Replay (19 page)

“My evil computer genius! I know all your colleague’s numbers—social security, cell, gym membership, credit cards, and all the loyalty programs he’s registered with.”

“You do realize that stealing that kind of data constitutes a violation of the most basic rights and is a criminal offense?”

“Shall we turn ourselves in right now, or do you want to know what I found out this morning?”

At just that moment the barber smeared shaving cream across Andrew’s face and he couldn’t answer Simon’s question.

“First off, your colleague’s a junkie. He exchanged a wad of dollars for a plastic sachet in Chinatown this morning before he’d even had breakfast. I took a couple of photos of the transaction, just in case.”

“You’re out of your mind, Simon!”

“Wait till you hear the rest: you might think differently. He went to NYPD headquarters around ten o’clock—some nerve he has, considering what he was carrying in his pocket. I’ve gotta give it to him, he’s one cool customer—either that or he’s completely crazy. I don’t know why he went there, but he was in there for at least half an hour. Then he went to a hunting supply shop. I saw him talking to the salesman and being shown various hunting knives. Well, not exactly knives, maybe . . . I was keeping my distance, but some strange-looking tools. By the way, I wouldn’t fidget like that if I were you. You’ll end up getting your throat slit with that razor.”

The barber confirmed that Simon was right.

“I can’t tell you if he bought anything; I moved on before he could notice me. He came out shortly afterward, looking more delighted than ever. Of course he might have just gone to the bathroom to powder his nose. Next, your guy went to buy himself a croissant, which he ate walking up Eighth Avenue. After that he went into a jeweler’s. He stayed there for a while, chatting to the owner, then came out and walked all the way back to the paper. I called you as soon as he got there. That’s it. I don’t want to be too optimistic, but it does look like the noose is tightening around Olson.”

The barber asked Andrew if he’d like his sideburns trimmed.

Simon answered for him, requesting he take off at least half an inch on either side.

“Maybe I should ask you to come to Buenos Aires with me,” Andrew said, smiling.

“Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a soft spot for Argentine women, and I could go pack my case right now!”

“It’s a bit soon for that,” Andrew pointed out. “Meanwhile, it’s probably high time I went to grill Olson.”

“Give me a few more days. At the rate I’m going, I’ll know more about him than his own mother before long.”

“I don’t have much time, Simon.”

“Up to you. I’m merely your humble servant. But think about Buenos Aires: we could have a blast there together!”

“What about your garage?”

“My car dealership, you mean. I thought I wasn’t selling anything before early July.”

“You won’t be selling anything in July either if you’re never at work.”

“I didn’t realize I’d invited my mother to the barbershop with me. I’ll let you pay,” Simon added, admiring himself in the mirror. “I look good with short hair, don’t I?”

“Shall we get some lunch?” Andrew asked.

“Let’s go see that knife salesman first. You wanted to grill someone. You can flash that press card of yours at him and find out what Olson was doing there.”

“Sometimes I wonder how old you actually are.”

“Wanna bet the salesman will fall for it?”

“What are we betting?”

“That lunch you were talking about.”

When they arrived, Andrew entered the store first. Simon followed and stationed himself a few yards behind his friend. While Andrew spoke, the salesman kept darting worried glances at Simon out of the corner of his eye.

“Late this morning,” Andrew said, “a journalist with
The New York Times
visited this store. Can you tell me what he bought?”

“What’s it got to do with you?” the salesman replied.

As Andrew rummaged through his pockets for his business card, Simon walked up to the counter, looking intimidating.

“It’s got everything to do with us. That man is a felon using a false press card. I’m sure you’ll understand that we need to stop him before he does something dangerous, with a weapon from your store, no less.”

The salesman looked Simon up and down, hesitated briefly and sighed.

“He was interested in some very special equipment, the kind only serious hunters use. And there aren’t too many of those in New York.”

“What type of equipment?” Andrew asked.

“Hunting knives, awls, hooks, elevators—that kind of thing.”

“Elevators?” Andrew inquired.

“I’ll show you,” the salesman answered, disappearing into the back of the store.

