Dollar Down (12 page)

Maybe not.

I went through Trevor's correspondence yet again and
lingered over the invitation to her to visit his Monaco home. If
he owned it, it would be part of the estate. As far as I knew,
Trevor's brother was his only heir.

I called McNulty and asked him to check with the
brother. If we could get an address, it might be worth a trip to
look the place over.

McNulty said he would. He also said he had found the
house of Tom Hall, the LIFFE systems chief, but had not been
able to install surveillance devices. He would try this evening
before Hall got home.

I called Pascal and asked him to look at Trevor's notes.
His local insight might spot something I'd missed. We met for
lunch at his favorite back-alley Indian restaurant.

"Your friend Trevor sounds like he needed a doctor."
Pascal pointed to the side of his head and wiggled his finger.
"You know?"

"From the letters it does. It never came out in person
though."

"How well did you know him?"

Truth is, I hadn't known Trevor at all outside of our
working relationship, so I shrugged. Other than my own bias
that he and Sabine were too intellectually ethereal to succumb
to criminal passions, there was no rationale to ignore the
implications that were apparent from circumstantial evidence.
As for genius and foul acts, historically there was hardly reason
to believe that one precluded the other.

"Her husband, seems satisfied with the Shakespearean
theory of homicidal jealously. But he gave us today-plus-nine
to nose around."

"Why, if he's satisfied?"

"Maybe he's not convinced completely. Or he's
humoring me, because I suspect there could be more to it. Even
Alexandra, an associate at Trevor's firm, had said she believed
it was possible it could have been Trevor. Last night she called
and said she thought her apartment had been broken into. She
was so scared that she spent the night at Sabine's flat."

"With you?" Pascal made a sly-dog smirk.

"It's a big place, extra rooms."

Pascal looked confused, but he let the innuendo
drop.

He didn't have much else to say about the letters from
Trevor, but as he was reading them again I mentally replayed
my conversation with Oddsson and his lawyer. The lawyer said
police had determined that the incriminating messages on
Sabine's hard disk had, in fact, been sent from Trevor's
computer. While it wasn't conclusive, it was fair evidence that
the letters had not been sent by a third party.

I said as much to Pascal. "Home or office?"

He shrugged. "To know for certain what computer the
messages came from, police would have to know the machine's
serial number. Trevor's was stolen."

That might be why his computer was stolen, but who
stole it?

The origin of the emails probably wasn't important,
but I was curious. The easy way was to ask the lawyer, who
might not be forthcoming.

My gut said try something else. The closest alternative
was Pascal. "Do you have any friends in the police
department?"

He made a face that looked as if I'd just asked him if he
wore lace underwear. So I explained what I wanted to find
out.

"I might know someone outside the department who
could help. "

I left him and went back to Sabine's flat. There was a
call from Gavizon. I returned it and interrupted his breakfast.
"What's up?"

"I know who the Saudi is and where he's been."

"Down your way?"

"That's right. Guess what he does."

"He's an enforcer for Maduro?"

Gavizon was a good audience. He laughed. Why not?
I'm paying him.

"He's a nerd, a chemist. Cervantes makes a strange
friend for a chemist, don't you think?"

"Petrochemist?"

"I don't know, but it's a good guess. He led a Maduro
field trip out to the Orinoco."

"What for?"

"Don't know that either. I do know that they had some
interesting company. Two guys from Sinopec, China
Petrochemical. Not sure who they are though. You want me to
find out."

"If you can."

"How are things going your way? ID'd the bad guys
yet?"

"Maybe."

"Are you going to tell me what this was all about when
it's over?"

"You bet.
Adios
Jorge."

If it ever gets over. I wasn't even sure what I was
looking for anymore. Like I say though, sometimes you can see
better when you're looking
at
something instead of
for
something. I hoped this was one of those times.

