Kathy Reichs - Grave Secrets

“The perp’s full name.”

It took me a moment.

“Miguel Angel Gutiérrez,” I said.

“A guilt-ridden id can break your balls.”

I finished my reports on the shrunken head and the dismembered torso, and informed LaManche of my plans to return to Guatemala. He told me to be safe, wished me well.

Ryan arrived as I was finalizing arrangements with Delta Airlines. He waited while I requested an aisle seat, then pried the receiver from my hand.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Comment ça va?”

I grabbed for the phone. My phone. Ryan stepped back and smiled.

“Mais, oui,” he purred. “But I speak English.”

I curled my fingers in a “gimme” gesture. Ryan reached out and wrapped his free hand around mine.

“Not really. But your job, now that’s difficult,” he said, voice oozing sympathy. “I couldn’t begin to keep all those flights and timetables straight.”

Unbelievable. The guy was turning the charm on a reservation agent in suburban Atlanta! My eyeballs rolled almost a full three-sixty.

“Montreal.”

And the bimbo was asking his whereabouts.

“You’re right. It’s not that far at all.”

Yanking my hand free, I slumped back in my chair, picked up a pen, and began sliding it end to end through my fingers.

“Do you think you could squeeze me onto that same flight Dr. Brennan just booked, chère ?”

I stopped in mid-slide.

“Lieutenant-détective Andrew Ryan.”

Pause.

“Provincial police.”

I heard a distant, metallic voice as Ryan shifted the phone to his other ear.

“You learn to live with the danger.”

I nearly gagged.

After a pause,

“Fantastique.”

What was fantastic?

“That would be terrific.”

What would be terrific?

“No problem at all. Dr. Brennan knows I’m a tall boy. She won’t mind a middle seat.”

I sat forward.

“Dr. Brennan will mind a middle seat.”

Ryan waved a hand at me. I threw the pen. He batted it down.

“Six foot two.”

Eyes of blue. I knew her reply without having to hear it.

“Yes, I guess they are.” Humble laugh.

This was absurd.

“Really? I don’t want you breaking rules on my account.”

Long pause.

“Two A and Two B through to G City. You’re amazing.”

Pause.

“I owe you, Nickie Edwards.”

Pause.

“You do that.”

Ryan handed me the receiver. I cradled it without comment.

“No need to thank me,” he said.

“Thank you?”

“We’re riding up front.”

“I’ll send Nickie a Hallmark.”

“I didn’t ask for special treatment.”

“I guess Nickie was overwhelmed by your French magnetism.”

“I guess.”

“Is Nickie going to knit you a sweater for those cool Guatemalan nights?”

“Think I can get through to her again?” Ryan leaned on the arm of my chair and reached for the phone. I held him off with a hand to the chest.

“You could have her traced,” I suggested icily.

He shook his head. “Abuse of the badge.”

“Not to worry. Nickie will be calling once she’s finished the Teach Yourself French tapes.”

“Think she’d FedEx the sweater ahead?”

I shoved. Ryan righted himself, but did not open the distance between us.

“Are we going to continue this little tête-à-tête, or are you going to tell me why you booked a flight to Guatemala City?”

“Quickest way to get there.”

“Ryan—”

“You’re not delighted at the prospect of my company? You’re breaking my heart.” He placed both hands over the injured organ.

“You are not going to Guatemala to please me.”

“I would.” The choirboy smile.

“Do you intend to tell me why?”

Ryan ticked off points on his fingers. “Uno: Olaf Nordstern was killed in Montreal shortly after arriving from Guatemala. Dos: Nordstern’s assassin carried a Guatemalan passport. Tres: André Specter, Canadian ambassador to Guatemala and citizen of our fair city, is currently the subject of discreet inquiry.”

“You volunteered to go to Guatemala?”

“I offered my services.”

“You’re being reassigned.”

“Guatemala seemed preferable to central booking.”

“And you speak Spanish.”

“Sí, señorita.”

“You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

“Were you able to dig up anything on Specter?”

“According to the wife, he’s Albert Schweitzer.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“According to External Affairs, he’s Nelson Mandela. And strictly off limits.”

“Galiano said you’d run into that. Did you talk to Chantale?”

“According to Chantale, her old man’s the Marquis de Sade.” Ryan shook his head. “That is one angry kid.”

“What did she say?”

“Plenty. None of it complimentary. Most notably, she claims Daddy’s chased skirt as far back as she can remember.”

“How could a child know that?”

“Says she overheard numerous arguments between her parents, once caught the ambassador having phone sex in the middle of the night.”

“Could he have been talking to his wife?”

“The missus was sacked out upstairs. The ambassador was doing the deed on the phone in his study. Chantale also claims that shortly before blowing town, she and Lucy stumbled on her father exiting the Ritz Continental with a chick on his arm.”

“Did Specter see them?”

“No, but Chantale recognized Daddy’s companion. Says the lucky lady graduated from her high school two years back.”

“Christ. Did she provide a name?”

“Aida Pera.”

“Do you believe her?”

Ryan shrugged. “I definitely plan to talk to Aida.”

“So the ambassador likes young girls.”

“If the daughter from hell is telling it straight.”

“Did you interview any of the Chez Clémence posse?”

“That pleasure was denied me. Seems the three stooges have all vanished.”

“You ordered those assholes not to leave town.”

“They’re probably off on a geology field trip. My colleagues will round them up.”

“In the meantime?”

He pulled Nordstern’s disc from his pocket.

“We get acquainted with SCELL.”

I slipped the disk from its envelope, inserted it into my computer, and clicked over to the D drive. One file name appeared: fullrptstem.

“It’s a monster PDF file. Over twenty thousand kilobytes.”

“Can you open it?” Ryan had squatted beside me.

“The contents will be gibberish without a reader.”

“Do you have one?”

“Not on this machine.”

“Aren’t those programs available as free downloads?”

“Can’t put anything on a government computer.”

“God bless bureaucracy. Let’s give it a shot.” He gestured with his chin. “Maybe there’s an imbedded reader.”

I opened the file. The screen filled with letters and symbols divided by horizontal dots indicating page and column breaks.

“Damn.” Ryan shifted and his knee popped.

I looked at my watch. Five forty-two.

“I have Acrobat Reader on my laptop. Why don’t I take the disc home, cruise through it, and give you a synopsis during our flight tomorrow.”

Ryan stood, and his knee cracked again. I knew what was coming before he said it.

“We could both—”

“I’ve got a lot to do tonight, Ryan. I may not get back here for a while.”

“Dinner?”

“I’ll grab something on the way home.”

“Fast food is bad for your pancreas.”

“Since when are you concerned with my pancreas?”

“Everything about you concerns me.”