Fatal Error, page 7
“Maybe Enzo Ficarra knows who I am.”
“Possibly. Another good reason for us to keep your name out of the papers both here and back home.”
“No, I mean what if he saw me at the airport? Or his man snapped photos?”
“His man?”
“The guy who took the luggage.”
Morris nodded. “We don’t know who that man was. Yet.”
“I need protection.”
“Not if you stick to our deal. You conduct your interviews, prepare to write your story. You should be fine.” He glanced both ways at an intersection and hustled her across the street. “Besides, we don’t have the manpower.”
“I didn’t mean a bodyguard.” She lowered her voice. “I need a gun.”
He glanced at her and kept walking.
“You kept my Glock in New York. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t need to ask.”
“Your gun was involved in a shooting. I was required to take it until the shooting is cleared. I didn’t arrest you, did I?” He swiped his palm over his head. “Look, this is Italy, Jess. Gun laws are not as tight as Great Britain, but they’re pretty tight. You’re not licensed. And we don’t have time to get you licensed.”
She stopped on the sidewalk.
He took a few steps before he realized she wasn’t walking with him. He turned back and rolled his eyes. “Jess—”
“Don’t Jess me. You have two guns, I have none. Who needs protection more? You or me?” She lowered her voice. “I’m sure I could get a gun somewhere, if you’re not inclined. The illegal market shouldn’t be that hard to find.”
Morris joined her and stood close enough to have a quiet argument. “Get caught with an illegal gun and I don’t have anywhere near enough juice to get you out of prison.”
“I shot Enzo’s brother. His dead brother. When he finds me, do you think he’s simply going to let that go?”
Morris drew a long breath through his nose. “That’s why I want you to keep a low profile.”
“Really, Morris. It’s only a matter of time. He’ll find me. You know he will.”
Morris shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
She leaned in closer. “The small one. The Heffer.”
“Heizer.”
“You have plenty of ammo for the Walther. You won’t need a second gun.”
“It’s for emergencies.”
“I didn’t think it was for entertainment. And when Enzo finds me, and you’re not there, it’ll sure as hell be an emergency.”
“All right, all right. Not here. Let’s eat.” He scowled, looked up and down the busy street. “I’m not authorized to give you a gun. You get caught with it and both our asses are on the line. So don’t flash the damn thing around for anything less than the absolute mother of all emergencies.”
She nodded. “Trust me, if I have to use a gun, it’ll be life or death.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morris’s idea of an American lunch was the Hard Rock Café near the American Embassy. They had token acknowledgments to local cuisine, but he stuck with a burger. Could be irrational, but he felt protein and carbohydrates would fend off his jet lag.
He watched Jess read the entire menu. She lingered on the Italian options, but when the waiter arrived, she ordered last, and simply said “same.”
The food was close enough to the last Hard Rock Café he’d been in. He wasn’t quite sure if it was Philly or Chicago. He started to eat quickly. Jess picked at her food.
He put his knife and fork on his plate, and looked at Jess. “The pictures?”
She frowned.
“The pictures that are ruining your appetite?”
She sighed. “Just what they represent.”
“Meaning?”
She stabbed a fry with her fork. “Failure.”
“Er…”
She waved the fry at him. “Let’s face it. If we’d done our jobs better, those people might be alive.”
“We? You mean the FBI?”
She shook her head. “I meant all of us. Me included.”
“We do our best.” He put down his silverware. “All of us. But there’s only so much that can be done. For every case we investigate, there are ten behind it, begging for our attention.”
She sighed. “I know. You said that before. The never-ending caseload.”
“It’s the way it is, Jess. We do the best we can. We can’t do anything more.”
She put the fry in her mouth, and chewed.
Morris picked up his fork. “Besides, in this case, we, is law enforcement. You’re the journalist. We investigate, you report what happens. We agreed, right?”
She took another fry. “Right.”
“Don’t renege on our agreement. I stuck my neck out to keep you out of jail, and again not to have you shipped straight back home.” He leaned forward. “You break our agreement, and you’re hurting me. Directly. Understand? I’ve vouched for you. Don’t make me sorry.”
She took a deep breath, and raised her gaze to his. “I understand.”
“Glad to hear it.” He pointed at her plate. “You going to eat that?”
She grinned and dragged her plate closer to her. “I was raised as a member of the clean plate club. So you’re out of luck.”
They finished their meal. Morris slid the Heizer under a napkin, and pushed it across the table. “For emergencies only.”
“Definitely.” She reached for the napkin.
Morris kept his hand on the weapon. “There’re two barrels, Jess. If it comes to it, don’t hesitate.”
She nodded. He let go. She swept up the gun and napkin, and put it in her bag.
Morris’s phone rang. He recognized the number. “Vanelli. What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“Hard Rock Café. By our embassy. I’m with Miss Kimball.”
Vanelli grunted. “We have the airport tapes. They’re interesting. Important, even.”
