Andrew Grant - Even

And able to do more than just make calls.

Lavine thought the events outside the Bulldog were significant enough to bring back his boss, so Varley was called in for the next morning’s meeting. That meant heading up to the boardroom. The three FBI guys were already there when Tanya and I arrived, just shy of eight thirty. Varley was waiting in his seat. Someone had left a tray of coffees on the table next to him. Weston was helping himself to one. And Lavine was busy setting out piles of papers in the places we’d each used last time we’d met.

I gathered up the thicker pile he’d left near my seat and started to flick through it. The top sheet was a list of calls. Next were transcripts of text messages, including the ones Tanya had sent yesterday about meeting Mansell. The rest were photographs. There were seventeen. They’d been blown up to eight by ten inches, leaving the color washed out and the images grainy and fragmented. Typical of a low-resolution camera-phone.

“Morning,” Varley said. “Come on, join us. Grab a coffee. Take a seat. Don’t want to waste any time, today. Bartman, lead off, please.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lavine said, holding up the thinner stack of papers. “This is the list of calls made from one of the phones recovered in last night’s incident. It corresponds exactly with the records David acquired at Tungsten’s offices, and it shows a call to each of our previous victims shortly prior to their deaths.”

He paused and looked in turn at each person in the room, as if inviting questions. No one spoke.

“So, it’s safe to conclude we know who murdered the five ex-Tungsten employees,” he said. “The owner of that phone. The same guy now lying in the morgue, courtesy of the NYPD. Anyone disagree?”

No one spoke.

“Which is great news,” Varley said. “Case closed. A little unorthodox. Not quite the result I’d expected, but good work anyway, guys. Let’s chalk this one up to Mike. We should have more than coffee in here. And of course special thanks go to you, Ms. Wilson.”

“To me?” Tanya said. “Why?”

“Your input was crucial,” Varley said. “Recognizing the crime-scene photos was a huge break for us. We may never have found the link to Tungsten without it. You put us on the right track.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tanya said. “I’m glad to help catch the man who killed my brother’s friend.”

“Oh, my,” Varley said. “Aren’t I the sensitive one. I forgot how you knew the guy. I hope this leads you to some sort of closure.”

“Thank you,” Tanya said. “I’m sure it will. I’m just sorry that no one will stand trial for it. Doesn’t feel like proper justice, this way.”

“The guy’s dead,” I said. “That works for me.”

“No, I’m with Ms. Wilson,” Varley said. “The outcome was regrettable. Obviously we can’t go back and change it now. But what we can do is make sure the case holds together. So Kyle, first thing, I want you to sit on forensics.”

“Sir,” Weston said.

“Make sure they stay the course on this one,” Varley said. “It would be nice to tie the guy in a little tighter than just the phone calls.”

“He also had Mansell’s cell,” Weston said.

“He did,” Varley said. “That’s got to be significant. But what else do we know about him?”

“Not much, to be honest,” Lavine said. “His name’s Salih Hamad. Iraqi citizen. Entered the U.S. legally, eight weeks ago, via JFK. Employed by Tungsten Security, which is no surprise. But there’s a lot else we don’t know. I wouldn’t be hanging the flags out yet, if it was me.”

“What’s on your mind?” Varley said.

“A few things,” Lavine said. “Like we think he killed the other five guys, but why did he do it? We can’t put this to bed without knowing why.”

“The money,” Weston said. “Hamad worked at Tungsten. He could have had access to all kinds of records. We need a full workup on the guy. See what shape he was in, financially. Also, we need to follow up on the warrant. Find out exactly what his job gave him sight of.”

“I’m still not convinced about the money,” Tanya said.

“We can’t rule it out just yet,” Varley said. “Stay with it, Kyle. Anything else, Bartman?”

“Yes,” Lavine said. “Mansell. If he’s alive, we should find him. Something doesn’t add up. If Hamad had Mansell’s cell, I want to know how he got it. And when.”

“I see where you’re going,” Weston said. “Mansell contacted Mike. To set up the meeting. If he’d lost his cell, how did he make the call?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Lavine said.

“I can answer that,” Tanya said. “These other papers-they’re from Mansell’s phone?”

“They are,” Lavine said.

“OK,” Tanya said. “If we compare the two lists of calls, what do we see? Let’s start with my brother’s friend, Simon Redford, whose body you found. A call comes in to his phone from Hamad, the morning of the day he died. Four minutes later, Redford called Mansell. They talked for eight minutes. There was no further activity on either phone until later that afternoon. Then Mansell tried to call Redford ten, twelve, fourteen times. All were unsuccessful. And straight after the last try, he called this toll-free number. See that?”

“It’s the hotline number Mike set up,” Weston said.

“I guessed that,” Tanya said. “So this is what I think happened. Redford told Mansell about the call from Hamad, and how they were going to meet. Then maybe Mansell heard about another freerider being killed, or maybe he just got nervous when Redford didn’t answer his phone. Either way, he was spooked enough to call for help.”

“But why call us?” Varley said. “How would Mansell know the hotline number?”

“He got it from the flyers Agent Lavine told us about yesterday,” Tanya said. “You were away somewhere when we discussed it. Anyway, Redford was the third to be killed, remember. Then the next day, look, Mansell himself took a call from Hamad. After that there’s nothing till you guys found the number in Mike’s paperwork and started trying it yourselves.”

“So you think Mansell met with Hamad?” Varley said. “He was that stupid, after what happened to his buddy?”

“After what he thought happened,” Tanya said. “My guess is he went looking for answers. He got some, of a sort. And it only cost him his phone, not his life, unlike the others.”

“And if he didn’t have his cell, he couldn’t warn the other two,” Lavine said. “That explains how Hamad could still pick them off, one at a time.”

“Wow, back up,” Varley said. “How do we know it didn’t cost Mansell his life? I still don’t see a compelling reason.”

“Thinking about it, we don’t know,” I said.

“No, we don’t,” Weston said. “Yesterday, we assumed he’d survived because he called Mike. But based on that sequence from Tanya, he could have been killed any time after he set up the meeting. Especially if he ran into Hamad.”

“We have no proof Mansell ever made it to the alley,” Lavine said.

“And everything else would have unfolded the same whether Mansell made it or not,” Weston said. “Mike was in place ahead of time. Lesley’s guy stumbled across him by chance. David showed up. We just don’t know about Mansell, either way.”

“I’m sorry, Tanya,” I said.

“None of that’s conclusive,” Tanya said. “He could easily still be alive. We must keep on looking for him.”

“We’ll look,” Varley said. “But I want the focus on Hamad. What was behind his killing spree? Stealing payoffs? Or is there more to it?”

“We know Hamad took Mansell’s phone,” I said. “We should focus on that. Forget everything else.”