Last to Die (34 page)

By the time they reached the outskirts of Providence, the mist
had
thickened to drizzle. The address for Jarvis and McCrane was in the southeast corner of town, near the industrial waterfront, a bleak neighborhood of abandoned buildings and deserted streets. When they arrived at the address, Jane was already prepared for what they would find.

The two-story brick warehouse was flanked by vacant parking lots. She eyed faded swoops of graffiti and boarded-over first-floor windows and knew that this building had been vacant for months, if not years.

Frost surveyed the broken glass on the sidewalk. “Nicholas Clock financed a seventy-five-foot yacht working
here
?”

“Obviously this was not his primary place of business.” She pushed open her door. “Let’s take a look, anyway.”

They stepped out of the car, into a drizzle that made Jane zip her jacket and turn up her collar. The clouds hung so low, it seemed as if the sky itself was pressing down, trapping them in gloom. They crossed the street, broken glass crunching beneath their shoes, and found the entrance locked.

Frost backed up and surveyed the upper windows, most of them shattered. “I don’t see any sign for Jarvis and McCrane.”

“I checked the tax records. They are the listed owners for this property.”

“Does this look like a real business to you?”

“Let’s go around back.”

They rounded the corner, past broken crates and an over flowing dumpster. At the rear of the building, she found an empty parking lot where weeds were forcing their way up through cracks in the pavement.

The rear door latch had been pried open.

She nudged the door with her shoe and it creaked ajar, revealing a cavernous darkness within. She paused at the threshold, feeling the first prickles of alarm.

“Ho-kay,” Frost whispered, his voice so close it startled her. “So now we have to search the scary building.”

“This is why I brought you along. So you wouldn’t miss all the fun.”

They glanced at each other and simultaneously drew their weapons. This was not their jurisdiction, not their own state, but neither one dared to venture unarmed into that gloom. She clicked on her flashlight and swept the darkness. Saw a concrete floor, a crumpled newspaper. Felt her heart kick into a faster tempo as she stepped across the threshold.

It felt even chillier inside, as if these brick walls had trapped years of dankness where anything could be incubating. Waiting. She heard Frost right behind her as they moved deeper into the building, their flashlight beams skittering past pillars and broken crates. Frost accidentally kicked a beer can, and the rattle of aluminum over concrete was as startling as gunfire. They both froze as the echoes faded to silence.

“Sorry,” whispered Frost.

Jane heaved out a breath. “Well, now the cockroaches all know we’re here. But it doesn’t look like there’s anyone else …” She stopped and her head snapped up toward the ceiling.

Above them, the floorboards groaned.

Suddenly her heart was thumping faster as she listened for more movement above. Frost was close behind her as she made her way toward a metal staircase. At the bottom of the steps she paused, peering up at the second floor, where gray light seeped through a window. That sound they’d heard could mean nothing. Just the building settling. Wooden floorboards contracting.

She started up the metal staircase, and each step sent off a faint clang that made the darkness hum and announced:
Here we come
. Near the top of the steps she crouched, palms sweating, and slowly lifted her head to peer over the second-floor landing.

Something hurtled toward her from the shadows.

She flinched as it whistled past her cheek. Heard glass shatter on the wall behind her as she saw a crab-like figure retreat into the gloom.

“I see him, I see him!” she yelled to Frost as she scrambled up onto the landing. “Police!” she called out, her gaze fixed on the dark shape hulking in the corner. He was folded into himself, his black face obscured in shadow. “Show me your hands,” she ordered.

“I got here first,” a voice growled. “Go away.” The figure raised an arm, and Jane saw another bottle in his hand.

“Drop it
now
!” she commanded.

“They said I could stay here! They gave me permission!”

“Put down the bottle. We just want to talk!”

“About what?”

“This place. This building.”

“It’s mine. They gave it to me.”

“Who did?”

“The men in the black car. Said they didn’t need it anymore, and I could stay here.”

“Okay.” Jane lowered her weapon. “Why don’t we start over? First, what’s your name, sir?”

“Denzel.”

“Last name?”

“Washington.”