“What’s on them?”
“Come and see. We’re in the AV room. You can’t miss it. And Morris? No journalists.”
Morris clenched his teeth as he finished the call.
He made his excuses with Jess. She waved a corporate credit card, and insisted on paying. It went against his principles, but she thrust it into the waiter’s hand before he could protest.
He left her at the restaurant, and caught a taxi back to the carabinieri’s offices, arriving twenty minutes after Vanelli had called. It took another ten minutes wandering the corridors until he found a door marked “AV.” He knocked, and walked straight in.
The flickering blue haze of television monitors illuminated the room. Red and blue LEDs flashed irregularly. People were hunched over keyboards, and wires trailed everywhere.
Vanelli turned to look at him. “Back so soon?”
Morris frowned.
“You had a good lunch? With your friend.”
“Miss Kimball is an American citizen.”
Vanelli shrugged.
Morris straightened his spine. “That means I’m obligated to protect her.”
“Then send her back.”
“She’s here lawfully. It’s a free country.”
The left side of Vanelli’s mouth curled up. “But not her country.”
“She has rights. Even here.”
Vanelli’s mouth lifted at the corner. “Then let’s hope you are able to protect her when the time comes.”
Morris turned to the monitors. “You said you might have found something important on the video?”
Vanelli said something in Italian to one of the technicians. A pair of monitors above him went blank.
“We have reviewed the airport video. We had to go quite a way back.”
Morris frowned.
The video operator ran a segment. Morris recognized one of the roads by the airport terminal.
Vanelli tapped the screen by a string of whirling digits. “Notice the time.”
A white Ford bumped over a curb, and parked in a space marked for service vehicles only.
A man got out. He wore a black jacket, dark jeans, and a gray unmarked baseball hat.
He straightened his jacket, and walked into the garage.
The surveillance cameras swapped, following him across the grass, through the parked cars, and into the elevator. The doors closed, and the playback stopped.
Morris shrugged. “Where and when did he come out?”
“Good question.”
The image split into several views, showing the elevator doors on each level.
People walked in and out. In on the parking levels, and out on the airport side, or in from the airport, and out to the garage and their car.
They struggled with luggage, herded children, or strolled with tiny carry-on bags. Some looked full of energy, some looked worn down by coach class, but they all had one thing in common.
None of them wore a black jacket and gray baseball hat.
People kept walking. The elevator car traveled up and down. The doors opened and closed.
The video operator sped up the recording. Travelers scurried by.
Morris pushed his lips together. “What other floors does this elevator service?”
Vanelli shook his head. “This is all of them.”
“Then—”
“Watch.”
The courier carrying the Grantlys’ luggage appeared. He stepped into the elevator as Jess emerged on the walkway. The elevator doors closed and Jess gave chase.
The video operator returned the segment to normal speed.
Morris looked from one elevator door to the next. Seconds ticked by. His eyes swept back and forth from one set of doors to the next. “Did you stop the video?”
Vanelli shook his head.
Almost a full minute later, the elevator doors opened on the ground level. The courier walked out.
Morris pointed at the courier. “Wait.”
The image froze.
Morris peered. “There’s duct tape on the luggage.”
Vanelli nodded.
Morris said, “He opened them.”
Vanelli nodded again. “So this man knew perfectly well what was in those suitcases he took.”
The operator pressed play.
As the courier walked to his car, Morris saw a shirtsleeve dangling out of one side of the suitcase.
Jess flitted across the camera’s field of view. The courier’s car reversed, and charged out of the parking garage. Jess came back into the camera’s field of view, running toward the terminal, three men giving chase.
The elevator continued, oblivious to the excitement on the ground floor. More people passed through its doors. Single parents, babies in strollers, college kids, elderly couples, and more went about their business.
The operator pressed fast-forward. The time code in the bottom right of the screen turned into a blur. Travelers fast marched. Children danced and ran.
After about a minute, the video slowed to normal speed.
The doors opened on the ground floor, and the man in the black jacket and gray baseball cap appeared.
“Fifteen minutes later,” Vanelli said. He tapped the screen by the time code. “He spent two and a half hours in that elevator.”
The man walked steadily out of range. The picture snapped to a second camera, a wide-angle view across a swath of cars. The man walked out of the car park. The camera changed again, following the man along the side of the parking garage, and changed one last time to show him jumping into the small white Ford, and driving off.
“Notice anything?” Vanelli asked, without looking away from the monitors.
Morris shrugged. “Can’t see his face.”
Vanelli smiled. “He knew what he was doing.”
The operator reversed the tape to show the figure walking across the grass to the Ford.
“Camera in the elevator?” Morris said.
“It wasn’t working.”
“Seems unlikely.”
“It was more than that.” Vanelli pointed to the man on the screen. “He came by the day before to disable it.”
“Let me guess, he didn’t smile into the lens as he was doing it?”
Vanelli shook his head. “Same routine. Same car. Same parking space. Only he was in and out in mere minutes.”
