Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

“We found it at the top of the hill, where Eugene does his target practice.”

“And...?”

“And, I wondered if it was yours,” he said, his gaze steady.

“No, mine is an iPhone, remember?”

“Maybe we should charge the throwaway.”

“I don’t have a charger for something that old, just for my iPhone.”

“Well, I couldn’t find one in your room. Everybody else has denied ownership of the throwaway. That leaves you.”

“No,” she said. “More likely it leaves one of them who’s lying. The phone is not mine.”

“You mind if we fingerprint you and make comparisons?”

“Go right ahead. You fingerprinted me when I first came here, remember? All you need is a print from the phone.” She was sure she had wiped it down, and she hoped she had done so thoroughly.

“Only Eugene’s prints are on it,” Sykes said.

“Perhaps Eugene found his own phone,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because you know it’s not yours. I know it’s not mine. And Eugene’s prints are on it. Were his the only ones?”

“There was one other,” Sykes said. “It doesn’t match anyone here. We’re running it through the national register.”

“Wow! How do you get access to that?”

“We have friends everywhere.”

“You certainly do. What will you do if the odd print belongs to one of the other men?”

“Take him out and shoot him, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s decisive.”

“I’m a decisive man; when I find that I’ve been betrayed, I act decisively.”

“I admire that in a man.”

“I thought you preferred women.”

“I prefer decisiveness in men. I prefer fucking women.”

“Is that what, ah, you girls call it?”

“We look at fucking as an act of sex in general, not one in particular.”

“I read that in a novel once,” Sykes said.

“Perhaps we read the same fiction.”

“I doubt it.”

“I doubt it, too.”

Sykes stood up. “Thanks for the bourbon,” he said, then left the room.

Bess thought about which of the men she had seen on the hilltop. Just two: Eugene and his friend Earl. Then she had a thought. She went into the kitchen where Elroy was making biscuits. “I’m a little peckish, Elroy,” she said. “May I have a biscuit?”

Elroy flipped one from a hot pan onto a saucer, opened it with his knife, and buttered it. “There you go,” he said, handing her the saucer.

She bit into it and burned her tongue a little. “Fresh from the oven,” she said, fanning her mouth.

“Sorry about that,” Elroy said. “They’re best hot.”

She blew on the biscuit and attempted another bite. “Better,” she said.

“Always.”

“Elroy, may I ask you a question?”

“As long as you don’t expect an honest answer,” he replied.

“It’s not all that personal. Have you ever been to the top of the hill out there?” She pointed her chin at the outside.

“Sure. I go up there and set a spell now and then.”

“Have you ever taken a cell phone up there?”

Elroy looked at her appraisingly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Eugene found one up there, and Sykes is pissed off about it. He says he found a fingerprint on it that isn’t Eugene’s or the rest of his guys’ or mine. He also says that if he finds out who it is, he’s going to take him out and shoot him.”

Elroy looked at her curiously, but didn’t reply immediately. “Do you think he would do that?” he asked, finally.

“I think he might. You must know that there’s something going on around here.”

“Generally,” he said, “I keep my ass in the kitchen.”

“A wise decision. I just wanted you to know, just in case it’s your print.”

Now he looked at her more curiously. “Who do you work for?” he asked.

“I work for a guy at the Justice Department. What about you?”

“I’m self-employed,” Elroy replied. “I do contract work for Sykes.”

“Fine by me,” she said.

“Thanks for thinking of me,” he replied, then went back to making biscuits.

Bess took her biscuit off the saucer and put that in the sink, then she walked outside, munching. She was safe, she was sure about that. She wasn’t sure about Elroy.

Elroy was taking his biscuits out of the oven when Sykes walked into the room.

“Got a minute, Elroy?”

“Certainly, Colonel.”

Sykes held up the cell phone. “Is this yours?”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Elroy said. “Where did you find that? I’ve been looking for it for a week, maybe longer.”

“It was found at the top of the hill out there.”

“Well, I guess that’s where I left it.”

“Would you like it back?” Sykes held out the phone.

“I guess so, but I’ve already replaced it with an iPhone.” Elroy pressed the on button. “It’s still dead.”

“It was dead when you left it there?”

“Yeah, and it wouldn’t take a charge. That’s why I got a new one.”

“Can I see the new one?”

“I didn’t bring it today. What’s the point? You’ve got no reception out here, anyway.” He dropped the cell phone into his garbage can. “There’s where it belongs,” he said.

Sykes shrugged and left the room.

Bess passed through the kitchen.

“Bess?”

She stopped.

“Don’t worry about your phone. It’s in the garbage can.”

She shrugged. “It’s not mine,” she said, then went on her way.

Bess sat in the living room, reading a book. Sykes usually turned in earlier than she, so she waited him out.

Sykes came in from his study. “You ready for bed?”

She ignored the double entendre. “Not yet. I’m into my book.”

“Turn the lights off when you come up,” he said, then went on his way.

She waited for another hour or so, and when no noises of movement came from upstairs, she got up, turned off all the lights, and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She set her handbag near the bottom of the stairs, then removed a very small flashlight, the two trackers Tom had given her, and a folded piece of plastic sheeting from the bag. She listened for a moment, heard no more noises, then walked outside onto the porch. There was a clear sky and a quarter moon, enough to let her see the parked cars.

She waited a couple more minutes, then stepped off the porch, slipped out of her shoes, and walked over to where Sykes’s Explorer was parked. She checked the upstairs windows for a light and found none, then listened again for noise and heard none. She walked to the rear of the Explorer, unfolded the plastic sheeting, hung one end around her shoulders, and fastened it into place with a snap. She lay down on the ground, maneuvered until her head was under the car, then held the little flashlight in her mouth and illuminated the underside of the car. She began moving backward, farther under the vehicle.

When the gas tank came into sight, she found a niche between that and the chassis and ripped the plastic tape off the tracker, marked number one, leaving an adhesive surface. She slipped the tracker into the niche and pressed it firmly in place for at least a minute, then she worked her way sideways from under the SUV.

She got up, walked over to the van, and repeated her actions with the second tracker, marked number two, then wriggled out from underneath. She stood up, then brushed the dirt off the plastic sheet and off the seat and legs of her jeans. She was almost back to the porch when she heard footsteps from inside. She stepped into her shoes and quickly sat down in a rocking chair on the porch.

The door to the house opened and she turned her head to find Sykes standing there.