The Silenced (14 page)

LIZ OLIVER’S APARTMENT WAS LOCATED NEAR
the heart of the Latin Quarter, within walking distance of the Sorbonne. It was in one of the thousands of stone apartment buildings that lined Parisian streets. Solid, tasteful, and very European. It had been two years since Quinn had last been in the building.

The apartment had come as a free perk of Liz’s scholarship. It was a far better place than what most students lived in. The letter from the foundation had explained the only requirement that came with the use of the apartment was that she could take on no roommates, the thinking being this would help her concentrate on her studies. Quinn had written the requirement himself, because, unknown to Liz, he
was
the foundation.

The ground level of the building housed a variety of shops: a shoe store, a used-book store, a small greengrocer, the prerequisite patisserie, and a café at the corner that even in the cool of fall had customers sitting at tables on the sidewalk. Above the businesses were five floors of apartments.

It being midmorning on a weekday, Quinn was all but certain his sister would not be home. He couldn’t recall her exact schedule, but he knew that she was usually out of the building by 9 a.m. and, more often than not, didn’t return until well after dark.

The residential entrance was a set of double wooden doors located between the shoe store and the greengrocer. Windows in the upper halves of each door looked in on an empty lobby. Mounted next to the door were a list of residents and an intercom. Liz’s name was in the middle of the second column.

Quinn thought about pushing the one for her place, but decided against it. If she was home, it would be better if he knocked on her door than if he rang her on the intercom.
Harder to turn me away if we’re face-to-face
. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Someone’s coming,” Nate whispered.

Quinn heard it, too. Footsteps, somewhere on the other side of the door. He peeked through the window, but saw no one, then motioned Nate to take a few steps back. Once they were far enough away, they began talking like two friends passing the time.

A few seconds later, the door swung open and an older woman stepped out. The moment she passed, Nate eased over and caught the door before it closed, then he and Quinn casually walked inside.

The lobby was fifteen feet wide by another twenty-five deep. It was clean, bright, and recently painted. There was a carpeted staircase to the right, an elevator just beyond it, and an opening near the back of the lobby that led to a rear hallway.

“Stairs or elevator?” Nate said.

“Stairs,” Quinn said. They started to climb.

“How far up?”

“One shy of the top.”

“How do you want to play this?”

“She should be in class, so she’s probably not home. We’ll keep it to a drive-by right now,” Quinn said. “Besides, I think you need a shower and a change of clothes before you meet her.”

“Thanks, boss. That’s sweet,” Nate said. “You’re not smelling so pleasant yourself.”

“Yeah, but she already hates me.”

    The landing on Liz’s floor opened into a carpeted hallway that led through the center of the building. On either side were the entrances to the apartments. Three doors per side, six apartments per floor. The apartments on the right looked out on the street, and those on the left faced whatever was behind the building. At the far end of the hallway, another door led to the emergency staircase.

“What’s her number?” Nate asked.

“Twenty-one. Middle one on the right.”

Quinn glanced at Liz’s door as they started to pass it, then stopped abruptly and knelt down. He moved in close, his attention on the doorknob and lock.

“What is it?” Nate asked.

Instead of answering, he pointed at the metal plate surrounding the lock. There was a scratch on it. To the trained eye it was like a neon sign.

Nate nodded. He wet his finger, then touched the carpet on the floor below the lock. When he brought it back up, Quinn could see two tiny metal shavings.

“Fresh,” Nate mouthed.

Perhaps Liz had caused the damage with her key, but Quinn didn’t think so. The groove was too narrow, like it was made by a wire.

Or a pick.

The base of Quinn’s neck began to tingle in apprehension.

He started to reach for the handle, but Nate touched him on the shoulder and shook his head. His apprentice then eased his backpack onto the floor and unzipped one of the sections just wide enough so he could reach in.

From inside, he pulled out two pairs of thin rubber gloves and handed one to Quinn.

Quinn donned the gloves, then tried to turn the knob. The door was unlocked.

