No Way Out (8 page)

9

V
ail and Reid arrived on New Bond Street to find a line of news vans and satellite-outfitted trucks against the curb, coiffed reporters primping behind their mikes, and cameramen setting up their shots. Vail and Reid “no commented” their way to the building’s entrance and ascended the stairs to Turner’s Antiquities, Contemporary Art & Rare Manuscripts—or what was left of it.

After signing in with the duty officer, they stepped into the soot-covered gallery. Vail gave a sweeping look around and saw a beefy man crouched over a hunk of metal in the far corner. His build, close-cropped hair, and thick neck gave him the look of a boxer. He uncoiled himself and his eyes searched their faces.

“Clive Reid, DCI on the ICS out of Kennington.”

“Ethan Carter, MI5, for JTAC. Thames House.”

“Karen Vail, FBI, for the DOJ. Quantico.” She chuckled. “These acronyms make me feel right at home.”

Carter twisted his lips into a frown. “ICS is the International Counter Terrorism branch. JTAC is Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre. What does DOJ stand for, Department of
Jackasses
?”

Vail nodded slowly. “Actually, sometimes, yes.”

Carter didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so he merely extended a hand to Vail, and they shook.

Hey, maybe I can master this art of being a good soldier. It’s not so hard.

“I was told to expect you. We really don’t need your—”

“I’ve heard it and I get it. But I’m here, and I don’t really want to be here, so I think that makes us even. Now, how about we wrap this thing up so I can be on my way?”

A knock behind them grabbed their attention. Reid stuck a key in the lock and pulled open the charred door.

“Can I come in?” It was Idris Turner, a jeweler’s monocle strapped to his forehead.

Reid moved aside. “Of course.”

“A might ridiculous that I have to ask permission to step into my own gallery.”

“Until we release the scene, that’s the way it’s gotta be, mate,” Carter said.

Turner grumbled and pulled the magnifying lens from his face. “Not like there’s anything left to care about.”

“Which reminds me,” Vail said. “What happened to the manuscript? The safe didn’t look so good. A fire that hot doesn’t leave much behind.”

Turner hesitated a moment. “It wasn’t here at the time of the explosion. I moved it a few days ago.”

Vail’s eyes widened. “Did anyone know that?”

His gaze shifted from Reid to Carter, and then back to Vail. “I don’t tell anyone where I keep my most valuable pieces. I never open the safe in front of anyone. In fact, I never open it during regular business hours. If a buyer’s interested, I arrange a meet. And even then, I will have added security, and I give myself a buffer to get the piece here safely. You can call it being paranoid, if you want. I call it being smart.”

She crooked her neck and peered into the adjacent room. “What’s the layout of the rest of this place?”

“Come, I’ll take you around.”

Vail followed Turner into the other portion of the gallery, which was meticulously designed with contemporary displays, earthy, rich colors, and tight halogen spots suspended from wires. When they were alone, Turner leaned closer to Vail and whispered, “I have a flat that’s not leased under my name. That’s where the manuscript is.”

“And no one knew this?”

“No.”

In a back workspace, off to the side, Vail spotted someone bent over a table, a large, lighted magnifying glass a few inches from his face.

“Who’s that?”

Turner followed her gaze to a man with thinning hair and a middle-aged paunch. “That’s Gavin Paxton. I mentioned him at the café—”

“Your curator and art restorer.”

“Good memory. Yes.”

Vail turned her attention back to Turner. “If no one else knew the manuscript was stored elsewhere, is there a reason they would believe it’d be in that other room? I mean, the attack was very specific to the contents in that safe, and in that portion of the gallery.”

Turner cocked his head, thought a second, then said, “Mr. Carter told me that the safe was the source of the explosion, and that because of where the explosive was placed, they likely wanted to destroy what was in it. It’s the only safe I have in the gallery, and I don’t publicize the fact that I keep certain antiquities offsite.”

“Who had access to the safe?”

“Only me and Gavin.”

“And I assume that anyone who knew that you had the manuscript—which was the entire country, based on the frenzy and extensive media coverage—would conclude that you’d store it in the safe.”

