“It wasn’t hard. Jutting’s people will be here before long. Just give me the stuff and we can all get out of here before that happens.”
“Was it Victoria? Did she double cross me?”
“Victoria? Butler? How do you know her?”
A cagey expression rippled Dworkin’s face but was quickly replaced by anger. “She’s the one who told me. The stupid bitch. Jutting had the notes. Who was working on it. When to break in. Where they would be.”
“She told you?” My mind worked fast, putting pieces together. “Where? How?”
“She came to the shop. Told me she needed to speak with me in private. Said she thought Jutting would misuse the knowledge. She’d heard of me! Knew I was the one to hold the power responsibly.”
“So you came to London?”
“Yes.”
“And waited until she told you the time was right?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, Dworkin, but you’ve been played.”
“No!” Dworkin slammed an open hand on the table. “I played Jutting. That cretin.”
“Sorry, but you might as well be a puppet. You did exactly what they wanted you to do. Just put the notes and laptop down there and back away.”
The overloaded engine noise started again. I braced myself. Suddenly Dworkin whirled and threw the laptop and bundle of papers and notebooks out the window. A second later I heard a splash. “If I can’t solve it no one can,” he said, face crumpling like a petulant child.
“Fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. If I’m right those were fake anyway. A diversion.” I said, circling. “You knew that didn’t you? But you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Stay right there. Goodbye Dworkin. I hope we don’t meet again. I’ve had enough.”
I took the stairs two at a time and burst through the kitchen door, my pack bouncing against my back as I jogged into the trees. I was hoping Ashna had parked in the same place and felt relief wash over me when I emerged from the woods and saw the rental car ahead. I waved and the engine roared to life as I jogged the rest of the distance.
“What’s that?” Ashna asked, pointing at my hand. I stopped halfway into the car, realizing I was still holding the fake gun.
“Useful prop,” I said, turning and hurling it toward the river. It made a satisfying plop as it hit the surface and disappeared into the depths, joining the bundle of notebooks and the laptop. I imagined the three things, half sunk in the mud at the river bottom, forming a weird underwater tableau.
Chapter 18
Fortuitous Insomnia
July 4-5: London
“So you think they tricked Dworkin?”
“Yes,” I answered. “That part seems obvious now. Victoria Butler—she’s Jutting’s niece and personal assistant—went to Philadelphia and played on Dworkin’s ego. She got him to come to London and wait for her signal. Once they had an appointment set with me, she told him to break in and steal the notes and laptop. They probably weren’t even Wolhardt’s real notes. The thing I still don’t really understand is why they would have gone to the trouble.”
Ashna’s forehead scrunched up and she looked at me sideways, keeping one eye on the freeway ahead. “Maybe somebody found out Jutting had the notes and threatened him. He wanted to make it look like they were stolen and used you as a convenient witness.”
"I guess that’s possible but it would have to be someone with a big platform. Someone Jutting couldn’t just get rid of or pay off."
Ashna nodded, thinking. "We need to get back and see what Jutting is up to. I wish there was an easy way to get into his systems."
"Oh shit! Forgot to tell you. I planted that device you gave me in the old asylum."
"My little net spy?"
"Yeah. Plugged it into an unused port like you said."
"Excellent. Let’s hope that site connects back into his corporate network. Might be something there I can exploit."
****
Back at our luxe bear den Ashna got to work. I watched her hack, light from her laptop screen shifting and glowing on her face.
"Go away," she said after a while. "Need to concentrate."
I didn’t mind. I hated having people around when I was working. I went up to the roof deck of the townhouse and sat looking out over Kensington’s brick chimney pots, mansard windows, and trees. I wasn’t sure anymore why I was even continuing with the job. Jutting had tricked me, sending me down a blind alley. That meant he knew who I was and my real objective. Who had told him? Who else knew? Wolhardt, Bathmore, and Benderick. Bathmore might have been foolhardy enough to go back to Jutting and try to use the little bit of information he had to squeeze some profit out of the situation, even after Jutting’s goons had beaten him up and I had given him my best, most paternalistic advice to stay away. Benderick could have found out somehow that Jutting had the stolen notes, contacted him, and threatened to make it public unless he returned them. In either case, it would serve Jutting’s purpose to have me believe the notes had been stolen from him. I would look elsewhere and would tell the others, if asked, that Jutting no longer had the stolen goods. Sleight of hand and misdirection. Jutting was a good magician even if his dreams of occult power were obsessive nonsense. What was my next move though? I had the advantage now, at least for a little while. If Ashna could get into his systems she might be able to find a weakness and exploit it. I just needed a small crack to get into his house and get out with the notes. How close to solving the riddle was St. Martin though? How much time did we have? And had Wolhardt made any progress? It had been only ten days since I sat in his Culver City bungalow, discussing Elgar. I needed to check in with him. There were too many unanswered questions. It was late on the west coast of the U.S.