I fired up my computer and ran a search on "China,
PDVSA." That relationship had taken a number of missteps,
mostly on the Venezuelan side. The Chinese oil buyers accused
PDVSA of breach of contract. Maduro simply didn't understand
business, but he did know politics. Maybe he had finally started
listening to people who had business sense. If Sinopec and
PDVSA were striking deals, what was the Saudi doing
there?

While I was wondering about that, McNulty
called.

"I have an address on the Monaco property."

"That was fast."

"It was easy. I told Trevor's brother that you were a
half-step from finding the truth about his death. The man is in a
snit about the tabloid speculations. He'd have told me anything,
if he believed it would clear Trevor's reputation. Once probate
closes, it's his property. In the meantime, you have his
permission to look at it."

"Impressive."

"Scottish charm."

I had an address, but I doubted I could find the place
easily on my own. I called Pascal.

"Do you want me to find out about the computer or
babysit you in Monaco? I can't do both, Irish."

"Find out about the computer. How about Marie? Can
she go with me?"

"I'll ask her. She speaks French, but she doesn't know
the country very well. No guarantees."

"Better than my going solo. See what she says."

In a countdown, day nine was without much progress.
A trip to Monaco would take most of day eight. I went back to
the computer and surfed China topics at random. Energy was
high on a lot of sites. China was pushing alternative sources
such as solar and geothermal. I hit too many "related story"
buttons and ended up in the Taipei Times. An editorial
compared the island's position to that of Austria. The day
before that nation was to vote on uniting with Germany, a Nazi
invasion made the planned plebiscite moot.

Jump: Another Taiwanese editorial says look at Hong
Kong. The noose is tightening.

Jump: An American expert on Asian affairs writes in a
scholarly journal that he has changed his opinion that China
would never invade. Across the strait is a large bunch of
missiles. It's growing bigger.

Jump: An article in Xinhua lambasts Japanese
nationalists.

Jump: The preamble to China's constitution says that it
is the Chinese people's "lofty duty" to reunite Taiwan.

I was getting way far afield. The Net will do that.

Jump: Jet Li makes new movie.

I turned off the computer.

I had hoped all that jumping might stir my creative
problem solving skills. It didn't help. The only idea I came up
was a daydream. If I were president of Taiwan, I'd find out
what the sailors in the U.S. Pacific Fleet liked to drink. Then I'd
make every bar in the country serve it at half price. A little pull
marketing.

It wasn't my problem. I refocused on mundane leg
work and was considering a call to Burroughs when Alexandra
rang at the door. I answered it.

"Why don't you use your key?"

She shrugged. Her shoulders were the only thing she
could move since she was loaded with groceries.

I took the sacks off her hands.

"Since you won't let me invite you to dinner, I decided
to cook."

"You're early."

"No, I'm on time. I worked only seven hours
today."

"Sorry, you usually—"

"Don't have a life."

She brushed my cheek with hers and closed the door.
Nice.

I asked what I could do to help as she started laying
out vegetables, fruit and a pork roast. She handed me a knife
and pointed to the cutting board. I chopped shallots for the
roast, while Alexandra busied herself with spices, mostly in
silence. There was a pensive, almost melancholy, aura about
her.

"Not happy about a normal work day?"

The question, or just the sound of my voice, startled
her. The look of surprise quickly gave way to a sardonic
smile.

"You were right about Ian Graham. He's not only
pompous."

"Also a twit?"

"It's hard to understand how he ever made partner.
He's smart, perhaps even brilliant in some ways. He simply has
no sense. He wants to reinvent everything."

"So you escaped."

"What's the point? He changes whatever I do. I gave
my report to an editor and told her to do what she wanted with
it. She could completely rewrite it for all I care."

"If it's any consolation, I'm happy you're here. This is
already starting to smell delicious, and you haven't even
started cooking."

She smiled. In the ambience of domestic chores, the
chiseled marble of Alexandra's persona was gone. Except for
the faint birthmark, her beauty was still too precise, but it was
softened by human warmth.