“Denzel Washington. Really.” She sighed. “I guess that’s as good a name as any. So Denzel, how about we both put away our weapons and relax.” She slid the gun into her holster and held up both hands. “Fair?”

“What about him?” Denzel said, pointing to Frost.

“Soon as you put down the bottle, sir,” Frost said.

After a moment, Denzel set the bottle down between his feet with an emphatic thud. “Only take me an instant to throw it,” he said. “So you better behave.”

“How long have you been living here?” said Jane.

Denzel struck a match and leaned over to light a candle. By the glowing flame, she saw a trash-strewn floor, the splintered remains of a broken chair. He planted himself beside the candle, a disheveled African American man in ragtag clothes. “Few months,” he said.

“How many?”

“Seven, eight. I guess.”

“Anyone else ever come by to check out the place?”

“Just the rats.”

“You live all alone here?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Denzel,” Jane said, and felt ridiculous just saying that name. “We’re trying to find out who really owns this building.”

“I told you. Me.”

“Not Jarvis and McCrane?”

“Who’s that?”

“What about Nicholas Clock? You ever heard that name? Ever met the man?”

Denzel suddenly turned and barked at Frost: “What are you doing over there? You trying to steal my stuff?”

“There’s nothing here to steal, man,” said Frost. “I’m just looking around. See a lot of iron shavings here on the floor. This must have been some old toolmaking factory …”

“Look, Denzel, we’re not here to hassle you,” said Jane. “We just want to know about the business that was here two, three years ago.”

“Wasn’t nothing here.”

“You knew the building back then?”

“This is my neighborhood. I got eyes.”

“You know a man named Nicholas Clock? Six foot two, blond hair, well built? About forty-five and good looking.”

“Why you asking
me
about good-looking guys?”

“I’m just asking if you’ve seen Nicholas Clock around. This address was listed as his place of business.”

Denzel snorted. “Must have been
real
successful.” His head swiveled toward Frost and he snapped: “You really don’t pay attention, do you? I told you to stop looking around my place.”

“What the fuck,” Frost said, staring out the broken window. “Someone’s in our car!”

“What?” Jane crossed to the window and looked down at her Subaru. Saw the passenger door was ajar. She reached for her weapon and snapped, “Let’s go!”

“No, you won’t,” Denzel said as a gun barrel suddenly pressed against the back of Jane’s head. “You are going to drop your weapons. Both of you.” His voice, no longer a careless drawl, was now cold and crisp.

Jane let her Glock fall to the floor.

“You, too, Detective Frost,” the man ordered.

He knows our names
.

The second gun thudded to the floor. Denzel grabbed Jane’s jacket and shoved her down to her knees. The gun was still pressed to her skull, shoved so hard against her scalp that it felt like a drill bit about to punch a hole through bone. Who would find their bodies in this blighted building? It could be days, even weeks, before anyone noticed her abandoned car. Before anyone thought to trace its owner.

Frost thumped down to his knees beside her. She heard the beeps of a cell phone being dialed, then Denzel said: “We’ve got a problem. You want me to finish it?”

She glanced sideways at Frost and saw terror in his eyes. If they were going to fight back, this was their last chance. Two of them against an armed man. One of them would almost certainly take a bullet, but the other might make it.
Do it now, while he’s on the phone and distracted
. Muscles tensing, she took a breath, maybe her last.
Twist, grab, deflect
…

Footsteps clanged on the stairway and the gun barrel suddenly lifted from her scalp as Denzel stepped away, beyond her reach. Beyond any hope of wrestling the weapon from him.

The footsteps ascended to the top of the stairs and moved toward them, heels clipping sharply against the wooden floor.

“Well, this
is
a problem,” said a shockingly familiar voice. A woman’s voice. “You can both get up, Detectives. I guess it’s time to drop all pretenses.”

Jane rose to her feet and turned to face Carole Mickey. But this was not the lacquered blonde who’d claimed to be Olivia Yablonski’s colleague at Leidecker Hospital Supplies. This woman wore sleek blue jeans and black boots, and instead of a matronly blond helmet shellacked with hairspray, her blond hair was gathered in a tight ponytail that emphasized a model’s jutting cheekbones. Once, she would have been a stunning beauty, but middle age was now etched in that face, in the creases fanning out from her eyes.