Turner shrugged. “Logical assumption.”

“So where exactly is this secret flat?”

Turner hesitated. His gaze moved around the walls above, behind, and to the side of Vail.

“Look, Mr. Turner. I’m here to help. I know you don’t know me, and you don’t know the FBI. But I’ve got no ax to grind here. And I recognize the importance of the find. Personally, I think it’d be pretty cool if a woman wrote Shakespeare.” She paused, then added, “It’s my job to help catch the people behind the bombing.”

Turner thought a moment longer, then said, “It’s nearby, on Moulton Street. Follow me.” He led her through a metal fire door into the stairwell. But as soon as he broke the seal, an alarm began blaring. Turner stuck his head back in and yelled, “Gavin, can you please take care of that?”

As they descended the steps, the noise stopped.

“You’re sure no one knows you’ve got this other place?”

“Oh, yes, Agent Vail. I’ve been very careful.”

“What if someone follows you—”

“I never take a direct route, and I always check to make sure I’m not followed. I took a course in surveillance, so I know how it’s done.”

Oh, he took a course. Great. He’s an expert.

He started walking down the stairs, and Vail followed. He pushed through the door and dodged the reporters who swarmed around them.

“Any leads on the case?” one shouted.

“Did the manuscript burn in the fire?” asked another.

Vail turned left and cleared the way, no commenting until they were free of the throng.

After crossing Bruton Street, Turner’s gaze covered the area, his head swinging both ways as he seemed to take note of everyone who was in the vicinity. He stopped and faced a man who was behind them.

Vail recognized him as one of the reporters.

“Can’t I have some peace?” Turner yelled at the journalist.

“Go back to the gallery,” Vail said. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll have something for you when we get back.”

Vail turned and started walking.

“You will?”

“We’ll see. I didn’t say it’d be anything he didn’t already know. Now—you were telling me about your ‘secret place.’”

Turner glanced around again before speaking. “The entrance is underground. I had it specially built and there are no plans, no permits on file with the city. And like the gallery, I’ve got state of the art security cameras.”

“Security cameras—so you’ve got footage from the night of the bombing.”

“Mr. Carter has it—MI5 was analyzing it in their communications lab.”

“I need to see it. And the video from your secret hideaway.”

“I’ve already looked at it. No one except me is on that recording. I checked all the way up to two weeks before. There’s nothing. Just me.”

“You were able to go through two weeks in just a couple of days?”

“It’s digital. I can search for any movement that set off the sensors in a matter of seconds.”

Vail stopped walking in front of Louis Vuitton, just before crossing Clifford Street. The limestone storefront featured twenty foot tall windows with overlying decorative mirrored circles that also lined the interior walls. She pulled her attention back to Turner. “Do the ones from the gallery use the same technology?”

“Same system, yes.”

“What if their movement didn’t trigger the sensors? Could someone who knew what they were doing defeat the sensor?”

Turner shifted his weight as he thought.

“Could they?”

“I—I don’t know. I’ve never thought of that.”

“Based on what I know of these things, I’m guessing the answer’s yes. But we’ll have to ask Carter what MI5’s doing with the recordings.”

“‘Enhancing’ them is what he said.”

“I want a look—an analog look, not a digital one.” Vail glanced at the high end merchants, as far as her eyes could see down Bond Street. Many competed with Vuitton for elaborately designed, sparkly storefronts. “Where’d you get this manuscript? Seems like it’d be the find of the century.”

Turner took a small, but noticeable, step backward. “Why’s that important?”

“Maybe whoever sold it to you didn’t realize what he had, and after you went public with it, the country went nuts, and he had seller’s remorse.”

“First of all, I didn’t go public with it. Something like this…I’d never announce it publicly. It’d bring out all the nuts and I’d be placing myself in danger—and it’d be a media circus. Exactly what happened is why I would keep it under wraps.”

“So who leaked it? Who else knew of it?”

“Just Gavin. And he’s been very bothered by all the media scrutiny. He hates the spotlight. He’d be the last person to tell. Me, I never paid much attention to TV and the paparazzi. Now I’ve got people following me. Trying to see where I go, who I’m meeting with. I don’t know if you noticed the black car that followed us when we went to the café.”

