Upon A Pale Horse (18 page)

“We’re not in the habit of sending our staff on paid European vacations, young man,” Fairbanks countered sternly.

“Sir, with all due respect, I wouldn’t call sitting in sessions from eight to five for two days a vacation. One of the reasons I try to avoid these is because they’re typically like having un-anesthetized oral surgery. But with the fluid situation in the EU, I’m willing to make an exception. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it was a good use of my time. And if anything comes up between now and then, I can take files with me and work on them on the plane and in the evenings, so my effective usefulness wouldn’t be affected in my absence, nor would my ability to bill.” Jeffrey figured he would mention the magic words – ‘billable hours.’ “And of course, the whole thing’s a write off…”

“And you really believe this is an essential conference?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. I’ll only lose two days of office time – I can take a red-eye over the night before. I think it would be a mistake not to go. My understanding is that every major player in the field is sending personnel there.”

“I see,” Fairbanks said, studying him over the rims of his reading glasses. He took a few seconds to think and then leaned forward. “Let me take it up with Garfield and confirm that he doesn’t have anything pressing he intends to assign you. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear from him,” he said, bringing the matter to a close and lowering his eyes back to the paperwork he’d been working on. Jeffrey got the hint and returned to his office, confident that he’d be allowed to take the time off.

Two hours later he got a terse email from Fairbanks okaying the trip.

He went to the men’s room and splashed water on his face, then dried it and looked at his reflection in the mirror. At least that part of his plan had gone off without a hitch. The symposium had been a brilliant feint, a completely reasonable distraction for anyone watching his movements. He could slip out and get to the bank in the late afternoon, and then would have the weekend there if he needed it. And all under the guise of work-related travel.

In a little over a week, he’d know what his brother had paid his life to discover.

From there, he had absolutely no idea what he would do.

But it was a start.

In the meantime, he wanted to spend some time researching cattle mutilations, and figure out how to get to rural Virginia to see about tracking down the professor. All without raising any red flags.

A tall order, but now that he was committed, there was no way he would turn back.

TWENTY

Suspicions

“Europe! Take me with you!” said Monica, as she pushed her Chinese dinner around her plate at Jeffrey’s dining room table.

“I wish I could. It’s not like that. It’s a conference. I’m going to be in meetings all day, and knowing how these go, probably side meetings after. It’s work, not pleasure, unfortunately.”

“That’s what they all say,” she pouted.

“Except this time it’s true. With what happened in Cyprus, the rules are changing really fast, and I need to be up on what the current thinking is. It’s what I do. My job. Besides which, I’m just getting on a plane, landing and going to the meeting, spending the night, and then flying back after the conference on Friday night. It’s actually sort of hellish.”

“Put that way, it doesn’t sound like that much fun,” Monica conceded. “Hey, maybe you can get me some chocolate while you’re there!”

“One order of Swiss chocolate, coming up,” Jeffrey assured her in his most serious tone.

“Do you have to do many of these?”

“No. Thank God. There’s nothing more boring than a symposium with five hundred other attorneys. Usually I’d figure out how to weasel out of it and send someone else, but this is kind of the Super Bowl of Euro Zone structuring, so it’s best that I go. Anyway, it’s a done deal, and it’s only for two days, so I’ll be back before you know it.”

“What am I going to do to keep myself occupied when you’re gone? I’ve gotten used to having you as my boy toy…”

“Hold that thought,” he said, moving his plate aside and standing.

She gave him a flirtatious look. “Our food will get cold.”

“That’s why man invented microwaves. Or at least one of the reasons, I’m pretty sure.”

Jeffrey lay staring at the ceiling as Monica nuzzled his chest, basking in the lingering afterglow of passion, their lovemaking as enthusiastic as always. His heart was torn at not being able to confide in her, but he didn’t want to endanger her in any way – and he kept revisiting Becky’s death, perhaps an accident, but more likely not. As much as he would have liked to share his internal drama, he wouldn’t put Monica in harm’s way. It was better that she knew nothing.

He disengaged and went out into the front room, then got online and checked his email, hoping to see something from the brokerage firm or the banks he’d contacted after receiving Keith’s death certificate. He had no idea what he was going to discover when he opened the Swiss box, but having a boatload of ready cash wouldn’t be a bad idea, and his brother’s accounts were just sitting there, engorged with dollars. Only the usual work-related messages had come in, though, and he put off reading them until he was on the clock and could bill for his time. It was company policy to bill for every second spent on a client’s behalf, and Jeffrey could see the wisdom in that – otherwise half the day could be eaten up with uncompensated queries that would “just take a second” from clients who didn’t comprehend how attorneys earned their keep.