“I take it there’s no such company as Leidecker Hospital Supplies,” said Jane.

“Of course there is,” said Carole. “You saw our catalog. We carry the latest in wheelchairs and shower seats.”

“Sold by sales reps who never seem to be in the office. Do they actually exist, or are they all like Olivia Yablonski, running operations around the world for the CIA?”

Carole and Denzel glanced at each other.

“That’s a very big leap of logic, Detective,” Carole finally said, but that two-beat pause told Jane she’d hit the target.

“And your name isn’t really Carole, is it?” said Jane. “Because I
know
his isn’t Denzel.”

“Those names will do for now.”

Denzel said, “They asked me about Nicholas Clock.”

“Naturally. They’re not idiots.” Carole picked up the fallen weapons and offered them back to Jane and Frost. “That’s why I’ve decided it’s time we worked together. Don’t you think?”

Jane took back her Glock and considered, just for an instant, turning the gun on Carole and telling her to screw that
working together
crap. These people had drawn a gun on her, had forced her and Frost to kneel with the full expectation of death. That was not something you easily kissed and made up over. But she choked back her temper and shoved the gun in her holster. “How did you just happen to be here?”

“We knew you were headed this way. We’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“This is like the Leidecker company,” said Frost. “Another fake business, this one used as Nicholas Clock’s cover.”

“And this is where they’d come looking for him,” said Carole.

“But Clock’s dead. He died aboard his yacht.”

“
They
don’t know that. For weeks, we’ve been leaking rumors that Clock is alive, that his appearance has been altered by plastic surgery.”

“Who’s looking for him?” asked Jane.

Carole and Denzel exchanged looks. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision and said to Denzel: “I need you outside to watch the street. Leave us.”

With a brisk nod, he left the room, and they heard his footsteps clanging down the stairs. Carole watched from the window and didn’t say a word until she spotted her associate outside.

She turned to Jane and Frost. “Boxes within boxes. That’s how the Company controls information. He knows what’s in his own little box, but nothing outside it. So now I’m going to give you a box, which belongs to just you two. Not to be shared. You understand?”

“And who knows it all?” asked Jane. “Who owns all the boxes?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“That’s not part of your box.”

“So we get no idea of where you stand in this hierarchy.”

“I know enough to run this operation. Enough to know that having you two mucking around in this threatens everything I’ve worked for.”

“The CIA’s not authorized to run operations on US soil,” pointed out Frost. “This is illegal.”

“It’s also necessary.”

“Why isn’t the FBI handling this?”

“This was not their mess. It was ours. We are simply cleaning up what should have been finished years ago.”

“In Rome,” Jane said, quietly.

Carole didn’t answer, but her sudden stillness confirmed what Jane believed. Rome was where it started. Where the lives of Nicholas and Olivia and Erskine had intersected in some catastrophic event that was still casting ripples in the lives of their children.

“How did you know?” Carole finally said.

“Sixteen years ago, they were all there in Rome. Erskine, working as a foreign service officer. Olivia, working as a so-called sales rep.” Jane paused, made an educated guess. “And Nicholas, traveling as a consultant for Jarvis and McCrane. A company that exists only on paper.”

She saw confirmation in Carole’s face. The woman stared out the window and sighed. “They were so cocky. So goddamn sure of themselves. We’d pulled it off before, so what could possibly go wrong?”

We
. “You were there, too,” said Jane. “In Rome.”

Carole paced away from the window, her boots clicking across the wood. “It was a straightforward operation. Only Olivia was new to the team. The rest of us had worked together before. We knew Rome well, especially Erskine. That was his home base, and he had all the local assets lined up. People in place. All we had to do was swoop in, snatch our target, and get him out of the country.”

“You mean … a
kidnapping
?”

“You sound so judgmental.”

“About kidnapping? Yeah, I tend to be.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you knew the subject in question.”