hard after all? I was wondering if there was a limit to how many turtles could latch one onto another while trying to copulate with a female on heat. I was sure there was an equation for it, where the drag of the water due to the attached males exceeded the strength the female needed to propel herself forward. Surely, the physical dimensions of the tank were also a limiting factor. But I’d leave that to the scientists. There was an even better sight coming into view than copulating turtles. Lena Ivanova.

  "Mr. Greystone, let me introduce you to my daughter, Lena Ivanova," Ivanov said.

  I was surprised why he called her Lena Ivanova, not Ivanov. The only explanation that came to my mind was that Russian names had some kind of inflection or declension depending on say gender of the person, whatever proper term for that was.

  "Good morning, Mr. Greystone," she greeted me. She had a beautiful voice that matched or even surpassed her appearance. She was tall, which she must have got from her father. She was also really pretty, which she couldn’t have gotten from her father. Igor Ivanov was particularly ugly, if you went to any natural history museum and saw what the primitive ancestors of human beings looked like, you’d get an idea. But Lena was stunning. A very slender physique and a well-toned body; she must have been spending a lot of time in the gym. Straw blond hair, a flawless complexion, a pale face with a rosy blush on her cheeks, typical of rural girls in Russia. No doubt she must have been extremely popular with the boys.

  "Good morning, Miss Ivanov, nice to meet you," I answered.

  We chatted about trivial matters for a few moments before Ivanov dismissed his daughter.

  "Okay, time to go," I said. "The sooner I start working on Philip Harker, the sooner I'll get Morgenthal."

  "No doubt about it."

  I noticed there was a flurry of activity in the turtle tank. A fourth turtle had attached itself on top of the already established sex quadrangle.

  "Do they do this often?" I asked my host, pointing at the water tank.

  "It happens every now and then."

  "Four male turtles on one female? An interesting sight."

  "You'd be surprised if I told you the one on top is female. It's Miranda," said Ivanov.

  "A female copulating with a male?" I was puzzled.

  "Don't know exactly, but Miranda must have some kind of gender identity crisis. She's equally happy to mate with males as with females. In fact, she seems to like females more. It doesn't really bother me, and it's quite entertaining for my guests."

  "It is," I confirmed.

  "Miranda is a fairly new addition to the tank, so I haven't studied her behavior in detail yet, but she seems to have a strong personality with a certain dominance drive. I'll see how it goes, but if she was meant to be born as a male turtle, it would be a pity if she’s stuck in a female body. I've already found a veterinary clinic specializing in animal gender change. They haven't done any turtles yet
, but they did successfully help some mammals, sheep in particular. They do a mix of cognitive behavioral therapy, hormone treatment, and surgery as a last resort. It's quite expensive, but I would do anything for my turtles." He seemed quite passionate about the topic.

  "I'm sure Miranda will find her true self," I said. I concluded the meeting and said goodbye. On the way to the office I wondered if the turtle sex-change procedure was covered by pet insurance.

  Back in the office I asked Martin to find anything he could about Philip Harker and track his movements.

  Then I dialed Dermot Clenaghan's number to report on Morgenthal's progress.

  "Hi Dermot, how's things?" I said.

  "Cut the crap, Mike. Have you caught that motherfucker Morgenthal yet?" Dermot responded in his usual business-like approach.

  "Not yet, but there's been a breakthrough in the case. I captured this petty thief Leo Vermin for Ivanov, who he's glad to take, but that wasn't enough to turn in Morgenthal. He asked me to do some research on his daughter's boyfriend, who he suspects of being a scumbag. Depending on the results of the background checks, he gave me a free hand to deal with him. I've already asked my geek squad to find out everything they can about the guy. Can you have your guys run some checks on him too?" I asked Dermot.

  "Sure, what's his name?"

  "Philip Harker."

  I gave Dermot also Harker's phone number and car registration number, and added: "Let your guys hook up Martin Keenan with whatever they find. Martin will prepare a report for me. How long will it take? My analysts need about a day."

  "Same on my end," Dermot confirmed.

  "Good, thanks." I finished the call.

  I had to pause for a moment and think. I should get all the details about Philip Harker's life by midday the next day. So I had the evening free. I was wondering what Jane was doing. I wasn’t the kind of guy that got attached too easily, but she seemed to have cast a spell on me. My thoughts went back to her all the time. I dialed her phone number to ask how she was doing after the explosion in Starbucks.

  "Hi Michael, glad you called," she answered.

  "Hi Jane, just wanted to check if everything’s okay."

  "Yeah, everything’s going well. No problems. Just a little shaken after the escape."

  "Are you doing anything this evening? I could pop down to Pittsburgh and we could have dinner. And I could stay overnight?" I tried to invite myself.

  "Sounds like a good plan. But you'll spend a fortune on travel."

  "Don't worry, I can still afford it. I should be there around six."

  "Lovely, I’ll be waiting anxiously," she kissed the phone.

  "Talk to you soon," I said and hung up.

  "Martin, I need a plane to Pittsburgh for today asap. Return tomorrow before noon," I said.

  A few minutes later Martin answered: "We don't have any private jets handy, but there's a commercial flight in about two hours."

  "Should be fine."

  "I could ask Dermot if they have any choppers available, if it’s urgent," Martin proposed.

  "No, I want to relax and chill out today, I don't feel like flying in a noisy chopper. I'll take the commercial flight."

  "Good, do you need local transport?"

  "Yeah, hire a car for me at the airport."

  "Sure."

  I went to my office, checked my emails and read the latest tweets about the Pistorius trial. In a few minutes Martin confirmed my flights and car were booked and I left for the airport.

  31.

