Color of Blood(73)

“Correct.”

“And you said you looked through the photo files from the AFP and could find no one who looked like this guy you saw when the tape lifted off your eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And you said some time ago that you had investigated a shooting of a Chinese national that had been killed with a powerful rifle?”

Judy stopped in mid-sip and put down her glass.

“Did I tell you that?”

“Yes, one of the first things you told me yesterday.”

“Why are you going back to that?”

“You said a medical examiner had made a comment about why they might have used that powerful weapon to kill a man. Right?”

“God, Dennis, I have to go home. I’m sorry.” She stood up, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead gently. Judy got a whiff of Dennis’s smell, and it excited her, but she grabbed her purse and headed to the door.

“And this medical examiner— you said his name was Lynch, I think—he told you and your partner, Daniel, that the gun was probably used to warn someone else who was in the room at the time of the shooting. That was his guess, right?”

“Yes,” Judy said, her back to Dennis.

“Great. This all works; I like it. Judy, before you go, one last thing. Just take a second.”

She opened the door.

“Goodnight, Dennis.”

“I think I have a photograph of your bad guy: the guy who cut your toe off.”

Judy froze in the doorway. She pursed her lips and blinked in exhaustion. Time to go, she reminded herself.

But.

She was a policewoman. She solved crimes. She knew he knew that. Now she felt manipulated.

Time to go.

But.

She was a policewoman.

The door closed, and she turned to face him. He had his laptop open.

“I have access to a much larger database of photos than you: one of the benefits of working for the best-funded intelligence agency in the world.”

She walked over without saying a word, sat down, and dropped her purse onto the floor with a thud. Judy looked at Dennis and not at the laptop.

Those bloody blue eyes, she thought, are they going to be good for me or bad for me?

She turned to face the screen.

“I’m going to show you three pictures. Tell me if any of them look like your fellow.”

He clicked, and the screen showed what looked like an arrest photograph that had Cyrillic lettering underneath the scowling face.

“That’s not him.”

“How about this one?”

It was a grainy color photograph taken by telephoto of a man getting out of an Audi somewhere in Germany, she surmised by the signage on the nearby storefronts.

She peered at it closely. “I don’t think so.”

“OK, last one.”

Another color photograph that appeared to be taken surreptitiously showed a man walking toward the camera on a city street.

Judy squinted.

“Damn,” she said. “I think that’s him.” She kept looking at it, then at Dennis, then back at the photo.

“Dennis, where did you get this photo?”

“I told you; we have photos of half the people on the planet. Didn’t you read 1984 in high school? Well, for better or worse, this is what you get.”

Judy reached for the half-consumed glass of wine.

“Who is he?” she said curtly.

“A South African: name is Kurt Voorster. He’s been implicated in illegal arms sales to rebels in Africa, primarily Ugandan militia and Burundi gangs. Lives very well. Homes everywhere. Only one arrest in 1999 for possession of narcotics in Pretoria. That’s it.”

Judy sagged in the chair. To Dennis she looked very small, as if she were collapsing into a child before his eyes. She took another sip of wine. A bead of condensation rolled down the glass and flew off, hitting Judy’s maroon silk blouse, turning the spot dark red.

“Judy, I need you to do two things for me.”

She just looked at him, her mind whirring with confusing thoughts and images.

“Judy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to tap into any database you have that can tell us where this fellow Voorster is staying here in Australia. I hope he’s still here. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“And lastly—and you’re free to go home afterward—can I have Phillip’s mobile number?”

Judy frowned, started to speak, frowned again, and put down her drink.

“I’m trying to catch up with you, Dennis, but I’m having trouble. Maybe I’ll never catch up to you. But Phillip?”

“I just need his mobile number.”

“He has two mobile numbers: one for work, one for personal use.”

“Excellent. I can get his numbers through other channels, but it would take a while. Please write them down.” He pushed the yellow pad and pencil to her.

She picked up the pencil and wrote out two phone numbers.

“Great,” he said. “You can go now.”

She pushed the pad back to him and stared at the two numbers.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“I can order something,” he said.