Sidney Sheldon - Chasing Tomorrow

I like him, she thought. I’ll have to watch that.

When Jean finally spoke, it was slowly, as if he were thinking aloud, piecing things together as he went along.

“The problem is, I didn’t believe it was Elizabeth. I thought it was you.”

“You thought I ran around the world killing prostitutes?”

“No no no. Of course not. Our killer’s a man.”

“Okay, good. Glad we got that straightened out.”

“But I thought you were the link between the robberies and the murders.”

“Because of the nine-year thing?”

“Because of the nine years. Because of London. Because you’re a woman. Because these robberies were so close to your old MO—clever but simple, well planned, geographically spread out, always at a worthwhile price point.”

Tracy smiled. “You’re making me feel quite nostalgic.”

“Because you did do the Brookstein job,” he continued, counting the reasons off on his fingers. “Because I don’t believe in coincidences. At least, not twelve in a row. And because there wasn’t another viable suspect.”

“Until now,” said Tracy.

Jean nodded. “Until now. I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess? Now you have Elizabeth Kennedy. Right?”

“Hmm.”

“Really? We’re back to ‘hmm’?”

Jean looked up at her. “I still think you’re the link.”

Tracy put her head in her hands.

“Think about it,” said Jean. “These jobs are exactly like yours.”

“There are some similarities, on the surface,” Tracy conceded. “But I wasn’t there, Jean.”

“It’s more than similarities. If you didn’t do the robberies yourself—”

“No ‘if.’ I didn’t. I can prove it.”

“Then whoever did them is mimicking your techniques. That means they know you. Intimately. They know how you worked.”

No one knows how I worked, Tracy thought. No one except Jeff. And Gunther. But I hardly think Gunther’s running around the world pulling off jewel heists.

Aloud, she asked Jean, “Do you think someone’s trying to frame me?”

“It’s a possibility. Do you have any enemies that you know of?”

Tracy laughed loudly. “Hundreds!”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I! Let me think. There’s a man named Maximilian Pierpont who probably doesn’t have me at the top of his Christmas-card list. Then there’s Lois Bellamy, Gregory Halston, Alberto Fornati . . .” She listed some of her more prominent former victims. “Quite a number of people at the Prado museum in Madrid . . . Luckily most of them think I’m dead. Just like your friends at the FBI. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Of course, we may not be looking for an enemy at all,” said Jean. “There may be other motives in play. Possibly this person admired your work and wants to follow in your footsteps.”

“Like a fan, you mean? Or a tribute band?” Tracy asked mockingly.

“Is that so unlikely?”

“Unlikely? From where I’m sitting, it’s completely ridiculous. Look. Your only viable suspect for these robberies is Elizabeth Kennedy. She’s a woman, she’s active, and she operates at this level. I know for a fact that she’d been working Sheila Brookstein for months. But I can assure you that that woman is no fan of mine. She seduced my husband, Inspector. She destroyed my life. And not for money. For fun.” Tracy’s voice hardened. “I hate her. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.”

“Yes, but don’t you see?” said Jean. “That still makes you the link. Elizabeth Kennedy emerges as a new suspect, totally unknown to Interpol until now . . . and even she’s connected to you.”

“Meaning?”

Jean groaned. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it means.”

He’d lost the thread, if he ever even had one in the first place. He was hungry and exhausted. Trying to hold on to a thought felt like swimming through molasses.

“Forget me for the moment,” said Tracy. “Let’s assume there is a link between the robberies and the murders. Let’s also assume that Elizabeth was involved in all the robberies. Given that we know I wasn’t.”

Jean nodded. “Okay.”

“Shouldn’t your next move be to find Elizabeth? Whatever your doubts, Jean, the way I see it, she’s all you’ve got.”

“You could be right. But finding Elizabeth Kennedy may be easier said than done. The young lady’s a pro. She’s given the FBI the slip on at least three occasions that I know of. She evaporated out of L.A. after the Brookstein job even faster than you did.”

“And more successfully, evidently,” Tracy added ruefully. “So what do you know about her?”

“Not much.” Jean gave her the bare bones of Elizabeth’s history as provided by the FBI. Her upbringing in England, her juvenile record, the string of crimes in which she’d been identified as a “person of interest” and some of her known aliases. “The feds are convinced she works with a partner. A man. Just like you did with Jeff Stevens.”

“I doubt that.”

Jean looked surprised. “Why?”

“Why split the money if you don’t have to? Jeff and I were different. A one-shot deal, if you like. Only a man would assume that a woman like Elizabeth needs a man behind her, pulling the strings.”

Jean signaled for the check.

“Thanks for coming out tonight, Tracy.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” she said.

“Look. I like you,” said Jean. “I do. I can see you’ve built a good life here. I don’t want to cause trouble for you and your son.”

“Then don’t.” Despite herself, Tracy’s eyes began to well up. “I’ve told you as much as I know. Truly. Please leave us alone now.”

“I can’t,” said Jean. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can!”

Jean shook his head. “I have a job to do, Tracy. I have to catch this bastard before he kills again. If the FBI catches up with Elizabeth Kennedy before I do, they’ll charge her with the thefts and send her to jail and we’ll lose our only link to this psycho, whoever he is. What you said just now was right. We need to find Elizabeth.”

“I didn’t say ‘we.’ I said ‘you,’ ” Tracy shot back angrily. “ You need to find her, Jean.”

“We need to find her and follow her until we find him. ”

“If there is a him.”

“I need your help, Tracy.”

“For God’s sake, I don’t know Elizabeth,” Tracy pleaded. “How can I possibly help you? I told you, I ran into her in L.A. by chance. Before that I hadn’t seen her in years. Almost a decade! I didn’t even know her real name till tonight.”

“The point is, she knows you, ” said Jean. “She thinks like you. She operates like you. You’re inside her head, Tracy, whether you want to be or not. You have to help me find her before Milton Buck does.”

“And if I refuse?” Tracy’s eyes flashed defiantly.

“I’ll expose you. I’ll tell your son the truth. I’m sorry, Tracy”—Jean sighed—“but I don’t have a choice.”

There were a few moments of silence. Then Tracy said, “Once we find her, do you swear you will leave me alone? You will never, ever try to contact me again?”

“You have my word.”

Jean offered her his hand. Tracy shook it. He had a firm handshake, and his palm was warm and dry against her own.

Tracy thought, I trust him.

God help me.

Jean signed the check and they walked outside. The crisp night air felt reviving to both of them as they walked to Jean’s car.

“So,” said Jean. “You’re Elizabeth Kennedy. You’ve spent the last six months planning to steal the Brookstein rubies only to have your archrival beat you to the punch at the very last moment. What’s your next move?”