“The other option…” She met Hauck’s gaze. “The other option is to see what we find with Thibault. He knows where the money came from. Who orchestrated the funds. You ready?” Naomi’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.
Hauck got up. “Let’s just hope he’s here.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
They decided the best approach was to stake out the address they had for the only person in Novi Pazar with a name that matched that of the AstraBanca account holder.
An “M. Radisovic” was located on Zinak Street, a winding road on the outskirts of town. The embassy in Belgrade had cooperated without Naomi’s divulging too much and found that the address matched the one on record with the bank. They didn’t have a clue what Maria Radisovic looked like. They didn’t even know for sure if she was, in fact, related to Thibault. Had her husband died and she reverted back to her family name? Had she re-married?
The location was a drab five-story apartment building with an interior courtyard centered around a nonworking stone fountain. An iron front gate was open. Novi Pazar was a small town and security didn’t seem the main concern. It was a damp May morning. People rode by on bikes on their way to work; old men in drab clothes and tweed caps gabbed on the street; teenage boys went by in Nikes and American sports jerseys. Teenage girls were going to school in jeans and sweatshirts like girls in any American town.
Hauck and Naomi went up and looked at the tenant board. A buzzer with a handwritten card next to it had an “M. Radisovic” on the fourth floor.
“Ready?” Hauck asked with a wink of support.
Naomi nodded back. “Let’s go.”
They went inside and climbed the wide staircase to the fourth floor. The paint was chipped, the stairs asphalt and worn. There was a tiny elevator. They found Maria Radisovic’s apartment near the staircase at the end of the hall. They heard a dog barking.
A noise came from above them. Two people, a man talking loudly in Serbian, his teenage daughter chattering right back at him. They came down the stairs and passed Hauck and Naomi on the staircase, greeting them with a quick “Dobro jutro” as they passed. Good morning. Naomi waved back politely.
They agreed Naomi would take the first shift. A woman there would attract less attention. She took a seat on the stairs, hidden from view but still in sight of Maria Radisovic’s apartment. It was just after eight A.M. They had each other’s cell numbers already programmed into their phones.
“I’ll be right outside,” Hauck said. “Call at the first sign.”
“Talk soon.” Naomi winked. She took out a tourist guidebook to act as cover. “At least I hope so.”
Hauck headed back down the stairs and perched himself near a tobacconist’s shop across the street. He called back upstairs to check the connection. It was fine. He settled in. No telling how long it would take. While the high-tech wheels churned ceaselessly back home, all there was to do here was wait.
An hour passed. No one came out. Who knew if M. Radisovic was even related to Thibault? If Thibault was even there? He found a USA Today at a newsstand and read through. Twice. Around 9:20, he called upstairs. “Anything happening?”
“Nothing,” Naomi replied, disappointed. “Just people coming down the stairs, staring at me. I think I’m starting to look suspicious. Wait a minute,” she suddenly said in a hushed whisper. “The door just opened…”
Hauck held on-Naomi covering the phone-as maybe thirty seconds passed. Finally she came back on. “A woman just left. Definitely not Thibault’s mother. Too young. Around forty. She has dark hair. She’s wearing a red nylon parka and a white beret. She should be coming out any second…”
Hauck stepped around the corner, hiding himself from view. He saw the woman come through the gate, start to walk along the sidewalk. “I have her.”
“Wait for me,” Naomi said, excited. “I’ll come down.”
“No, you stay there,” Hauck said. “There might be someone else inside. I’ll stay with her. I’ll let you know if it leads anywhere.”
“Whatever you do, don’t make contact with anyone if I’m not there,” Naomi warned him with an edge of concern.
“Don’t worry. Bye.”
The woman in the red jacket headed down the street. Hauck rolled up the newspaper and followed from the other side. At the corner she turned and headed toward the city center. It led down a hill and onto a commercial boulevard. Pilic Street. Hauck stayed about twenty yards behind.
The woman stopped at a corner where a small queue of pedestrians was huddled up and checked her cell phone. After a minute or two a streetcar came, the old electric kind, wide doors in both the front and rear. The woman climbed on in front. She put out some kind of a card. The driver clipped it. A few others boarded through the rear door. Hauck stepped on with them.
An old conductor, with white hair and a rumpled navy-blue uniform, made his way back, people flashing their transit cards. Hauck didn’t have one and didn’t want to attract any attention. He squeezed through a couple of commuters and opened his paper. He caught the eye of a young boy, maybe eight, who seemed to have noticed. Most everyone else was in the standard early-morning commuter daze. He kept sight of the woman, who had taken a seat up front. He settled back and glanced at his paper. The bus wound its way through town. People got on and off, and at some point the boy and his mother got up, and the kid cast a knowing grin at him.
Hauck winked back at him, as if this would be their buried secret forever.
It took around ten minutes for the bus to weave its way to the other end of town. It was a more upscale neighborhood. It reminded Hauck of where they had come off the main road. Finally he saw the woman in red stand up to get off. The bus stopped. At the back of the bus Hauck stepped off onto the street. The woman jumped off at the front and started to walk.
Hauck fell into step behind her.
A short way ahead she crossed the street and Hauck watched her go into a small shop. A cosmetics store. He came up and saw her wave hello and chat with one or two of the people in there. Not customers, but salespeople. She took off her jacket and placed her bag on a shelf underneath a counter.
It was clear the woman worked there. She wasn’t leading him to anyone now. Damn.
That was when his cell phone sounded. Naomi. “Any luck?” she asked.
“No.” He sighed, dejected. “I got dragged clear across the city on a dead end.”
“Well, things are better back here.” Her voice held excitement in it. “Get back! I think we’ve got her, Ty!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
A woman whom Naomi pegged as around seventy, in a gray skirt and blue Shetland sweater, had come out of the apartment just before ten, locking the front door behind her.
Maria Radisovic.
Naomi followed her down the stairs and onto the street. Her first stop was a butcher store down the block, where she spent several minutes. Then a liquor store across the street, where she came out with a package. Then she picked up two newspapers from a stand. One a USA Today. Bundles in hand, she headed back up the block and stopped at the tobacconist.
By that time Hauck had flagged a taxi and in minutes made it back across the street from the apartment house. As he jumped out, Naomi waved him over.
“I think it’s her,” she said, pointing to the gray-haired woman visible through the tobacco shop window. “She picked up some meat at the butcher, some booze, and now she’s in the tobacco shop. She’s shopping for something…”
“Let’s hope it’s not just Sunday dinner,” Hauck said.
They remained across the street and watched. Four or five minutes later, they spotted the woman emerging. Naomi tapped Hauck on the elbow. “That’s her.”