“I’m going in,” he whispered. “You stay here.”

Nate didn’t look happy, but said nothing.

Painfully aware that neither of them was armed, Quinn pushed the door open a few inches, then paused to listen.

There was a sound from deep in the apartment. Quinn pointed at his ear, then at the opening, telling Nate someone was inside. Standing up, he pushed the door open several more inches and slipped through the gap.

A small entryway led into a living room. He eased to the end of the foyer and peered around the corner. The living room contained a mishmash of furniture. A cloth-covered couch, a matching chair, an ornate coffee table, and two bookcases filled but not overstuffed.

Quinn glanced at the metal-framed windows, half covered by white sheer curtains. Through them he could see the building across the street.

Everything within his view looked normal. So normal, in fact, that he began to doubt himself. Perhaps Liz had made the sound. Perhaps there was another explanation for the scratch. Perhaps she had left her door unlocked by accident, or maybe she was expecting someone. Perhaps she was only seconds away from walking into the living room and seeing him standing there.

Then what?

Before he could retrace his steps, he heard a drawer being yanked out, then slammed back into place. It had come from the left, toward the bedroom.

Quinn slipped his backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the floor in the entryway. He motioned for Nate to come inside and wait by the door. Once his apprentice was in position, Quinn crossed the living room, stepping carefully so as not to cause any of the floorboards beneath the carpet to creak. If it was Liz in the bedroom, he could sneak back out. If it wasn’t, he’d let his instincts take over.

At the hallway, he paused again. Like elsewhere in the apartment, the lights were off. Would his sister be moving around in the semidarkness?

The hallway was only five feet long. At the other end, an open door led into the bathroom. To the right, another door, also open, led to the bedroom.

From his position he could only see a narrow swath of the room, from the middle of the bed to the wall on the other side. It was dim, but not dark.

Another drawer yanked open.

Unconsciously, Quinn’s hand moved toward where his gun would have been if he’d had one. He stopped himself halfway there, annoyed.

He scanned the surrounding area for anything he could use as a weapon. A paperweight, a letter opener, or even an ashtray—though he would have given Liz hell about that later if he’d found one. But he saw nothing he could use.

In the bedroom, the drawer moved back into place, this time with less force. Then the floor creaked. Once, twice, a third time, each wooden groan moving closer to the doorway.

Quinn pressed himself against the wall just inside the living room.

Another creak. This time in the hallway, not the bedroom.

He tensed, ready to move, but instead of heading toward the living room, the unseen person entered the bathroom.

A sudden splash of illumination spilled into the hall as the bathroom light came on. Quinn could hear the person going through the cabinet and drawers. Then there was the
thunk
of porcelain, and a second later the sound of water hitting water. From a distance.

Definitely not Liz
.

The intruder was male.

Quinn moved into the hallway, anger bubbling just below the surface of his skin at this intrusion on his sister’s life.

When he reached the bathroom, he peeked between the door and the jamb. Two feet on the other side was the back right shoulder of a large man in a dark coat. Quinn estimated the guy was at least six foot three. His hair was covered by the kind of stocking cap favored by the reggae set from the seventies and eighties—loose and baggy, falling against the nape of his neck. The man was staring at the wall above the toilet in the time-honored tradition of males around the world.

The torrent of water began to slow, then finally stop. After a last push to clean out the pipes, the man bent down to zip himself up.

Without another thought, Quinn slammed the door into the man’s back.

A pained grunt was followed by the sound of the porcelain lid to the toilet’s water tank being jarred loose.

Quinn slammed again, harder.

Another grunt.

As he was about to go for a third time, the door smashed back into him, sending him flying against the door frame. His left arm flailed out, looking for something solid to hold on to, but found only the light switch and inadvertently flipped it off, plunging the room into darkness.

The intruder roared as he tried to get around the door. But the cramped space and his massive size slowed his efforts. When he finally shoved past it, Quinn unleashed a right hook to his jaw.

“Merde!”
the man yelled.