“Black car.”
Uh oh. Is this guy a nutcase?
“No, other than all the black taxis, I didn’t happen to notice anything unusual. But tell me more about Gavin.”

Turner shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m out of town a lot, Ms. Vail, scouring the world for art and rare artifacts. Gavin’s been a godsend, day after day, always here. Very dependable and trustworthy. I’ve never had an issue with missing money, embezzled funds, none of that. As you would imagine, that’s very important to me.” He chuckled. “If you’re thinking Gavin had anything whatsoever to do with this, you’re wasting your time.”

“Fair enough. I just want to make sure I don’t overlook something.”

“Mr. Reid already checked Gavin out. You can ask him, he’s been very thorough.”

“Then let’s get back to the source of the leak.”

Turner shook his head. “It’s been very upsetting. Two days ago, the tabloids were hounding me as if I were some sort of criminal.” He spread his arms. “And now, it’s like I’m the bad guy for buying this manuscript. Some kind of smear campaign.”

“So where’d you get it? We have to eliminate the seller as a suspect.”

“I don’t think so.”

Vail folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Turner looked away.

“Did you steal it?”

Turner swung his gaze back to Vail. “No! How could you suggest such a thing?”

“I read people. Your body language tells me something’s not Kosher.”

Turner sighed, then started walking again. “You’ve heard of the Curtain Theatre?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“What about the Globe?”

Vail checked traffic before crossing the side street. “The theater where Shakespeare’s plays were performed.”

“Right. The Curtain Theatre came before the Globe. It was the main theater for Shakespeare’s plays from 1597–1599.”

“Okay,” Vail said. “Thanks for the history lesson, but I don’t see—”

“It was recently discovered, totally by accident. The government excavated a good part of it. Including the theater itself, the manuscript was by far the most significant find.”

“What’s the saying? Something smells rotten in Denmark?”

Turner chuckled. “You’re quoting Shakespeare?”

“Seemed appropriate. This doesn’t add up—why would the British government sell you one of its most prized artifacts?”

“I could argue that they don’t want to acknowledge it, that it’s something they’d want to stay buried.”

“You could argue that, but that also makes no sense. They found it. If they didn’t want it known—and I’d hope the UK government would embrace its history, no matter where it led—they could’ve destroyed it or locked it away in a secret vault somewhere, never to be found.”

Turner stopped walking and took a long look around the street. He ground his molars, then stepped closer to Vail. “I bought it off one of the archeologists working the site for a tidy sum. He said no one else knows that he found it. He was in a secluded area and had a sense it was important because of the handwriting in the margins. But he didn’t realize how important it was. He set it in his lunch box and after work he showed up in my gallery.” Turner looked down at the ground. “I’m only telling you in case it’s relevant to the case. I’d appreciate you keeping it to yourself.”

Vail tilted her head, making no effort to hide her displeasure.

“Look, Agent Vail. The bloke approached
me
—I did nothing wrong.”

“If that’s true, why don’t you want anyone to know?”

“It’s in everyone’s best interest if this information remains between us.”

“Do you have any rivals? Would any of your fellow rare manuscript dealers be insanely jealous of your ‘find’?”

“It’s not like that. That said, I can’t remember the last time something of this magnitude has been made available.”

“So you don’t know of anyone in your circle who’d have a problem with missing out on the opportunity of having something so valuable
made available
to them?”

Turner held her gaze as he said, “No. If there was, I would’ve told Mr. Reid and Mr. Carter the second they stepped into my gallery.”

“And you say you don’t know who leaked it to the press?”

“Again. If I did, I’d tell you. Having the media on my arse is obviously the last thing I’d want. They ask questions, lots of questions. I’ve been able to avoid talking to them because of the police investigation, but I don’t know how long I can keep that up.”

“And other than the people we discussed—the ones who’d want the manuscript discredited—are there others who’d benefit from seeing it go away? I’m looking for motive here.”

“Other than what we talked about over coffee, no.”

“Does the Army of English Anarchists mean anything to you?