A part of him itched to go on the web and do some research, but he knew better, and had resigned himself to behaving as though every move was being tracked. Which had made his private life difficult, to say the least. Now that he suspected that the condo was compromised, he’d had issues with making love, knowing that someone might be listening in, but it would have seemed strange if he’d suddenly lost interest, and truthfully one look at Monica generally solved that problem. Any reticence he attributed to thoughts about his brother, and she’d seemed sympathetic. It had to be a little weird living in your dead brother’s condo, after all.

He pushed the thought from his mind and instead focused on his errands for tomorrow – to stop in at the office supply store and research the best way to get to Virginia without a tail, and to see what else he could glean about the cattle mutilations. He wished he could spend his evenings out somewhere he could get online, but it was foolhardy, and it would have seemed odd if he’d suddenly become uninterested in spending his free time with Monica. For all he knew, that was what had tipped them off about Keith. Again, he couldn’t take the chance, so he had to keep to his normal habits, seeming dumb and happy.

There was only one niggling problem, and it had come to him as he’d grown increasingly paranoid since his discovery. Monica. His good fortune with the woman of his dreams had begun at the same time his career had taken off. And she had cinched the deal on him moving to Washington. But how much did he really know about her, other than what she’d told him? He hated the feeling of suspicion that had colored his feelings, but Keith’s revelation had changed everything, and he was now no longer unquestioning.

Which brought him to his next agenda item, which he felt rotten about. He needed to know whether Monica was what she seemed.

He’d agonized over it for the last few days, and the only plan he’d been able to come up with had been to hire a private investigator to verify her story. But that was harder than it sounded, given the constraints. It wasn’t like he could just call one on his cell or office phone. Even something as simple as that required planning and subterfuge, and he’d mapped out his lunch time and the few evenings of the week that Monica wasn’t with him to deal with hiring a PI and making his way to Virginia.

“Honey? Are you coming to bed?” Monica called sleepily from the bedroom, and a pang of guilt stabbed through his heart at the sound of her voice. How low had he sunk to suspect everyone around him – even a woman he was crazy about?

“Yeah. Be there in a second.”

He closed his mental list of pseudo-errands and shook his head. It would be a long week. Tomorrow would be the first day he “forgot” his phone at home for the day, continuing to establish the pattern of absent-mindedness he was cultivating for his watchers. Part of him felt like he was going slowly mad, seeing ghosts everywhere, but the rational part of his mind told him that he was being prudent in light of the evidence.

Whatever the case, he felt like a complete shit sneaking around behind Monica’s back and going so far as to hire someone to spy on her.

But there was no other way.

And he had to know.

TWENTY-ONE

Boys’ Night Out

The next day at lunch he looked up several private detectives and spoke with two, outlining in general terms what he was looking for – a discreet background check and possibly some surveillance. The first couldn’t take a job for a week and wanted him to come into the office, but the second was hungrier and agreed to meet him that evening at seven at the British pub.

Monica had already told him that she needed the evening to run errands she’d been putting off and do laundry again, so he was in the clear, a bachelor for the night. He left his phone at home and walked briskly down the empty street, glad there were no other pedestrians out because it would be easier to spot anyone following him. When he entered the bar, he looked around and saw his investigator – heavyset and ruddy-complexioned, wearing a tweed jacket, sitting at one of the booths in the back, as agreed. Jeffrey walked to the bar and ordered a black and tan, watching the entrance as he waited, and when he was confident that nobody had followed him in, he took the seat opposite the man, one eye on the door.

“Owen Jakes. Please to meet you,” the investigator said, holding out a hand the size of a bear paw. Jeffrey shook it and introduced himself, then took a sip of his beer, marveling at how good it tasted.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to spill it and you can figure out whether it’s something you can do. I met a woman a few weeks ago, and we’ve become inseparable. But I don’t really know anything about her. And I want to. I’m thinking a check on her work and living situation, and maybe a little light surveillance. Shouldn’t take much,” Jeffrey explained.

Jakes’ face was impassive, unreadable. “Hundred and fifty an hour, plus expenses, minimum ten hours. If we find a rat, then figure another twenty-four to forty-eight.”

The numbers hung in the air like a curse, and Jeffrey did a quick mental calculation. It could get expensive quickly. Then again, he was earning a fortune, so what was a few grand if it assured him that Monica was the genuine article?

“When can you start?”

“I can run the trace tomorrow, and any surveillance after that – maybe Thursday. What do you have on her?”

“I…I have a business card, and a photo I printed out.”

“What about home address?”

“She lives with a couple of roommates somewhere around Foggy Bottom. I’ve never been up to her apartment, just outside her building. But frankly, I wasn’t paying attention, and it was night, and I didn’t know anything about the town…”