Quinn hit him again, this time in the soft spot just below the ribs. The intruder doubled over, and Quinn grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him out into the hall.

The man stumbled for a few feet, then fell to his knees. Quinn jumped on his back, pushing him all the way to the ground, then began releasing punch after punch to the man’s kidneys and ribs.

Suddenly someone grabbed his arm. It was Nate.

“We can’t get any info out of him if you kill him,” Nate said.

Quinn held his position for a moment longer, breathing hard, then shoved the man between the shoulder blades and stood up.

“Search him,” he said, his teeth clenched.

“Laissez-moi!”
the intruder yelled as Nate patted him down.

“Gun,” Nate said, his hand at the small of the man’s back.

He removed the Glock pistol from the man’s waistband and handed it to Quinn, then continued his search. There was a knife in the guy’s boot, but that was it.

“ID?” Quinn asked.

“No wallet,” Nate said.

“Qui êtes-vous?”
Quinn demanded, asking the man’s identity.

“Allez vous faire foutre.”

Quinn didn’t believe for a second his name was Go To Hell.
“Qui êtes-vous?”

“J’habite ici.”
I live here.

“Bullshit,” Quinn said, then shoved the barrel of the Glock into the base of the guy’s head.

“Take it easy,” the intruder said in heavily accented English.

“One chance or I pull the trigger. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, no problem. I’ll tell you. Okay? Someone asked me to look around this apartment,” the man said. “So I look around. No reason to shoot me.”

Quinn leaned back, moving the gun from the man’s neck.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and turn over,” he said. “Slowly.”

Nate released the man’s shoulders, then got to his feet.

As instructed, the man turned over and lay on his back.

The intruder had a dark beard, long and full, sticking a good five inches out from his face. Above the growth, his eyes were bright blue, and looked as surprised as Quinn felt.

“Julien?” Quinn said.

“Quinn?” the man asked.

“SO WHO IS SHE?” JULIEN DE COSTER ASKED.

They were sitting around one of the outside tables at the café below Liz’s apartment building. Quinn had situated himself so that he could keep an eye on the entrance, but be shielded by Nate and Julien in case his sister suddenly showed up.

“The relative of a client,” Quinn said. Telling Nate the truth was one thing, broadcasting it to the rest of the world was something else entirely. “He was concerned she might be in danger. Since I was in the area, he asked me to check on her.”

Julien sipped a coffee and narrowed his eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Of course there’s more,” Quinn said. “But you know there are things I can’t tell you.”

“I understand,” Julien said, holding up a hand. “Not my business.”

“Julien, I’ve always trusted you. You know that. But come on, you were
in
her apartment. I think it’s safe to say we’re working opposite sides on this thing.”

“If I’m on the other side from you, then I am obviously not where I should be.”

Quinn said nothing.

Julien took another sip. “You can consider me off the job. But that doesn’t mean someone won’t come back and take my place.”

“I’m not trying to keep you from working,” Quinn said.

Julien scoffed. “It was a throwaway job, anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

Quinn put his hand around his cup, but didn’t raise it. “If that’s the case, would you be interested in telling me what you were supposed to be doing?”

“I don’t know,” Julien said. “Backing out of the job is already not going to help my reputation, but you want me to sell out my employer? What is so important?”

“The girl’s an innocent. Her only crime is being related to someone in our world. She doesn’t deserve to be put in danger, and I’m here to make sure she isn’t.”

Julien smiled. “You are clever, my friend.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a four-by-six photograph, then laid it on the table so Quinn could see it. “She has your eyes, you know. And your chin, too.”

Quinn had seen the same picture mounted in a frame on the piano at his mother’s house. A happy Liz, smiling, and just about to board a plane to France.

“Part of my instructions was to find a photograph of the woman who lived there. This was in her bedroom.” Julien smiled. “Your sister?”

Quinn looked up, his gaze boring into the Frenchman.

“D’accord,”
Julien said, holding a hand up. “I don’t need to know.” He clapped Nate on the back. “You have a very good boss here. He trusted me when it could have got him killed. I’ve always remembered that. That kind of trust is rare in our business, know what I mean?”

