Suspects(19)

“Do you suppose she was involved in his kidnapping in some way?” Mike asked him.

“Probably not. More likely they killed her as a warning to him, or for some other reason. They seem to dish out poison there like caviar. It’s their favorite lethal weapon and they’ve got some damn nasty ones. Some you don’t recover from. We’ve seen it a lot. We have the medications to stop the effects of the poisons if the dose isn’t too extreme, and the antidote, Oximes. We use it for our agents. If you ever get in trouble on that front, let me know.”

“I’m not likely to run into poisons. Here they just use guns,” Mike said.

“I’d rather take a bullet than a dose of what they use,” Robert said and sounded serious. “The Russians are nothing to mess with these days. You can kill a whole village with some of the substances they use. There are some great Russians, but some damn dangerous ones too.”

“Do you think her death is in any way related to his? Do you think the girl sold him out to the kidnappers?” Mike hated the thought of that.

“Why would she, if he was giving her money, and I would guess he was. He was known to be a generous guy.” Mike couldn’t imagine why he would cheat on Theo with a Russian informant. It seemed foolhardy in the extreme, and he felt sorry for Theo, if she knew about it.

“Do you suppose his wife knew about her?”

“That I don’t know,” Robert answered. “The French agents might. Our informant says the DGSE knew about the Russian girl. It was their investigation, not ours.” Mike nodded, thinking about it. It was all so convoluted, and so tortured and pointless now since both kidnapping victims were dead. And yet he wanted to know what had happened, that Theo was being protected adequately, and that there might be a chance to catch the kidnappers one day—just on principle as a law enforcement agent. Although a year later, it seemed unlikely.

He wanted to protect Theo, but the cast of characters was becoming more and more confusing. And protect her from what, he wondered, and from whom? It wasn’t his investigation. The CIA wasn’t involved.

He thanked Robert for the information.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. You never know what will turn up.”

They hung up a few minutes later.



* * *



—

After he spoke to Robert, Mike called Theo on her cellphone in L.A. She sounded distracted when she answered, and he worried that she wouldn’t remember him. Their meeting had been so brief, and probably meant a great deal more to him than it did to her. She must meet a lot of clients, when she wasn’t hiding in the stockroom.

“Ms. Morgan,” he said politely, they hadn’t made it to first names when he met her. The fact that he wanted to invite her to dinner at all seemed ridiculous now. He was sure she wouldn’t accept. “I’m Mike Andrews,” he continued, “the red-bag man the night of your party at the store in New York.” She laughed at his description.

“How did your sister like it?” He was relieved that she remembered him. It had been a startling encounter for her too. Unexpected, but not unpleasant, with an odd undercurrent of something she couldn’t explain, and wouldn’t have known how to put words to.

“I still have it. Her birthday is in two weeks, but I know she is going to love it.” He felt like Pinocchio lying to her and was grateful she’d never meet his sister. It was a totally incongruous gift for her. But it had won him a few minutes of conversation and a minor introduction. “I was wondering if we could get together when you come back through New York on your way to Paris. I was going to tell you that I need some fashion advice for my sister, which is true actually. But to be honest with you, I’d just like to have dinner with you, or lunch if you prefer.” She sounded hesitant, and he could feel her retreat. She was extremely skittish. She hadn’t had lunch or dinner alone with a man for anything other than business in years, and certainly not in the last year since she’d been widowed. She was too traumatized to want to date.

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I have meetings with some new designers I want to include in our spring line next year. One of them is at lunchtime, so that won’t work.” She was dead silent for a minute while he waited, not wanting to push too hard or abort the mission either. “I suppose I could do dinner,” she said cautiously, as he slowly exhaled. The gods had smiled on him after all.

“That would be wonderful. What time works best for you?”

“Anything. I’ll be finished with my meetings around six. Eight o’clock? If you don’t mind, I like simple restaurants best. I don’t want to go to some fancy restaurant where everyone stares at me.”

“I agree. That doesn’t sound like fun to me either. I hate eating when people stare at me,” he said as though it happened every day, and she laughed. “How do you feel about burgers? Or Chinese? Thai? Indian? What’s your preference?” He didn’t want to take her to a restaurant she hated, and he was happy she liked simple restaurants, not elaborate ones where a headwaiter and half a dozen servers would be hovering over them listening to every word.

“I love burgers, and you can’t get decent ones in Paris, not real ones.” She sounded young as she said it.

“Perfect. I know just the place. Wear whatever you want. Best burgers in the city and I guarantee no one will stare.”