crocodile tears and ask everyone to help them search for their precious baby. Something like this, you
“Like they did in Boulder? With JonBenet Ramsey?”
“This isn’t Boulder,” Clancy said, his voice as stony as his eyes.
“Sorry. The parents, they came up clean?”
“They did. And it wasn’t because the job was sluffed. Everybody got talked to. Teachers, their pediatrician, their housekeeper, neighbors; you name it. Not one person had the slightest suspicion of the parents. No history of child abuse. Not even a hint of booze, or drugs. Or domestic violence. The parents themselves were asked about enemies, and they said they hardly even
“What about an old grudge? From the old country?”
“It’s possible,” he said again, the
“The reason I ask … I’m guessing that nobody on your side could have known about any connection to the Russian mob back then. No way they could have.”
“You’re right.
“Okay.”
“I got a friend in the Bureau,” he said, dropping his voice. “We’ve got photos of the kid from just before he disappeared. There’s a computer program, factors in everything known about the subject, right down to his genetic makeup. Anyway, this program ‘ages’ the subject. He’d be, what, fourteen or so now? The kid you saw when the thing went down—would you recognize him?”
“Not a chance. It was dark. I never really got a look at his face. He started shooting right away.”
“Wolfe’s good people,” he said, out of the blue.
“I know.”
“Is she in this?”
“You spoke to her. What did
“She said she’s known you a long time. Sent along your sheet, but said it didn’t tell the whole story, so she filled in a lot of the blanks. Asked me if I’d do her this little favor.”
“So …?”
“So Wolfe doesn’t ask for favors. She trades. Unless it’s personal. She didn’t say anything about herself, just about you. So it comes out like you and her …”
“No.”
“Right,” he agreed. Too quickly. “She said as much. Said you and her … you weren’t going to be together. That you were a criminal in your heart.”
“But …?”
“But somebody has a bull’s-eye painted on you, and you needed to get off first.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Never is. Look, I’ll see you later. Midnight, one o’clock, how’s that?”
“Fine with me. I’ll be at the hotel …?”
“Sure. That works. Me, I got a date.”
I slipped the blue lens on the mini-Mag, played the light over the keypad to the in-room safe all good hotels provide nowadays. I didn’t want to open the safe—I wanted to see if anyone else did. The safe is programmed by the hotel guest. You pick whatever combination of numbers you want. But a pro knows what to do. Clean the keypad thoroughly, apply a thin coat of wax. When the mark opens “his” safe, he
It’s hard to tell if a hotel room’s been tossed. Some maids pick up every scrap, straighten every edge, put things away for you. Some don’t. The usual tricks—a hair pasted across an opening, a paper match wedged between two abutting layers of clothing—are a waste of time in hotels. But the safe … that will usually tell you if someone with access has been poking around. I carry what I need every time I go out—cash, passport, ID, tools— so if things go bad I never have to return to the room. Losing the gun would be no tragedy. It doesn’t trace to me, my prints aren’t on it. And the cash would always get me another.
The safe’s keypad was untouched.
I was kicking back in the room’s easy chair when the tap came at the door.
Clancy.
He walked in, pulled a chair away from the desk, carried it over to where I’d been sitting.
“How old do you think she is?” he asked me, as soon as I sat back down.
“She?”
“Marushka.”
“Thirty-five, forty?”
“She’s twenty-seven.”
