Everyone had conditions. How come I never got to set the terms? “What condition?”
“If it comes down to it and you have to choose, you must promise me that you will choose Rachel.” He might have looked crumpled and sounded spent, but his tone was firm.
“If I have to choose between you and Rachel, you want me to choose her?”
“I am sorry. I am truly sorry, and I believe that you can figure all of this out. But I have to know that if you cannot, or if you cannot in time, Rachel will be safe.”
The pounding on the door began in earnest. Ling and Southern had already come in once with guns drawn. It was time to make a decision.
“Fine. I promise. But here’s my condition. After they leave, you have to tell me what it is about this woman that would make you want to die for her.” Because I just didn’t get it.
15
SPECIAL AGENTS LING AND SOUTHERN LOOKED LIKE CIRCUS clowns through the parabolic lens of the peephole, but when I opened the door, they were all business.
Southern stepped up. “Where is he?”
“In his office.”
He brushed past me and headed down the hallway. Ling wiped his feet on the mat. “Thank you,” he said. I tried to look as if I knew what for. He smiled. “For having Harvey call.”
“Oh, absolutely. I insisted.”
He let me lead the way to the office, where I was surprised to find Harvey on his feet. He was leaning on his cane but mostly upright. After he confirmed that he was who he was, Ling flashed his ID and introduced himself and Southern. “We’d like to talk to you alone.”
“Excuse me, Special Agent Ling,” I said, “but I already feel involved in this because of our interview yesterday. I would like to stay.”
“I’m sure you would, but have you checked with your partner?”
Harvey wobbled a little as he blinked at me from behind those thick lenses. My jaw tightened, my stiff neck throbbed, and I knew there was still the chance that he would choose today to throw himself under the bus for Rachel. I knew that’s what his instincts told him to do.
“Miss Shanahan is my partner,” he said finally. “Whatever you need, I am sure we can both help you.” He gestured to the small seating area. “Do come in and sit down.”
Ling dropped onto the couch-right on top of my casework-and made himself comfortable. I almost expected him to prop his feet up on the coffee table. Southern, something less than comfortable but not exactly jittery, found a place against the bookshelves and stood there, holding a manila file flat against his chest. Harvey worked his way over and lowered himself into the wingback. I stayed close to the door. Normally, I would have wanted to watch Ling’s face, but for this discussion, I needed to keep an eye on my partner.
“We were looking for you yesterday,” Ling said to Harvey. “You weren’t home.”
“Yes, I understand. I am sorry I missed you.”
“Where were you?”
Harvey glanced at me. He had never been good with lies, either the commission or the omission kind. He blinked too much or shifted around in his seat. He pushed at the bridge of his glasses or pitched his voice too high. That he exhibited none of these nervous tics as he sat under the watchful gaze of the FBI was alarming. I was afraid he was about to tell them the truth.
“I was…shopping.”
Southern rolled his eyes, I exhaled, and Ling reached over and picked at a small water stain on the linen covering the arm of the couch. He was precise about it. “Really? What did you get?”
“I have been thinking of investing in a new chair.” Harvey nodded in the direction of his old wheelchair across the room. “That one has seen better days. But they are very expensive. I made no purchases.”
“You left your music on,” Ling said, “and we almost shot your partner. She was very concerned about you.”
“Yes.” Harvey chuckled. “She made me apologize profusely.”
Ling turned enough to show me his profile. “Then there was nothing to worry about after all?”
“He forgot to turn on his phone. I should have known.”
Harvey shifted in the wingback. His legs were probably bothering him. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
“You called us. You said you had some things to discuss.”
“I did?”
“Yes,” Southern groused, “you did.”
“Oh, my.” Harvey reached up and straightened his lenses. “This is most embarrassing.” He turned his head and scratched behind his ear. “I have recently adjusted my medication, and I have been doing some odd things, such as leaving the house without telling Alex. That was quite unusual. I am certain she told you.”
Ling seemed quite concerned, though I was reasonably certain he wasn’t buying any of it.
“Please accept my apologies,” Harvey said. “I know you gentlemen are busy, but I cannot, for the life of me, think of why I might have called you.” He looked at me with eyebrows raised, as if I could help.
“We’ll have to talk to your doctor. I’m sorry, too,” I said to Ling. “I was out this morning, or I would have prevented this.”
“Really?” Ling shifted around. “Where were you?”
“Um…having breakfast. With a client. He’s an early bird.”
Harvey scooted himself to the edge of the cushion and started to pull himself up with his cane. “You have my assurances, Special Agents, that this will not happen again.”
“That’s okay.” Ling was as serene as ever. “We were coming anyway. We had some questions for you.”
Harvey looked up at me as he eased back into his chair. Southern stepped up and handed his file to Ling. Ling flipped through it. When he found the item he wanted, he passed it over to Harvey. I went and stood behind Harvey’s chair so I could see it, too. It was the same passport photo of Roger he had shown me.
“This man is Roger Fratello,” Harvey said.
“Then you know him?”
“He is a seminotorious fugitive from our area. Of course I know of him.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“How would I?” Harvey passed the picture back to Ling.
“We were thinking that, wherever he is, you might have helped him get there.”
“That is nonsense. Would either of you like some tea? I brewed a fresh pot.”
“No, thanks. How about the name Stephen Gerald Hoffmeyer?”
Harvey furrowed his brow. “Nothing comes to mind, but I am a sick man. With the medication and the illness, as I told you, my mind is not what it once was.”
“Maybe we can give your memory a nudge.” Ling passed over another item he pulled from his file. “We found this in a safety deposit box in Brussels.” It was a photograph of a single piece of scrap paper. A list of codes was written on it. “We think they might be numbered bank accounts.” Ling looked at Harvey. “Check out what’s written across the top.”
Harvey and I both leaned in. I was the one who almost started wheezing when I saw that it said “Baltimore.” Harvey was calm.
“Are you sure that does not refer to a city in Maryland?”
Southern’s expression soured even more, but Ling’s brightened. He seemed to be enjoying the challenge presented by the elegant stone wall that was Harvey Baltimore. I might have enjoyed it myself had I not been trying so hard to keep up. It was a side of Harvey I hardly ever got to see.
“Good point by you,” Ling said. “We can’t really tie the list to you because the only usable prints are Roger Fratello’s. We don’t have the same problem with the cash.”
He offered up the next exhibit, a photo of the individual stacks of banded U.S. currency he had spoken of. The stacks were arranged in rows-three across and two down-and wrapped in plastic. “We found that bundle in the same box in Brussels. That shrink wrap is great for prints. Yours were all over it. Can you explain that?”