“The policeman.”
“That’s the one.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Well, that may be the case.” Tom nodded slowly. He turned and looked at Captain McBride. “Would you give us a moment?”
The captain started. “A moment? You mean … is that proper?”
“Ah, you English.” Tom smiled. “Yes, it’s proper. Two people having a chat in a cabin. It’s just that part of the chat needs to be in private.”
“But if he’s a suspect in some kind of crime, shouldn’t any interview be witnessed? I mean, that’s how we do things in England and I assume—”
“We’re not in England, captain. This is two Americans having a nice talk in international waters. We’re in international waters by now, aren’t we?”
“Even so, this is my ship and I’m not comfortable with—”
“With what? We’re not going to fight, for fuck’s sake. We’re going to talk, and if it makes you feel better,” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flicking at the screen and showing it to McBride, “there you go, I’ll record our conversation, how’s that? I’m even recording me telling you I’ll record it.”
The captain took a step back, then hesitated. “I’m going to head upstairs, make a few phone calls. If someone up the chain of command tells me this is improper, I’ll be back down. And probably not alone.”
“Perfect,” Tom said. “I don’t want anyone getting in trouble with the chain of command.”
“That makes two of us,” McBride said. He stepped out of the cabin and pulled the door closed behind him.
For the first time in years, Tom was unsure what to do. According to Hugo, he was alone in a room with a killer. He was also alone in a room with a US Senator, and a man who had realistic ambitions for even higher office. There was no script for this situation, no training exercise welling up from his CIA or FBI days telling him what to do next. His experience in the field, undercover and in the uniform black suit and sunglasses of those agencies, had left him unprepared. Tom was old-fashioned in that he liked his bad guys obvious and identifiable, he liked a clear red line between them and him, and the idea that Hugo could be wrong tugged at him like an invisible specter.
Tom held up his phone to reassure, or maybe remind, the senator that their conversation would be recorded, and moved to the desk. He laid the phone beside the briefcase, careful not to touch it. Then, not having a plan or even a full grasp of the facts, Tom resorted to doing what he did best. He talked.
“Beautiful ship. You know, I’ve never been on a cruise before. Though is this a cruise or a journey? Seems like cruises are for old couples in flowery shirts who drink too much and like to island-hop in the Caribbean.” Tom paused but Lake just stared at the carpet between them. “Anyway, I was hoping you’d want to tell me what’s been going on.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No? How’d you get that scratch on your neck?”
“No idea.” His tone was flat, final.
“Then let’s move on to the sudden disappearances in Paris. Or if you prefer, why you’re here on this ship.”
“I don’t like flying. No sin in that.”
“Yeah, true, but it was a bit of a rush to get here, wasn’t it?”
“I decided last-minute, after the talks fell through. Seemed like it’d be a relaxing way to get home, even if it meant hurrying to get here.”
“I’m sure it is. Don’t like flying, myself, not much.” Tom looked around the cabin. “I can see how this’d be preferable. Although we both had to fly to get here, which is kinda weird.”
“Please,” Lake said. “It’s late and I’m tired. Just tell me what you want and go.”
“Sure.” Tom leaned casually against the wall, his pose matching his tone. “We can be honest with each other, right?”
Lake nodded but said nothing.
“See, you know Hugo Marston. He’s a smart guy. Super smart. Pisses me off sometimes and he has this really fucking annoying habit of not telling me stuff, making me guess and wallow around in the dark like a blind pig in mud. He does that a lot, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure of something that he tells me. Like I said, it’s annoying, but there is an upside.”
“Oh?” Lake seemed like he was paying attention now but struggling to follow along.
“Right. The upside is, when he tells me something, the odds are he’s right. Which kinda makes sense, when you think about it. I mean, if he made me wait and was wrong every time, that’d be pretty dumb. Anyway, he made me wallow around on this case, right up until a few minutes ago.”
“Is that right?” Now, Tom thought, the senator was pretending not to care, but there was a tension in the man’s throat that suggested otherwise.
“Yeah, it is. Couple minutes ago he told me that you killed Alexandra Tourville. And I figured, you know, he made me wait, so it’s gotta be true.”
“Ridiculous.” Lake finally held Tom’s eye. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m not sure, not yet. Hugo said something about your ancestry. Marie Antoinette or some shit.” Tom waved a hand. “I didn’t get all the details, to be honest.”
“That’s insane.” But the firmness had gone from his voice, as if the discovery of a motive was more powerful than any piece of physical evidence, a reason for murder more revealing than his prints on a bloody knife or smoking gun. “I would never kill anyone, not … premeditated, not unless provoked.”
“Maybe.” Tom looked down and to his left, at the briefcase. “That locked?”
“Yes.” Lake looked up. “But please don’t. You need a warrant, right?”
“Not if you give me permission. It’s called a consent search, and I’m thinking there’s something pretty damning in there.”
“Damning? I’m already damned. You’re going to see to that, aren’t you?”
“I’m just trying to find the truth,” Tom said. He hesitated, but then said what he was thinking. “And part of the truth, Senator, is that if you killed Alexandra Tourville, and if Hugo’s right that she killed Raul Garcia, you deserve a fucking medal.”
Lake smiled thinly. “They don’t give medals to murderers,” he said.
“Sometimes they do. But yeah, probably not in your case.” Tom tapped the briefcase. “So I have your permission to look inside?”
“No. In fact, I think you need to leave and that I should speak to a lawyer before I talk to you or anyone else.”
Tom sighed. “OK then. That’s your right, of course, though fuck knows where we’ll find a lawyer in the middle of the ocean. I mean, there’s probably a stack of them on board, but in my experience the guys who do criminal defense don’t make too much money. They’re the ones crammed into coach class, assuming they can afford to fly at all. The attorneys on board this tub, I’m betting they can tell you a thing or two about oil and gas law or how to sue someone for trademark infringement, but not so much on criminal law.”
“I can wait until we get back to America.”
“America?” Tom amped up the surprise in his voice. “Oh, no, Senator. If you want to take a look outside, maybe look behind as best you can, you’re going to see a nice wake bubbling in the moonlight. Be all romantic if, you know, you hadn’t killed someone.”
Lake’s voice sharpened. “We’re turning?”
“Sure are, and we’re headed for Brest.” Tom smiled. “And not the good kind, no, the kind that has a harbor on the northwestern tip of France, where good Captain McBride will weigh anchor and the French police will send a boat out to pick us up and take you to a jail cell. That kind of Brest.”
Color drained from Lake’s face and his jaw dropped open. “No. No, not that.”
“Yeah, I can see why that’d suck for you. I mean, all those things you said about the French and now you’re going to be … I mean an American prison would be bad enough, but a French one?”