"I'm pleased I can make someone happy," she said. "At
work, Ian's beginning to make me feel like an
encumbrance."

Halfway through preparations, Alexandra opened a
bottle of wine to make a sauce, then shooed me away when I
tried to sample it. She didn't want me to dull my palate for the
vintage she planned to serve with dinner.

I was glad she did. It had hackberry beat by a wide
margin. The meal was also sumptuous enough to make me
forget about the investigation for a while.

Alexandra reminded me, by asking what I was doing
tomorrow. I told her I planned to visit Trevor's house on the
sea. It was a long shot, but I might find something.

"I'm hoping a local investigator I'm working with will
find someone to go with me. I might not be able to locate the
place on my own."

Alexandra looked away as she apparently rolled a
thought across her mind. "I'll go with you."

"It's a workday."

"So much the better. Ian deserves to be left stranded.
It'll do wonders for my mental state. I might take a week
off."

"What about your career?"

"I don't think it would hurt my career. I'll tell them my
grandmother died or something." She hesitated. "Unless you'd
rather I didn't go."

There had been a lot of progress since the icy
encounter of our first meeting. "I would be grateful. I just don't
want to cause you any trouble."

She said she would consider it therapeutic, but it was
my decision.

I called Pascal and told him I wouldn't need Marie after
all.

Trevor's cottage was in the hills overlooking Monaco's
clusters of rust-roofed, white-walled buildings, yacht-filled
blue harbor and sheer gray cliffs. We had rented a car at the
airport and Alexandra found the place easily.

I still had his keys. One fit the door. Dust lay on the
floor and most other surfaces. The electricity had been turned
off.

"I would offer to help you look, but I'm not sure when
to say 'eureka.' Is it OK if I just watch you work?"

Even if the watcher is as captivating as Alexandra, I
didn't like someone looking over my shoulder. "Actually, I
think you can help. If you don't mind checking the kitchen, it
would speed things up. Just grab anything that doesn't look like
it belongs. If you find a notebook or any other personal record,
including computer disks or drives, let me know. I'll start in the
bedrooms."

She went to the cupboards, while I checked a sleeping
area. First I felt under the corners of the bureau. Nothing. I
peeked under the bed, pulled off the sheets and massaged the
pillows to see if they contained hard objects. I found a few
garments in a closet and socks and underwear in a chest of
drawers. I removed each drawer and laid it on the bed. There
was nothing interesting either inside or outside. I pulled the
chest away from the wall to look at the back, and then tipped it
over to see the bottom.

Eureka.

A vial of black liquid was taped to the center of the
bottom of the bureau. I started peeling off the tape.

"I didn't find anything. But then I didn't tear things up."
Alexandra gestured toward the drawers as she walked toward
me. "Was I supposed to?"

Déjà vu.
I had walked in on Sabine
in almost the same circumstance when she showed me the
bracelet. She was a fast thinker. I'm not.

"What's that?" Alexandra said. "Is it a clue, Inspector
Sanchez?"

I held up the vial. "I don't know what it is."

"May I?" Alexandra took it from my hand. She held it at
eye level and rotated it. The thick liquid flowed slowly back
and forth. "Looks like crude oil."

"Heavy crude." I took the vial back and put it in my
jacket pocket. "Let's see what else we can find."

After three hours of searching, all we had was the
vial.

On the ride back to the airport, I asked Alexandra if
Trevor had done much traveling for the PDVSA study.

"A little. He and I both went to Houston. Trevor went to
Venezuela alone."

"Did he go to the Orinoco?"

"Yes?"

"When did he go?"

"He got back just two days before he disappeared. Why
do you ask?"

"Just questions. That would have been the day before
he called me."

Trevor's note had referred to "stolen samples." Had
there been another vial taped to the bottom of the bureau in
his Paris apartment. One that Sabine had found, and for some
reason did not want me to know about. She was quick enough
to hide a vial and make up a story about the bracelet. "If the
stuff we found is crude oil, I wonder where it came from."