Chương 9
“Yes.”
“And someone else wants us at that warehouse.”
Mara looked toward the city beyond the garage.
For the first time, those two facts did not feel like parts of the same plan.
“They’re not the same person,” she said.
Vale’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
Vincent stared at the address.
“Then we have two people racing for the same thing.”
Mara looked at the evidence bag containing the drive.
“No.”
She could hear Pike’s broken voice again.
His father’s.
“He gave Warren the drive years ago.”
Vale followed her reasoning.
“And Warren kept it.”
“Until today.”
Mara turned toward the elevator.
“Which means whatever is at Harbor East frightened him more than getting caught with the drive.”
The elevator doors opened.
Two uniformed officers stepped out.
Behind them stood a woman in a charcoal coat.
She was perhaps sixty, silver-haired, composed, and entirely dry despite the rain outside.
Vale stopped breathing.
The woman looked first at him, then at Mara.
Her gaze settled on the evidence bag.
“You found Thomas’s copy,” she said.
Vale’s voice came out almost soundless.
“Mother?”
The woman removed one leather glove finger by finger.
“No, Adrian.”
Her eyes stayed on the drive.
“You found Eleanor’s.”
For one disorienting second, Mara wondered whether the night had finally become too complicated for language.
Vale’s mother stepped out from behind the officers and held her glove in one hand.
Adrian’s face had gone blank in the particular way Mara had learned meant the opposite of calm.
“You told me Eleanor never knew about the accounts.”
“I told you she never knew what they became.”
“That is not remotely the same sentence.”
“No.”
One of the uniformed officers glanced between them.
The detective returned before anyone could continue.
He looked at Vale’s mother, then at the officer beside her.
“Who let her up?”
“She asked for you by name.”
“I asked who let her up.”
“I did,” the officer said.
The detective pinched the bridge of his nose.
Mara almost sympathized.
Vale’s mother extended her hand.
“Margaret Vale.”
“I know who you are.”
“That sounded unfriendly.”
“It’s been an unfriendly evening.”
Margaret accepted this with a small nod.
Her attention returned to the evidence bag.
“The drive should not be connected to any networked computer.”
The detective’s expression hardened.
“How do you know what’s on it?”
“I don’t.”
“You identified it from twenty feet away.”
“I identified the label.”
Mara looked at the white tape.
“M.R.”
Margaret’s eyes moved to her.
“Michael Rourke.”
The name meant nothing to Mara.
Vincent reacted.
Not dramatically.
His mouth simply opened and stayed that way half a second too long.
Mara caught it.
“So much for family gossip.”
Vincent rubbed his injured temple.
“I know the name.”
Vale turned toward him.
“Of course you do.”
“I said I know the name, not that he babysat me.”
“Who was he?”
Vincent looked at Margaret.
She answered first.
“Thomas’s accountant.”
Mara felt the shape of the problem shift again.
“An accountant put thirty-two million dollars through dormant vendors?”
“Michael would have called them controlled entities.”
“That sounds nicer.”
“He was very good at making ugly things sound administrative.”
“Is he alive?”
Margaret hesitated.
That was answer enough.
“Where is he?” the detective asked.
“No one has seen him in nine years.”
“Missing?”
“Officially, he resigned.”
“And unofficially?”
Margaret slid the glove back over her fingers.
“Unofficially, Thomas spent the last two years of his life trying to find him.”
Vale stared at her.
“You knew.”
“I knew some of it.”
“How much is some?”
“Enough to come here when Warren called me.”
Mara’s attention snapped to her.
“Warren called you tonight?”
“At nine sixteen.”
“Before he was shot.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Margaret looked at the detective.
“He said Eleanor’s copy had surfaced and Adrian was involved.”
Vale gave a short, humorless laugh.
“That was enough to bring you downtown?”
“No.”
For the first time, Margaret’s composure thinned.
“He said Mara Reed’s name.”
Mara’s skin prickled.
“Why would that matter to you?”
Margaret looked directly at her.
“Because Thomas wrote it down eleven years ago.”
Nobody moved.
A police radio chirped somewhere behind them.
Mara became aware of Bruno leaning against her calf.
The pressure of his warm body was absurdly comforting.
“My name?”
“Your surname and an initial.”
“M. Reed.”
“Yes.”
“That could be anyone.”
“It could.”
“But you don’t think it is.”
Margaret said nothing.
Mara stepped closer.
“Why did your husband have my name?”
“I hoped you could tell me.”
“I was twenty-six eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“I worked at Hensley and Moss.”
“I know that too.”
Mara’s anger arrived before her fear.
It was cleaner.
Easier to use.
“You seem to know quite a lot about me for someone I met thirty seconds ago.”
Adrian looked at his mother.
“How long have you been watching her?”
“I haven’t.”
“You knew where she worked.”
“Thomas’s notes contained employment records.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
Margaret’s eyes hardened.
“Would you prefer I invent answers because you’re angry?”
Something old passed between mother and son.
Mara could almost see the years behind it.
Vale stepped away.
The detective raised a hand before the argument could spread.
“Everybody stops.”
To Mara’s surprise, they did.
He pointed at Margaret.
“You’re coming downstairs and giving a formal statement.”
Then Vincent.
“You’re getting that head looked at.”
“I’ve been trying to avoid that.”
“You’re failing.”
Then Mara and Vale.
“You two are not going to Harbor East.”
Mara opened her mouth.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“I’m learning.”
His radio crackled again.
He listened, answered briefly, then looked at them.
“The hospital intruder had no weapon.”
Vale frowned.
“What was he carrying?”
“A flash drive.”
Mara stared at him.
The detective continued.
“He told security he was supposed to give it to Warren Pike personally.”
“Who sent him?”
“He won’t say.”
“Can we see it?”
“No.”
Vincent sighed.
“Worth asking.”
The detective’s phone rang.
He stepped away.
May you like
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Margaret noticed Bruno.
