“So the Russians did kill him.”
“Julie doesn’t think so. She thinks Hubbard did it, or had someone do it.”
“This is real big, isn’t it, Lincoln?”
“Bigger than you can imagine,” I said, thinking about Hubbard, Cody, and the Russians. It was big, all right. And deadly.
“I’m not going to breathe a word of this to anyone,” Amy said, “but you’ve got to keep me updated.”
“I will. Now, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Like I said, Weston videotaped some poor bastard getting killed by the Russians. We don’t know who the guy is. I watched the tape and didn’t recognize him. Some short, strong-looking guy with curly dark hair and a silver chain around his neck. I need you to check it out and see if you can figure out who some potential candidates might be. He’s got to be connected to Belov and the rest of them somehow.”
“I’m on it.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you later this afternoon and we can reconnoiter.”
She laughed.
“What?” I said.
“Reconnoiter. That word just amuses me-it sounds so ridiculous. It seems strange, too, that you can only reconnoiter. Wouldn’t it seem you should connoiter to begin with and then reconnoiter? Of course, that sounds kind of dirty. You know, like, ‘the police caught the teens connoitering in the backseat of the car-’ ”
“Goodbye, Amy.” I hung up and sighed. My friends. What can you say?
I went back upstairs and knocked on Julie’s door. She answered a minute later with a bright smile. “Good news,” she said. “Betsy has decided what she wants to do with the afternoon.”
“What’s that?”
“Play miniature golf,” Betsy said. She was sitting on the couch with her feet sticking out in the air because they were too short to reach the floor. I suppose this is the type of thing parents never really pause to think about, but if you’re not around children much, it looks pretty comical.
“Miniature golf,” I said. The glamorous work of the private detective never ceases.
“That’s right. I told her we’d need to relax for about an hour, though.” She winked at me. “I figured you’d need at least that long to prepare yourself for a whole afternoon of us.”
I sat on the couch next to Betsy and watched cartoons with her for the next twenty minutes. Then my cell phone rang, and I took it out on the balcony to talk.
“Hello?”
“You’re in big trouble this time, pal.” Amy.
“I thought I was going to call you,” I said. “Couldn’t wait to hear my sexy voice again, eh?”
“No, I just couldn’t wait to tell you what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in.”
I had a fair idea what kind of mess it was, but I waited for her to elaborate.
“I think I know who the murder victim was,” she said. “You called him a short, muscular guy with curly dark hair, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, that’s a perfect description of the guy whose picture I’m looking at right now. In fact, he’s even wearing a silver chain. He hasn’t turned up dead yet, but he’s been missing for three weeks, and he unquestionably has ties to the Russians.”
“Who is it?”
“Yuri Belov,” she said. “Dainius Belov’s son.”
CHAPTER 18
“HIS SON,” I said numbly. All the energy had drained from my body, and the small of my back felt very cold despite the sun beating against it. I was staring in the glass doors to the hotel room without really seeing anything, but eventually I noticed Betsy waving at me. I forced a smile and lifted a hand in response, then turned my back to the room and looked out at the sea.
“What are you going to do, Lincoln?” Amy asked.
“I don’t know. This definitely explains some things, though. Maybe it makes things a little easier. Maybe it makes them harder.”
“How would it make them easier?”
“If the Russians took out Yuri Belov, the hit surely wasn’t authorized by his father. It was more likely the result of an internal problem, some feud or bad blood between Belov’s soldiers and his son. That means Julie and Betsy may not need to fear the Russian mob as a whole, but only a select few.”
“I guess,” she said doubtfully, “but those select few seem pretty deadly.”
Assuming they were responsible for the murder of not only Yuri Belov but also Wayne Weston and Randy Hartwick, yes, they were very deadly. And then there was Jeremiah Hubbard to fear. Julie Weston’s testimony could be tremendously damaging to him, as well. And, if Julie’s guess that Hubbard was responsible for her husband’s murder was correct, he had already proved he was willing to kill to protect himself.
“There are quite a few unsolved murders tied together with this,” I said. “Nasty things are happening in the shadows, and this woman knows enough to make sense of it. Some powerful people are going to do whatever it takes to keep those things in the shadows. If that means adding a few more murders to the list, they won’t lose sleep over it.”
“You know the best way to bring something scary out of the shadows, Lincoln? Shine a light on it.”
I frowned. “Clarify, Ace.”
“I mean, let me write this story.”
“Amy,” I began, irritated that she was thinking of herself, but she cut me off.
“I’m serious, Lincoln, so listen to me. I’m not thinking just about the story, although I’ll admit I’d love to write it. I’m thinking about the woman and her daughter. People are willing to kill them because Julie Weston has damaging knowledge and a damaging videotape, right? Well, if the knowledge and tape are made public, then killing Julie Weston and her daughter serves no purpose except revenge. And, if the case has been pushed into the public eye, any attempt for revenge is just going to make things much worse.”
“The Russians don’t care about that, Amy,” I said. “They won’t hesitate to kill for revenge, regardless of the consequences.” But it was an interesting idea. It could possibly be the best way of keeping Hubbard at bay, if nothing else. “I’m not dismissing it entirely,” I said, giving some ground. “I’ll talk to Julie tonight and see what she thinks.”
“Okay, Lincoln. But remember something-you have much of the same knowledge that led to Wayne Weston’s murder and probably this Hartwick guy’s. That makes you just as much of a threat to everyone involved as Julie Weston.”
Encouraging. I hung up with Amy and walked back inside. Julie had taken my seat on the couch beside Betsy, and the cartoons were still on. She glanced up at me as I stepped into the room and frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said, surprised she had read my face so easily. “My cell phone signal is bad on the balcony, that’s all. Frustrating.”
“Oh,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t buying it. “Do you need to go downstairs to make another call?”
“No, I’m done with the phone for now.” I put the cell phone back in my pocket and slid my hand up my spine, touching the butt of the gun under my shirt. It was still there, comforting if not comfortable.
“I thought we were going to play miniature golf,” I said, trying to force some good humor into my voice. I could spend the rest of the afternoon dwelling on Amy’s news, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it would probably stress Julie out. If I could make the afternoon fun for her and the kid, then I’d sit her down for a serious conversation after Betsy went to sleep.
“Let’s go play!” Betsy said, leaping off the couch. “I’m gonna win.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “I’m going to win.”
“I’ll bet you an ice cream I win,” the little girl said confidently. I accepted the bet with a laugh, and as I did so I saw a shadow of sadness pass over Julie’s face. It was only momentary, and then the smile was back. I thought about the bet we’d made, and I realized it was probably something the girl had picked up from her father.
“I always beat Daddy and get ice cream when we play,” Betsy said, confirming my suspicions as if on cue. “He says I’m short for good games.”