This comforted him.
My little butcher man…
Now he set his rib eye on a cutting board – always wood, to save his knives’ edges – and ran his fingers over the meat, sensing the tautness of the flesh, examining the grain, the marbling of the fat.
Before slicing, however, he washed and re edged the Kai Shun on his Dan’s Black Hard Arkansas whetstone, which cost nearly as much as the knife itself and was the best sharpening device on the planet. When he’d been sitting atop Annette, he’d moved from tongue to finger, and the blade had an unfortunate encounter with bone. It now needed to be honed back to perfection.
Finally, the knife was ready and he turned back to the steak, slowly slicing the piece into quarter inch cubes.
He could have made them bigger and he could have worked faster.
But why rush something you enjoy?
When he was done he dusted the cubes in a mixture of sage and flour (his contribution to the classic recipe) and sautéed them in a cast iron skillet, scooping them aside while still internally pink. He then diced two red potatoes and half a Vidalia onion. These vegetables he cooked in oil in the skillet and returned the meat. He mixed in a bit of veal stock and chopped Italian parsley and set the pan under the broiler to crisp the top.
A minute or two later, the dish was finished. He added salt and pepper to the hash and sat down to eat the meal, along with a rosemary scone, at a very expensive teak table in the bay window of his kitchen. He’d baked the scone several days ago. Better with age, he reflected, as the herbs had bonded well with the hand milled flour.
Swann ate slowly, as he always did. He had nothing but pity bordering on contempt for people who ate fast, who inhaled their food.
He had just finished when he received an email. It seemed that Shreve Metzger’s great national security intelligence machine was grinding away as efficiently as ever.
Received your text. Good to hear success today.
Liabilities you need to minimize/eliminate:
Witnesses and allied individuals with knowledge base of the STO operation.
Suggest searching Moreno’s trip to NY, April 30–May 2.
Identified Nance Laurel as lead prosecutor. IDs of the NYPD investigators to follow soon.
Individual who leaked STO. Someone is searching for identity now. You may have thoughts on how to learn ID. Proceed at your own discretion.
Swann called the Tech Services people and requested some datamining. Then he pulled on thick yellow rubber gloves. To clean the skillet, he scrubbed it with salt and treated the surface with hot oil; cast iron should never meet soap and water, of course. He then began to wash the dishes and utensils in very, very hot water. He enjoyed the process and found that he did much of his best thinking standing here, looking out at a dogged ginkgo in a small garden in front of the building. The nuts from that plant were curious. They’re used in Asian cuisine – the centerpiece of the delicious custard chawanmushi in Japan. They can also be toxic, when consumed in large quantities. But dining can be dangerous, of course; when we sit down to a meal who doesn’t occasionally wonder if we’ve been dealt the salmonella or E. coli card? Jacob Swann had eaten fugu – the infamous puffer fish with toxic organs – in Japan. He faulted the dish not for its potential for lethality (training of chefs makes poisoning virtually impossible) but for a flavor too mild for his liking.
Scrubbing, scrubbing, removing every trace of food from metal and glass and porcelain.
And thinking hard.
To eliminate witnesses would cast suspicion on NIOS and its affiliates, of course, since the kill order was now public. That was unfortunate and under other circumstances he would have tried to arrange accidents or construct some fictional players to take the blame for the murders that were about to happen: the cartels Metzger had claimed were really responsible for Moreno’s death, or perps the police and prosecutor had put in jail, out for revenge.
But that wouldn’t work here. Jacob Swann would simply have to do what he did best; while Shreve Metzger would deny that kill orders even existed, Swann would make absolutely certain that no evidence of or witnesses to his clean up operation could possibly tie NIOS or anyone connected with it to the killing.
He could do that. Jacob Swann was a very meticulous man.
Besides, he had no choice but to eliminate these threats. There was no way he’d let anybody jeopardize his organization; its work was too important.
Swann dried the dishes, silver and coffee cup, using thick linen, with the diligence of a surgeon completing the stitches after a successful procedure.
CHAPTER 13
Robert Moreno Homicide
Crime Scene 1.
Suite 1200, South Cove Inn, New Providence Island, Bahamas (the “Kill Room”).
May 9.
Victim 1: Robert Moreno.
COD: Gunshot wound, details to come.
Supplemental information: Moreno, 38, U.S. citizen, expatriate, living in Venezuela. Vehemently anti American. Nickname: “the Messenger of Truth.”
Spent three days in NYC, April 30–May 2. Purpose?
Victim 2: Eduardo de la Rua.
COD: Gunshot wound, details to come.
Supplemental information: Journalist, interviewing Moreno. Born Puerto Rico, living in Argentina.
Victim 3: Simon Flores.
COD: Gunshot wound, details to come.
Supplemental information: Moreno’s bodyguard. Brazilian national, living in Venezuela.
Suspect 1: Shreve Metzger.
Director, National Intelligence and Operations Service.
Mentally unstable? Anger issues.
Manipulated evidence to illegally authorize Special Task Order?
Divorced. Law degree, Yale.
Suspect 2: Sniper.
Code name: Don Bruns.
Information Services datamining Bruns.
Voiceprint obtained.
Crime scene report, autopsy report, other details to come.
Rumors of drug cartels behind the killings. Considered unlikely.
Crime Scene 2.
Sniper nest of Don Bruns, 2000 yards from Kill Room, New Providence Island, Bahamas.
May 9.
Crime scene report to come.
Supplemental Investigation.
Determine identity of Whistleblower.
Unknown subject who leaked the Special Task Order.
Sent via anonymous email.
Contacted NYPD Computer Crimes Unit to trace; awaiting results.
Hands on her hips, Amelia Sachs studied the whiteboard.
She noted Rhyme glance without interest at her flowing script. He wouldn’t pay much attention to what she’d written until hard facts – evidence, mostly, in his case – began to appear.
It was just the three of them at the moment, Sachs, Laurel and Rhyme. Lon Sellitto had gone downtown to recruit a specially picked canvass and surveillance team from Captain Bill Myers’s Special Services operation; with secrecy a priority, Laurel didn’t want to use regular Patrol Division officers.
Sachs returned to her desk. She didn’t do well sitting still and that was largely what she’d been doing for the past two hours. Confined here, the bad habits returned: She’d dig one nail into another, scratch her scalp to bleeding. Fidgety by nature, she felt a compulsion to walk, to be outside, to drive. Her father had coined an expression that was her anthem:
When you move they can’t getcha…
The line had meant several things to Herman Sachs. Certainly it could refer to his job, their job – he too had been a cop, a portable, walking his beat in the Deuce, Times Square, at a time when the murder rate in the city was at an all time high. Fast of foot, fast of thought, fast of eye could keep you alive.