  I PICKED UP Jane from her place at quarter past six. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and then a long sensual kiss on my mouth. It was really worth going over to Pittsburgh.

  We went to the “Cure Restaurant.” It was a small place, with slightly rustic interior decor, but highly commendable according to the quick research I'd done before arriving in Pittsburgh. They specialized in pork. In fact, if you could rely on the eighty images of pigs being butchered which had been uploaded onto their website, the restaurant must have been very proud of their pork dishes. All the connoisseurs could have a look at the pictures to find out what exactly happened before the piggy arrived on their plate. However, I wasn’t necessarily going to encourage Jane to look at the restaurant's website before dinner, if at all. I wouldn't encourage young children to view the pictures either. They weren't too gory, but they weren't Miss Piggy pictures either. In fact, I made a mental note to remember to show them to Dermot from Research & Execution – his crime scene clean-up team could get some inspiration as to what to with the bodies they had to dispose of.

  We browsed the menu before ordering. I was eyeing up Jane. She looked fantastic from any angle, even looking down at her menu. I couldn't wait until after dinner.

  Jane wasn't super-hungry, so she skipped the starter. I had smoked trout. We ordered some aperitifs too – sherry for Jane and Elijah Craig Single Barrel whiskey for myself. Jane got Berkshire Loin Roast for her main and I ordered Zampone, which sounded very intriguing: “pig's heart – sweet Italian sausage” – let's try it, I thought to myself, a little culinary adventure wouldn't do any harm. We also got a bottle of red wine for the main course.

  "I missed you a lot," Jane said.

  "My thoughts were with you too," I answered. "Is everything okay after the explosion at the coffee shop?" I was seriously worried she might develop some kind of post-traumatic disorder.

  "Surprisingly, I'm very relaxed about it. It was a close shave and I was shocked, but you managed the situation in the blink of an eye, so I didn't really have time to get seriously scared."

  "Glad to hear that. If you need some psychological help, I'm not skilled enough to help, but I know people who specialize in post-war or post-terrorist event traumas."

  "No, it's fine, I know some good ones too. Remember, I work in a hospital, I know where to go if I need help."

  "Grand, but remember, if you need me, I can at least listen," I said.

  "How's business going? Jane said, changing the subject. "Are you any closer to finding the killer?"

  "Inch by inch, getting closer. I had a breakthrough recently. Hopefully it’ll work out well. But, needless to say, don't talk about it or mention it to anybody," I warned her.

  "Sure, I know," she smiled.

  "How are the Wimbledon kids doing?"

  "They're fine, getting better. I really hope the psychotherapy will do them good and erase a lot of the marks left by those terrible events."

  The waiter brought our drinks and my starter. I felt awkward nibbling on a starter while Jane was watching, but it was her choice, she didn't want one. She did seem to be enjoying her sherry, no doubt about it. I tried my Elijah Craig and wasn't disappointed, it was fairly decent.

  "Tell me about your childhood and teenage years. You promised you would do some day," she said smiling.

  "No, I didn’t promise that," I replied, laughing.

  "Yes you did, well, it was implied, if you date a woman, she has to know everything."

  "So that's how it works?" I smiled. "There's still a lot I have to learn".

  "Don't underestimate yourself, you're making good progress."

  "Am I a puppy on a training schedule?" I joked. But bells had started ringing in my head. Do I want to put on a muzzle, collar, and leash some day?

  "No, of course not," she giggled. "But on the other hand, women have certain expectations from their men, and when these are not met, they try to change their behavior."

  "Interesting."

  "There's even a proverb about that."

  "Let me hear it."

  "This is how it goes: 'After marriage, wives try to change their husbands, but the husbands don't change. The husbands don't want their wives to change at all, but the wives do change.' How do you like it?"

  "Interesting, I presume that would be true eighty per cent of the time?"

  "Possibly, but I'm not that kind of person."

  "Glad to hear that," I smiled with relief.

  "You wouldn't like to
be a puppy on a leash, would you?" she chuckled.

  "No, I'd rather retain some independence," I said.

  The waiters brought our main course. Jane's dish looked as it should, like a loin roast. My main course looked like ... a sausage. Or actually it was a pig trotter stuffed with minced meat. An unusual sight, but actually quite tasty. It went down well with red wine.

  "Last time you mentioned you've found a good therapist for John and Carrie Wimbledon. Have they started their therapy yet?" I asked.

  "Yes, as I said, I've found a good one. Dr. Maria Cortez is one of the best in the industry."

  "Any progress made so far?"

  "You’re too impatient. They did start, but the process takes weeks, if not months. At the beginning, she just has to get to know them well before she can help them."

  "I didn't realize."

  "But they’re in good hands. I know Dr. Cortez personally and I’ve heard a lot of positive things about her from her clients. And what's more, she has a lot of experience working with children"

  "Happy to hear that."

  "The good thing is," Dr. Lockerby continued, "that she knows where to start. This needs to focus on the traumatic events of the kids witnessing their father's death. She doesn't have to find the root cause, as it’s already known."

  "Great," I said. I didn’t know anything about psychotherapy, so I just nodded.

  "Obviously, there could be other problems lying dormant in their minds, and Dr. Cortez will no doubt uncover them as well, but the shooting at the school is the starting point. The immediate root cause, the trigger, is known, which makes things so much easier, if I understand the process rightly, with the caveat that I'm not a professional psychotherapist," Jane explained.

  We finished dinner and ordered some desserts and drinks. Jane went for a gin and sweet vermouth cocktail and I ordered an 18-year-old Yamazaki single malt whiskey, just to try something different. We chatted about various topics, taking our time and enjoying our desserts and drinks.

  "This was a very nice dinner, thank you," Jane said.