“I’d love to hear what happened,” Nate said.

Julien laughed again. “I am not so easily fooled. That job was long ago, but even then we should never tell stories.”

Quinn barely heard any of this, his mind still trying to come to grips with the fact that the secret life he had created was on the verge of coming completely apart.

“Why were you in her apartment?” he asked.

Julien placed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Last night I got a phone call for a job. I was told it was a simple check-and-report. I was given a woman’s name and an address. Nothing else. It’s not the kind of work I usually take, but business for me has been slow lately. Perhaps you heard about my trouble in Bern?”

Quinn nodded. Julien had been caught during an exchange operation in the Swiss capital. Though he didn’t know details, Quinn had heard secondhand that Julien had threatened to expose his employer if they didn’t get him out. A threat like that would tend to put a hold on any future employment opportunities.

Julien seemed to deduce what Quinn was thinking. “Don’t believe all rumors.”

“I never do.”

“I didn’t ask for anything,” Julien said. “The people I worked for started that rumor to cover their own mistakes. It was their fault I was detained. But what could I do?”

Quinn was inclined to give Julien the benefit of the doubt. Making those kind of threats was not something he had an easy time seeing the big man doing.

“Last night,” Quinn said, trying to get Julien back on track, “who called you?”

The Frenchman took another sip of coffee. “A broker who has used me in the past.”

“A name, Julien.”

Julien shrugged. “Charles Butler.”

“It sounds made up,” Nate said.

“It’s the name he’s always used. False? Probably. But the payment was sitting in my account this morning, so I didn’t care.”

“American?”

“American. English. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell the difference.”

“What was the assignment?”

“They told me the name of the woman was Elizabeth Oliver. I was to check her apartment when she was out. They wanted a photograph and a list of contacts.” He picked up his coffee. “That’s not so easy these days. Everyone keeps their contacts on their phones and computers. I could find neither in the apartment.”

He lifted the cup to his mouth and finished it off.

“So you’re saying you didn’t find anything,” Quinn said.

“Just that,” Julien said, motioning toward the photo. “I was about to leave when you shoved the door into my back. Really, Quinn. While I was taking a piss?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

Julien let out a deep, hearty laugh. “Of course not. It was perfect. But how did you know I was inside?”

“You need to brush up on your lock-picking skills.”

“The scratch,” Julien said, nodding. “I thought I heard someone coming out of one of the other apartments and my pick slipped. It was sloppy.”

“Almost got you killed,” Quinn said.

Julien smiled broadly. “How would you have gotten my body out?”

“I’d have found a way.”

“I believe that,” Julien said, laughing. “Nate, did Quinn ever tell you about the removal I helped him with in Madrid?”

“I can’t say that he has,” Nate said.

“Julien,” Quinn said, a warning in his voice.

“What? Who is going to care?” He turned to Nate. “This is one I can tell. It was, what, eight years ago? The man who hired us is dead now. And besides, that conflict is over.”

“Hey, it’s okay by me,” Nate said.

“This body, it got shoved in a basement storage cabinet at this restaurant near the Reina Sofia. Our job was to get it out. Only by the time we arrived, the staff was already there, getting ready for the day.”

“Enough,” Quinn said.

“Quinn knows we have very little time before someone discovers the body, so he says to me, ‘How is your Spanish?’ I tell him that my Spanish is fine. He then says, ‘Good. You distract them while I carry the body out.’ Distract them? How am I going to distract them? ‘You’ll think of something,’ he says.

“So I give him five minutes. He sneaks in through the back. How? I don’t know. Don’t ask me. When the time is up, I pound on the front door. A waiter opens it, and tells me they’re closed. Of course they are closed. ‘Why else would I be knocking,’ I say to him. I tell him I left my phone there the night before, and I needed it right away for a business call. So he lets me in and goes to check.

