Кэти Райх - A Conspiracy of Bones

“Have you met Felix Vodyanov?” Casual as hell.

The leer cooled. I’d said something wrong.

“I only asked bec—”

“You want more brandy?” Withdrawing his hand.

“This is lovely. But I’m actually more of a scotch drinker.”

“Hold on.”

As Bing lurched off, I poured my cognac into the lily. A glance at the list revealed my mistake.

“I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have used a last name,” I said when my glass held Glenfiddich and the bottle sat beside it.

Bing repeated the one-shoulder shrug.

“Flora explained.” Contrite. “I forgot.”

“It’s not a big deal with me. Just, you know, house rules.”

“Won’t happen again.” Mimicking a key turning over my lips.

For several seconds, the only sound was the muffled narration beyond the door.

“Has Felix been here recently?”

“Not lately.” Then a comment Bing’s brain hadn’t fully vetted. “Haven’t seen little brother in a while, either.”

“Little brother?” Hoping Slidell was getting all this.

“Nick.”

Holy hopping shit!

“Of course.” Forcing my voice neutral. “Nick’s so much fun.”

The bleary eyes bugged, and the bull neck turtled out. “Are you fuckin’ serious? The guy’s an asshole.”

“You think so?”

“Fuuuck.”

Speaking in a coquettish whisper, I encouraged, “Are we talking about the same Nick?”

“The guy’s a tool.” The booze was now dulling Bing’s mind and slurring his speech. “A fuckin’ Russian tool.”

Don’t overplay.

“What’s that old story about Nick and Felix?”

“Yeah.” Bing snorted wetly. “They both start out Vodyanov, right? But Nick don’t want to sound foreign, so he changes the V to B, since that’s how it’s written in whatever the hell alphabet Russkis use, and he chops off the end. Vodyanov becomes goddamn Body.”

Bing again drained his glass, smacked down the tumbler.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That’s the one.”

“He probably quit coming because of the fight.”

“Body?” Forming the name with my lips but not speaking it aloud.

Bing shook his head no. “Big brother.”

“Felix.”

“Felix the fall guy.” Mocking. “Klutzoid.”

“Who did he fight with?”

“Dude named Twist. I wasn’t here that night, but things get around.”

“When was this?”

“I’m thinking maybe three, four weeks back.” Bing’s brows dipped again. “Yeah. The twentieth. I wasn’t working that Wednesday. Don’t get that many days off.”

June 20. Two days before Vodyanov’s late-night prowl at Sharon Hall.

Another snort. “I heard Felix jumped Twist’s ass. Quite a move for the little wimp. Can’t say I blame him. Twist’s another real sleaze.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The dickhead’s into kiddie porn. In my book, anyone messes with …”

Over Bing’s shoulder, I saw the closed door swing in toward the stove. Yates Timmer stood with one hand on the knob, military glasses pointed squarely at me.

“Who is this?”

Bing fired up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. “A friend of Flora’s.”

“I see.” Unruffled. “Her name?”

Realizing he’d never asked, Bing tried to segue. “I was showing cordiality. Like you coach us.”

“Did you request ID?” Gaze still on me.

Bing stood mute, mouth agape.

I rose.

Timmer eyed me a few seconds longer. Then, “Have we met?”

“No.”

Bing shot me a furious look, or tried to. The sudden movement forced him to step sideways to regain his balance.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m interested in DeepHaven.”

“What do you know about DeepHaven?”

“I’m hoping you’ll inform me.”

“You are an acquaintance of Flora’s?”

I nodded.

“Her surname, please?”

I had no answer.

“She knows Felix and Nick.” Bing, desperate to justify his actions.

“Detain her,” Timmer said.

An entire nation of neurons bellowed retreat.

Slidell stepped from the pantry.

23

MONDAY, JULY 9–TUESDAY, JULY 10

“No one’s detaining no one.” Slidell’s tone was even but glacial.

Timmer’s eyes hardened behind their Army-style lenses. He turned them on Skinny but spoke to Bing.

“Why are these people in my kitchen?”

Not unexpectedly, Bing was slow to react. “I was watching her. She wasn’t going nowhere.”

“And the gentleman?”

“I—I didn’t know he was here.” Sloppy shrug. “He slipped by me.”

“Slipped by you.” Anger swelled in his voice, threatening to surface.

“I had to take a leak, all right? You told me never to interrupt the pitch. Since I couldn’t cut through the living room to the crapper, I went outside.”

Timmer looked at me across the bright pink calla lily. At the cognac and scotch sitting on the table.

“I will ask you again, miss. What do you want?”

“I will answer you again, sir. Info on DeepHaven.”

“How did you learn of this place?”

“Your catchy logo.”

“We don’t advertise.”

“I viewed your website. Took the tour of World’s End House.”

“You are interested in underground living?”

“Maybe.”

“Visits to this location are by invitation only. You should contact my office during regular business hours.”

“I did.”

A sliver of a pause, then, “You fraudulently claim to know one of my clients. You enter my property under false pretenses. Somehow I doubt your veracity, Miss—?”

“We’re done here.” Slidell jumped in before I could answer.

“I could have you both arrested.” A hint of aggression in Timmer’s voice.

“That would be a very bad idea.” To me. “Let’s go.”

Without warning, Bing launched himself at Slidell in a disorganized, sloppy-jointed, slo-mo lunge. Skinny reacted with more agility than I’d have thought him capable of. In one lightning move, he sidestepped, grabbed Bing’s leading shoulder, and, using the forward motion to his advantage, spun and slammed the big man into the wall.

Timmer retreated behind the door.

Slidell held Bing a long, painful moment, crooking one arm high behind his back. Then, “As I said, we’re going now.”

Bing grunted and nodded, one beefy cheek tight to the plaster. A few beats, then Slidell released his grip. Bing slid to the floor, a glistening trail of drool and snot marking his descent.

With one glare in my direction, Slidell strode past me toward the door.

The return trip along the beach was not an experience I want to repeat. Slidell was furious. At me. At Timmer. At being in a situation not fully under his control. Mostly at me.

“That was one stupid goddamn waste of time.”

“It wasn’t. We learned several things.”

“Yeah? Like I shouldn’t listen to any more of your harebrained ideas.”

“We learned that Felix Vodyanov and Nick Body are brothers. That Vodyanov got into a fight with a guy named Twist.”

Slidell tripped and stumbled forward. I waited as he regained his balance.

“We learned that the fight took place two days before I spotted Vodyanov prowling my front yard.”

“If the guy in the trench coat was Vodyanov.”

“A week after the fight with Twist, Vodyanov turned up dead.”

“Eeyuh.”

We continued past yards and cottages still as crypts. Through mud-crusted litter. My breathing was good, my legs strong from the hours of jogging. And the downhill gradient didn’t hurt. Beside me, Slidell was struggling.

Then, above Slidell’s panting and slogging, I heard a sound. Footsteps? Were Timmer and Bing following us? Others? Cops? Had Timmer called 911?