“Fingerprints?”
“The elevator carries hundreds of people a day.”
“Did he touch anything else?”
Vanelli shook his head again.
“He spent two and a half hours in an elevator. He must have left some trace.”
“We’ve been over it. He took out a ceiling tile. Hid in the roof.”
Morris watched the monitor.
The video played on. The man got into the Ford and drove off. The operator paused the video with the service vehicle parking space, and the disappearing Ford on the screen.
“License plates?” said Morris.
“Stolen.”
“But you could see the face of the courier.”
Vanelli shrugged. “We’re checking. Nothing yet.”
“His car?”
“Haven’t found it. His plates were stolen as well.”
“So, they’re not stupid, and one of them must have been Ficarra.”
“The courier wasn’t.”
“Which leaves baseball-cap man.”
Vanelli chewed his lower lip. “Could be.”
“He was there, waiting for the Grantlys’ luggage.”
“Even if we had pictures, it’s only suspicious behavior. Not something we could use to get a warrant.”
The picture glowed on the screen. Two and a half hours in an elevator, and he didn’t leave any evidence? Hard to believe. The carabinieri had moved too slowly to go after the courier, even if they didn’t know about the second man at the time. He cocked his head. Were they really trying to solve this case?
Morris leaned forward, and brushed a piece of fuzz from the screen. It didn’t move. He swished his hand again. The fuzz wasn’t on the screen, it was part of the image. He leaned in close. “Reverse the video.”
The operator pressed several buttons, and the video played backwards. The man reversed into the elevator.
“Faster,” Morris said.
The images grew more frantic. People passed the cameras in a blur. Baseball-cap man appeared. He raced backwards to his car.
“Slow.”
The video operator pressed a button. The man resumed a normal walking speed, but he continued backwards into his car, and reversed out the way he had come, bumping over the curb.
The fuzz had disappeared from the screen. The small blurred patch on the grass wasn’t there. “Forward,” he said.
The video played in the normal direction. The Ford reappeared, bumping its way into the parking space. Morris leaned back and smiled.
“What?” said Vanelli.
“He left us a gift.”
Vanelli raised his eyebrows.
Morris pointed to the grass beside the car. The fuzz had reappeared. “He lost a hubcap. Soil analysis might tell us something.”
Vanelli nodded. “The car was stolen.”
“He must have parked it somewhere.” Morris smiled again. “He used the same car the day before.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
After Morris left, Jess strolled away from the Hard Rock Café. The sun was strong, and she welcomed the shade of the trees along the edge of the sidewalk. The area was a mix of business and residential properties with the occasional high-end shop and café squeezed in between.
She checked the time on her phone. Her publisher would be at work. The Taboo offices were in Denver, and the time difference meant it was early, but Carter Pierce would be at his desk. He always claimed he wanted to avoid the rush hour traffic, but in reality, he was addicted to the publication business, and kept the hours required by such an addiction.
She dialed his number and waited as the call clicked through. His secretary answered and put her through.
Jess pictured him picking up the phone with one hand and his Mont Blanc with the other. The man was a certified genius. He could listen with one ear, distill the salient facts, and write publication-ready copy all at the same time. Discussions with him were always a game, a sport, a form of competition where he would deduce everything from nothing, even uncovering connections she herself hadn’t seen. His voice came on the line.
“Jess, how you doing. Finally decided to talk to us, have you?”
“Yeah, yeah. You know what I’m doing, and you know why I can’t tell you what I’m doing.”
“Doesn’t stop me from hoping.”
“I’ll be able to tell you soon.”
“So, how is Rome? And don’t play dumb with me, I saw your corporate card bill. First class tickets always get my attention.”
“You can afford it, and you know it’ll be worth every penny.”
“It’s Rome, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, do I need to be preparing an edition with an Italian flair?”
“Sorry Carter. I’m serious about this one. No clues, no hints. You will have plenty of time to put an issue together when I’m ready.”
Carter sniffed. “So why the call? More first class tickets?”
“Do we have an office around Rome?”
Carter groaned. “I wish. Been in the cards for a couple of years, but navigating licenses, tax issues, foreign ownership laws. Be another couple of years yet before we are anywhere near having a functioning office. Getting the approvals is a career of its own.”
“Anyone in Europe?”
“We hire it all in. Freelancers. I can find someone if you want. No rubbish. Dobson from London, or Charbonneau from Paris. He’s fluent in Italian.”
“No. It’s okay. Some local knowledge would have been good, but I’ll manage.”
“Really, I can find someone, whatever you want, just tell me.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay.”
“Okay? You’re ringing warning bells, Jess. If it is anything to do with your safety, don’t be shy. I want to know.”
She laughed. “Everyone is so concerned with my safety.”
“Everyone? Like who? Now you’re really getting me worried.”
“I’m fine really. Another few days here, and I’m done. But it’ll probably be a while before I can release the story.”