He returned carrying a wooden-handled tool with a long, flat needle.

“Designed as a surgical instrument. Then trappers started using them to skin their kill. You lift the pelt away without tearing off flesh. Your man wanted to know if owners need to register this type of product, like for firearms and combat knives. I told him the truth: you don’t need a license for an elevator. You find things that are a lot more dangerous at any hardware store. He asked me if I’d sold any recently. I hadn’t, but I promised I’d ask my employee. It’s his day off today.”

“And did this man buy any from you?”

“Six. One of each size. Now, if you’re not buying anything, I have to get back to work. I’ve got to do the books.”

Andrew thanked the salesman. Simon merely nodded his head.

“So which one of us lost the bet?” Simon asked as they walked down the street.

“That guy thought you were some kind of weirdo, and I can’t say I blame him. He only answered our questions to get rid of us as quickly as possible.”

“Cheater!”

“Okay, okay. Lunch is on me.”

T
he next day, Andrew arrived at the office to a new message from Marisa. He called her back at once.
“I think I have a solution,” she told him. “My boyfriend can follow Ortega’s trail. He’s unemployed, and it would do him good to earn a bit of money.”

“How much?” Andrew asked.

“Five hundred dollars for the week. Plus expenses, of course.”

“That’s quite a sum,” Andrew sighed. “I’m not sure my bosses will accept.”

“Five ten-hour days; that’s ten dollars an hour—same as what cleaners get paid in New York. Just because we’re not American doesn’t mean we should be treated with less respect.”

“I totally agree, Marisa. But newspapers aren’t doing well, budgets are tight, and my employers think this investigation has already cost too much.”

“Antonio could leave tomorrow. If he drives to Córdoba, that’ll save the cost of the plane ticket. He’ll sort out his own accommodation—he has family living nearby, at San Roque Lake. All you’ll need to pay for is his wage, gas and food. It’s up to you. But of course, if he finds a job he’ll no longer be available.”

Andrew mulled over Marisa’s terms, smiled and decided to give her the go-ahead. He took down the details she gave him and promised to transfer the money that same day.

“We’ll set off as soon as I receive the money. We’ll call you every evening with an update.”

“You’re going with him?”

“If we’re driving, it won’t cost more for me to tag along,” Marisa replied. “And two of us traveling together will attract less attention. We’ll look like a couple on vacation. San Roque Lake is very beautiful.”

“I thought you said your boss wouldn’t let you take any days off.”

“You may not know this, Mr. Stilman, but my smile can work wonders.”

“I’m not giving you a weeklong vacation at the paper’s expense.”

“How dare you call it a vacation? We’re going to be trailing a war criminal!”

“Maybe I should call on your services next time I ask for a raise, Marisa. I look forward to hearing your first update.”

“Talk to you soon, Mr. Stilman,” she said, then hung up.

Andrew rolled up his sleeves, girding himself to confront Olivia Stern about green-lighting these extra expenses, but on his way to her office he thought better of it. This arrangement with Marisa hadn’t taken place in his previous life, and the outcome remained uncertain. He decided to advance the cost of the trip from his own pocket. If he obtained interesting information as a result, it’d be easier to ask for more money. If he didn’t, he’d avoid being called out as an extravagant employee.

He left the paper and went to the nearest Western Union to wire seven hundred dollars: five hundred for Antonio’s wage plus a two hundred advance for expenses. Then he called Valerie to say he’d be home early.

By mid-afternoon, Andrew could feel there was another fainting fit in the offing. He was sweating and shivering, tingles ran up and down his arms and legs, and a dull ache—stronger than last time—had reappeared at the base of his spine. A shrill whistling sound pierced his eardrums.

Andrew went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He found Freddy Olson bent over the sink, his nose in a line of powder.

Olson jumped.

“I was sure I’d locked it.”

“Well, you didn’t. But if it makes you feel better, I’m not at all surprised.”

“Fuck, Stilman. If you breathe a word about this, I’m done for. I can’t lose my job. Please, don’t be a bastard.”

Being a bastard was the last thing on Andrew’s mind as he felt his legs give way beneath him.

