The Bricklayer - Boyd Noah (читать хорошую книгу полностью .txt) 📗

He smiled at her. “Then I guess we’d better find the money ourselves.”

“Why am I suddenly getting the feeling that you don’t think that money is in locker number fourteen?”

“Human nature is to be lazy,” Vail said. “I’m always suspicious of things that seem too easy.”

“And, of course, you’d never bother Kaulcrick with your suspicions.”

“I have already told him, and everyone else, that the biggest obstacle in this case is distraction. They listen, nod their heads in agreement, and then go running after the first shiny object.”

“Funny how, once again, that leaves you all alone to do what you want.”

“There is one basic tenet of metaphysics that guided my career as an agent: If they’re there, they ain’t here.”

“Ever think that may be why your FBI career was only three years long?”

“I only think how great those three years were.”

After another fifteen minutes, Vail pulled up to the house that the day before had been overrun with law enforcement personnel and now stood deserted. The only reminder was the yellow and black tape that crisscrossed the front door. Kate said, “I know this is a stupid question, but did you notify anyone in officialdom that we were coming out here?”

“You’re right, that was a stupid question.” He got out and went to the trunk, lifting out the pry bar. “But I got Mr. Halligan’s permission, if that helps. Come on, let’s take a walk around first.”

They started on the east side of the structure. “The front-room window has no bars on it,” Vail said. He inspected the construction on either side, running his hand along the siding. “There were bars, but they were removed. You can see where the holes have been repaired. Looks fairly recent, too.”

Kate stepped closer. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Yet another good question. Here’s another one: why have bars on all the other doors and windows but take them off of this one?” Vail walked to the back of the house and after checking the wrought-iron gate protecting the back door asked, “Where did you take cover back here, behind the Dumpster?”

“Yes.” She pointed at the bin twenty yards off the northeast corner of the house. Vail went over and stood behind it. “It provides perfect cover. It’s also the ideal position for watching the rear door and the east side of the house at the same time. Exactly what we needed at the time.” Vail walked around the Dumpster, inspecting it. “I was at the front of the house, so that leaves just the window on the west wall of the house. Let’s take a look at that.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” Kate said.

“I don’t exactly know.”

When they got to the other side, Vail seemed more interested in the ancient wooden fence that surrounded the industrial property than in the house or the bars on the bedroom window. Kate tugged on them. “These seem to be in good shape.”

Vail was still inspecting the wooden fence that surrounded the auto scrap yard. “It’s not more than ten feet from the house to this fence,” he said to no one in particular. Finally he walked over to the window. He took the bars in both hands and jerked on them with his entire weight. They moved about a half inch. He pushed and pulled, moving them back and forth several times. “They shouldn’t do that.” He took a couple of steps back. “These are newer than the others.” Again he grabbed them, and now using all his strength he tried to pull them out of the wall, but they would move only the same fraction of an inch. Vail leaned in and inspected the bars where they were anchored into the siding.

“Meaning what?” Kate asked.

“I’m not sure yet. Let’s go inside.”

“Yet” was one of those little signs Kate had learned to pick up on with Vail. It meant that he probably knew what was going on, but, as with everything else, he saw no advantage in letting the rest of the world in on it.

He took a quick look around the neighborhood before inserting the claw end of the Halligan bar into the frame of the gate and in a quick, smooth pull, popped it open. He didn’t bother using the tool on the front door. After testing the knob, he swung his hip into it, snapping it open. Kate followed him back to the bedroom where Bertok had died the day before. He pulled up the window sash and yanked on the bars again, watching the points where the metal ends were anchored into the outside wall. Stepping to the right side, he inspected the casing that trimmed the inside of the window. “Did you bring any evidence gloves?”

“Very subtle, Vail. Give me the keys, and I’ll get the evidence kit.”

When she came back in, she set the case down and opened it. She handed him a pair of gloves. “You do remember that this place has been processed?”

“Only in the places that fit the story.”

“Story? That’s what happened.”

“Take a magician—are his illusions the truth or are they fiction? What you believe you see is fiction. Only when you know how the trick is done does it become truth.”

As much as Kate had come to expect miracles from Vail, this seemed too far-fetched even for him. “This was all some kind of trick?”

“Let’s start with the way we traced Bertok to this place. Anything bother you about that?”

“What do you mean? I thought it was a nice investigative string that led us to him.”

“That’s just it, a nice string. I’ve never seen one fall into place so neatly. The call to Bertok’s apartment leads to the Laundromat, then to the motel and the DMV and finally here. All in less than two hours. And of the more than eight thousand hours in a year, all three of us show up here at the same moment. It was almost like one of those training exercises that Quantico dreams up for new agents out at the combat village.”

Kate considered Vail’s refusal to accept the obvious. She wondered if it was a discipline, or a reaction to a demanding father whom he had once referred to as the sire of his “world-class scorn.” Either way, the result was Vail’s ability to find his way through a maze that everyone else failed to realize existed. And while it was an extraordinary thing to witness, Kate wondered if it wasn’t a coping mechanism. “I see your point about it all falling into place nicely, but doesn’t that occasionally happen? Ballistics has confirmed that Stanley Bertok shot at you, barricaded himself, and then committed suicide with his issued handgun, which was also used in four murders.”

“It wasn’t Bertok,” Vail said without the least bit of uncertainty.

“What?” Kate said, her volume unintentionally incredulous. “I’m pretty sure the guy in the morgue is Bertok.”

“It is, but that’s not who shot at me and is probably not who committed the murders.”

“Based on what?”

Vail ignored the question. “Don’t you think it was very convenient that he came into the Laundromat just after the woman we talked to arrived, almost like he was waiting for a witness. He made sure she noticed him with all that hassle about the hundred-dollar bill. And the bill happens to be one of the punctured ones from the drop, so there’s no doubt about its origin. But he’s all covered up to the extent that she can’t identify Bertok’s photo. Then he conveniently pulls across the street to the motel in plain sight of her.”

“But he had the identical clothing on when SWAT broke in here and found him.”

“Did you take a look at the body?”

“Not really. I mean I saw it, but I haven’t been around enough of that sort of thing to know what to look for.”

“First of all, he didn’t have cigarettes on his breath. I checked the evidence sheets last night. He didn’t have any cigarettes or a lighter on his person. Remember his apartment, what a heavy smoker he was?”

“Maybe he quit.”

“Maybe, but it would have been a pretty stressful time to start worrying about lung cancer. But more definitively, the blood coming from his temple had completely dried and crystallized.”