Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(63)

“Can we talk about this inside?”

Russell hesitated but finally nodded. “All right.”

He let her inside, then turned off the security system and shut and bolted the door. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on a wall rack in the small foyer.

Pine saw that his hair was indeed thinning, and the little he had left had been allowed to grow in any direction it chose. As Father Paul had said, Russell possessed a trim beard and mustache, perhaps to balance out the loss on top. He was quite lean, and she gauged that his feet were about a size fifteen, which made sense for a man nearly six seven. His nose was long and spindly. His eyes were brown and darting. Right above them were a pair of eyebrows that, like the hair, roamed helter-skelter over his compact forehead.

She looked around. Russell’s digs were a lot nicer than Priest’s. The furniture looked antique, well-worn, and comfy-cozy. There was a fireplace in the room right off the foyer. It had a limestone surround in the design of something one might see in a church. The walls were covered with original-looking oil paintings.

The rug she was standing on looked to be at least a century old. Down the hall she could see colorful and costly wallpaper along with elaborate crown moldings. The ceilings and walls were solid plaster. Outside, she had noted the gutters and downspouts were copper and the roof was slate.

They didn’t make them like this anymore. Not unless you had the dollars to pay for it.

His words interrupted her observations.

“Would you like something to drink? Or are you on duty?”

“What are you having?”

“A G and T. Blue bottle Bombay is my preferred choice of weapon.”

“I’ll just take the T. Thanks.”

He led her down the hall to a large oval carved wooden door that looked like it belonged in a castle. He opened it and showed her into a sizable room outfitted as a library or study.

Three walls held shelves that sagged with books. A large partner’s desk sat in the middle of the room under which lay a square of faded Oriental carpet. There was a fireplace. Comfortable leather couch and chairs. And a small credenza with bottles and glasses topping it.

“On the rocks?” he asked as he prepared two glasses. “For your T?”

“Why not?”

He opened a paneled door built into a cabinet next to the credenza, revealing an icemaker. He cut up a lime he’d taken from a bowl on top of the credenza, put slices in each glass over the ice, then poured gin and tonic into his tumbler and only tonic into hers, while she watched to make sure.

He stirred the drinks and handed one to Pine, then picked up a remote and pointed it at the fireplace. There was a click, a whoosh of fired gas, and bluish flames popped alive in the hearth. He sat down on the couch and pointed to one of the chairs.

“Nice room,” said Pine as she took her seat and looked around the space.

“I do a lot of my work in here, actually.”

“And what work would that be?”

He sipped his drink. His features, never inviting to begin with, turned instantly chillier.

“‘None of your business’ is the answer that first occurs to me. Unless you have a warrant. And even then, it would still be none of your business. Now tell me about Ben.”

“He’s missing.”

Russell said nothing to this. He slightly turned his head and studied the gas flames.

“You don’t seem surprised by that.”

He shrugged. “Ben routinely goes missing.”

Pine decided to take a chance in order to get the man to open up. “Does he routinely get kidnapped and taken away in a chopper?”

This got Russell’s attention. He looked at Pine. “Is this a mere hypothetical or are you being factual?”

“He’s in trouble. Big trouble. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“I’m prepared to leave it right here.”

Pine looked around the room. “If I were to profile you from what I’ve seen in your home, I’d say you came from money, were well traveled, had an interest in geopolitics, were security conscious, and cared about what happened to your country.”

“I won’t extend this talk by asking how you came by those deductions.”

However, Pine plunged ahead. “The silver set on the table over there is a Tiffany original. The monogram shows it was probably a family heirloom. I’d wager that set is older than your grandparents. That means you inherited it. People who get handed down things like that are usually well cared for in other respects. The rest of my deductions come from your books, the multiple locks and security system, and those detailed maps of China and the Middle East on the walls over there.”

“And my caring about my country?”

“The framed letter over there from a past president thanking you for your service.”

Russell seemed to appraise her in a new light. He sipped his drink and nodded. “All right. I may be all of those things. What do you want from me tonight?”

“Do you have any idea what Ben was working on that could have led to his being in trouble?”

“We didn’t work together.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Then you obviously heard wrong.”

“You never discussed work matters with him?”

“There was no reason.”