“I don’t feel so good,” he groaned, leaning on the sink.

Olson helped him sit down on the floor.

“Are you ill?”

“I’m in great shape, as you can see. Lock the door? It’d look pretty bad if someone came in right now.”

Olson hurried to bolt the door.

“What’s up, Stilman? This isn’t the first time you’ve fainted like this. Maybe you should go see a doctor.”

“Your nose looks like you dunked it in a vat of flour. You’re the one who needs to get treatment. You’re a cokehead, Freddy. You’ll end up frying your neurons with that shit. How long have you been doing it?”

“What the hell do you care about my health? Tell me straight, Stilman: are you trying to get me thrown out? I’m begging you, please. I know we’ve had our differences, you and me, but you know better than anyone else that I’m no threat to your career. What would you stand to gain if I got fired?”

Andrew’s dizzy spell began to pass. He was getting the feeling back in his limbs and his vision was clearing. A gentle warmth flooded through him.

Something Pilguez had said suddenly popped into his mind: if you have your criminal but haven’t understood his motives, your job is only half done. He concentrated as hard as he could. Had he already caught Olson with his nose in a line of coke in his previous life? Was Olson threatened by him? It was possible that someone else had let the cat out of the bag, and Olson—convinced the snitch was Andrew—had decided to get his revenge. Andrew contemplated how to uncover Olson’s motives. What had prompted him to buy a collection of elevators from a hunting store? What were they for?

“Can you help me up?” Andrew asked.

Olson looked at him threateningly. He slipped his hand into his pocket. Andrew thought he could make out the tip of a screwdriver or an awl.

“First, swear you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Olson. You said so yourself: what would I gain apart from a guilty conscience? What you do with your free time is no concern of mine.”

Olson held out his hand to Andrew.

“Maybe you’re not such a bad guy, Stilman.”

“It’s all right, Freddy. Spare me the ass-kissing. I won’t say anything—you have my word.”

Andrew splashed water on his face. The paper towel roll was jammed, as usual. He left the bathroom with Olson close on his heels, and they bumped straight into their editor, who was waiting in the corridor.

“Were you plotting something, or is there something you two want to tell me?” Olivia Stern inquired, looking first one then the other of them in the eye.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Andrew retorted.

“You’ve been shut up alone together in a small bathroom for a quarter of an hour. What do you want me to think?”

“Andrew had a dizzy spell. I went to see if everything was okay and found him lying on the floor. I stayed with him until he started feeling better. But everything’s back to normal now, right, Stilman?”

“You fainted again?” Olivia asked in an anxious voice.

“Nothing serious, don’t worry. Those damn back pains of mine are so strong sometimes, they literally have me flat on the floor.”

“Go see a doctor, Andrew. This is the second time it’s happened at the newspaper, and I presume it’s happened elsewhere too. That’s an order. I don’t want to have to bring you home from Argentina because of a stupid case of lumbago. Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” Andrew replied in a deliberately impertinent tone.

Back at his desk, Andrew turned to Olson and said, “You’ve got a nerve, making me the scapegoat.”

“What did you want me to tell her? That we were smooching in the bathroom?” Freddy replied.

“Come take a walk with me before I punch you in the face. I need to talk to you, but not here.”

“What the hell were you doing buying hunting knives?” Andrew asked as they entered the cafeteria.

“I had a roast to carve. What’s it got to do with you? You’re spying on me now?”

Andrew tried to think of a way to respond without making him suspicious.

“You sniff coke all day long and you buy specialist knives. If you’ve got debts, I’d rather know about it before your dealers show up at the paper.”

“Chill out, Stilman. Me going to that shop has nothing to do with that. I went there for a story.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate.”

Olson hesitated for a moment, then gave up and decided to confide in Andrew.

“Okay. I told you I was investigating three knifings. Well, I have my contacts too. I went to see a cop buddy of mine who’d got hold of the forensic scientist’s reports. Turns out the three victims weren’t stabbed with a knife, but a pointed object, sort of like a needle, that leaves behind a series of asymmetrical incisions.”