“When he comes back, of course, he has no phone. I am ready for this, and I start to talk very loud. I accuse the man of stealing my phone, then say if it was not him, it must have been one of his coworkers. He assures me that no one would have done that, but I only get louder, then demand to talk to everyone who is there.”

“And that worked?” Nate asked.

“Of course it worked. Look at me. You think they’d want to make me mad?” Julien held his arms out and smiled. “So when I have them all in the dining room, I begin yelling at everyone. Quinn hears this and knows it is time. He begins carrying the body up the stairs. Of course, this is the time my phone decides to ring in my pocket. Old girlfriend. We didn’t last much longer after that. Now everyone is accusing me of lying. We all yell at one another.

“Quinn hears all this and realizes the cover is falling apart. He races the rest of the way up the stairs. As for me, I am desperately trying to keep everyone in the room. But the cook has had enough and heads back for the kitchen. I yell after him, trying to stop him, but no. So I run as fast as I can and reach the door just before he does. ‘So you’re the one who took my phone,’ I say. He calls me a fool and a liar. ‘Your phone is in your pocket. We all heard it,’ he says. ‘Now get out of my way!’ Then he tries to push past me. But I am not so easy to push, I think. His friends, they come over and everyone is tugging and pushing. Finally someone comes in the front door and shouts, ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ ” Julien laughs. “It’s Quinn, of course. He looks at me and says, ‘Come on. We’ve got to go.’ Like he’s my friend and has been looking for me. Well, I guess that was true, huh?” Julien clapped Quinn on the back. “Thank God it was a clean kill. Broken neck, no blood. Otherwise it would have been messy, no?”

Quinn started to shake his head in resignation when he noticed a woman cross the street and approach the entrance to the apartment building.

“There she is,” he said.

Both Nate and Julien turned to look.

“Come on. Do either of you have any training at all?” Quinn asked.

But Liz hadn’t noticed the attention. Her eyes were on her purse as she dug around inside. Draped over her other shoulder was a computer bag.

Once she disappeared inside, Julien let out an appreciative breath. “How does someone like you get a good-looking sister like that?”

“I never said she was my sister,” Quinn said.

“True.”

“Look,” Quinn said. “Seems to me you have a decision to make.”

Julien looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your client is expecting you to report back.”

“Ah,” Julien said. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell them I found nothing. Basically that’s true.”

“They’re going to ask you if you were at least able to confirm that she lives here, and were able to get a photo.”

“What would you like me to say?”

“You’d lie?”

“For you, yes. I don’t spy on my … friend’s
friend’s
families. That’s not right.”

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. Thirty minutes ago he was punching the man in the face, and now Julien was offering to lie for him. “You’re a good man.”

“I am only good to people who are good to me.”

Quinn was silent for a moment. “All right. Tell them that as far as you can tell, it’s her apartment, but it appears like she might be out of town.”

“And the photo?”

“Tell them there wasn’t any.”

“D’accord,”
Julien said.

“They’re going to ask you to keep an eye on the building,” Quinn said.

“And I’ll tell them I’m not available.”

“No,” Quinn said. “Tell them you’ll do it.”

Julien raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Think of it as free money.”

“I like the sound of free money.”

“Then you’ll like the sound of double pay even more,” Quinn said.

Julien smiled. “What do you have in mind?”

“While they will think you’re working for them, in reality, you’ll be working for me.”

    They left Julien at the café and checked in to a small hotel near the Seine River. They took only one room. If things didn’t go well at Liz’s, they could get a second one later.

They each took a shower, and changed their clothes before returning to the café. Julien was sitting at the same table. He had a newspaper now, and there was a plate with the remains of a sandwich in front of him.

“I could go for something to eat,” Nate said.

“Later,” Quinn told him. To Julien, he said, “Status?”

“Unless she snuck out the back, she’s still inside,” the Frenchman told him.

Quinn shook his head. “No reason for her to do that. And no reason for us to waste any more time. Julien, check in with your client. Nate, you’re with me.”

“That will take me only a few minutes,” Julien said. “What after that?”