Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

“We’re going to Zurich? You think we can get into that safety-deposit box?”

“That’s the least of our problems.”

It seemed a huge problem to Jane. But it was clearly a necessity with which they’d have to deal.

“Anything else?” Caleb asked.

She pulled out the chamois pouch. “This was stuffed in the back of her jewelry box. Most of the jewelry in it was costume. She probably kept the good stuff in a safe.”

“Or a safety-deposit box.”

“Well, this was pushed in the back. I don’t believe its jewelry.” She opened the strings and emptied the contents on the table.

Two coins.

Small, silver, edges worn and chipped, incredibly old.

Jane frowned. “What are they?”

“I may be able to help a little but not much,” Caleb said. “My uncle was a collector, and he left me his collection when he died. But it was never my cup of tea.” He picked up one of the coins. “Old. Coined somewhere in the Middle East about A.D. 5. Pretty common. I saw quite a few in my uncle’s collection. I wouldn’t think it would be worth much.”

“Maybe that’s why she kept it with her costume jewelry.” She frowned. “But why keep it at all? Even her costume pieces looked as if they were good quality and worth something.”

He shrugged. “Maybe sentimental value? We’ll have to find out.”

“If it’s worth finding out. Perhaps I just grabbed the wrong items to-”

Jock knocked on the door and entered. “Venable said that it was probably too late for him to do anything, but he’d explore the situation. He wasn’t pleased that we hadn’t told him we had a lead on Weismann.” He glanced at the coins on the table. “What are those?”

“Coins she found in Adah Ziller’s room,” Caleb said. “Very old. Also, we came up with airline tickets to Syria, a safety-deposit box in Zurich, and a leather book that we can’t read because it’s in Arabic. Now you’re completely caught up.”

“Thank you,” Jock said dryly. “For what it’s worth.” He turned to Jane. “We can’t be sure the police won’t trace us back here. We were a little too visible. I vote for not waiting until later to move. I think we should pack up and get out of here.”

“So do I.” Jane turned and strode toward the suitcases she’d set against the far wall. “How long will it take us to get to Zurich?”

“Six hours or so,” Caleb said. “Perhaps a little longer since we have to stop and have Lina translate that book.”

“Lina? She’s the one who does your translating?”

“Lina Alsouk. Yes, she’s very good.”

“But is she fast? Can we get to Zurich before the close of the banking day?”

“Maybe. We’ll work something out.”

“That sounds a little too casual to me,” Jane said. “If you’ll recall, I’m on something of a deadline.” She shook her head as she realized what she had said. “Deadline. Dead end. There are so many phrases that have to do with death. They couldn’t be more descriptive, could they?”

“No,” Jock said. “But not ones I like to use in your case.” He headed for the door. “I’ll pack and meet you downstairs in the lobby. Which car are we using?”

“The BMW,” Caleb said. “It’s not a rental and can’t be traced.”

“What?”

Caleb shrugged. “I’m a hunter. It’s convenient for me to keep a car at several cities in Europe. Paris is one of them. The license-plate numbers are phony, and I have an extra set in the boot.”

“Then I didn’t need to throw mud on those plates at Adah Ziller’s place,” Jock said dryly.

“No, but I didn’t have time to tell you at the time,” Caleb said. “We were in a bit of a hurry.”

“We’re still in a hurry,” Jane said. “I don’t want to have to hang around and wait until the bank opens tomorrow morning.”

“Then you won’t have to do it. I told you that we’ll work it out,” Caleb said. “I’ll go down and gas up the car for the trip.”

Day Four

LINA ALSOUK LIVED IN A SMALL picture-postcard cottage in the foothills of the Alps. The scenery was spectacular, the house cozy, and the woman kneeling in the vegetable garden was probably the most beautiful woman Jane had ever seen. Though like the scenery, that beauty was entirely natural and owed nothing to artifice. Lina Alsouk was in her late twenties, with short, dark, curly hair and huge brown eyes that glowed in her thin, tanned face. She had perfect features but wore no makeup and her hair was very simply styled. She was dressed in jeans and a navy sweatshirt that were worn and shabby with use.

“It’s about time, Caleb,” she said as she wiped her dirty hands on the towel she picked up from the ground beside her. “You tell me to make myself ready, then you take hours to get here.” Her English was perfect, with only a hint of an accent. “You’re taking me for granted. I should have told you to take your business elsewhere.”

“But I’m such a good customer,” Caleb said as he got out of the car and strolled toward her. “And you never know when you might need a customer like me. How are you, Lina?”

She shrugged. “Well, enough. And you?”

“Better than when I last saw you.” He glanced at Jane, who was getting out of the car. “I had a very successful hunt recently.”

“The man you were hunting when I first met you?” When he nodded, she smiled brilliantly. “That is good. I’m happy for you.” She turned to Jane. “You are Jane MacGuire? Caleb told me about you. I will try to help.”

“Lina Alsouk, Jane MacGuire,” Caleb waved at Gavin, who was coming toward them. “And this is Jock Gavin.”

Lina smiled and nodded. “I am pleased to meet any friend of Caleb’s.”

“Well, he doesn’t exactly consider himself my friend,” Caleb said. “But he’s definitely Jane’s friend.”

“Yes.” Jock held out his hand to Lina. “May I help you up?”

She shook her head. “I’m dirty.”

“So am I.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “It just doesn’t show.” He smiled. “And I like the feel of earth on my hands. I had a garden of my own until recently. Gardening is very healing, isn’t it?” He looked at the rows. “Vegetables. I planted mostly flowers.”

“I like to make sure I’m totally independent here. I can eat tomatoes; flowers aren’t nearly as digestible.” She tore her gaze away from him and turned to Caleb. “Where is this book I’m supposed to translate?”

“I have it.” Jane took the leather book out of her purse. “It looks like some kind of journal. I don’t know if any of the information will be pertinent. I think I could make out a few of the dates. Some of the earlier entries appear to be over five years old.”

“I can’t touch it yet. I have to wash my hands.” She turned toward the front door. “Come in.”

The interior of the cottage was one huge room with an adjoining kitchen. The furniture was sparse, comfortable, but very simple.

Lina went to the stainless-steel sink and began to wash her hands. “I’d offer you a cup of tea, but Caleb said you were going to be in a hurry.”

“We are,” Jane said. “Thank you.” She handed her the towel on the hook by the sink. “I’d appreciate your doing it as quickly as possible.”

She nodded as she took the book. “I’ll do what I can.” She took her laptop and a pad and pencil from the desk and sat down in a chair at the kitchen table. She started to flip through the book. “I usually do a scan first. Just to pull out the main content. Is that all right?”

Jane nodded. “Whatever. Maybe you can tell us enough to know if we can use any of it.”

She flipped back to the first page. “Adah Ziller. It is a journal of sorts. But it spans years and is very spotty. It starts when she was a schoolgirl in Syria. It seems to skip several years and continues when she was at the university in England.” She flipped more pages. “It’s pretty disjointed. It’s going to take some time.”