To better absorb the whole of it, she stepped back from the screen. “We seal it up, we seal it up tight. Isolate him. Let’s go with decoy first. Delivery. See if we can get Dix to open the door. He opens it, we get him out, move in. He doesn’t, we assume he’s dead or incapacitated and we take the door.”
She pushed at her hair. “We work on getting eyes and ears in there, but we try the decoy now. This turns into a hostage situation, you take the negotiations?” she asked Feeney.
“I’ll get it set up.”
“Okay, somebody get me a package. McNab, you’re playing messenger. I want three of the tactical team up, positioned here, here, here.” She tapped the screen again. “Feeney, security and the coms are on you. McNab, let’s move.”
She looked at Roarke. “Can you ditch the locks on the door without letting anyone inside know?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay.” She rolled her shoulders. “Let’s rock.”
Chapter 15
Inside the apartment, Dix suggested another drink. “Since I’m blowing off the day, I might as well make it worthwhile.”
Calculating, Trevor watched him get out a martini shaker. The doorman had seen him come inside. Security disks would show him entering. If he needed a little extra time, it might be wise to set the stage for an accident. Alcohol in the bloodstream, a slip in the bathroom? He could and would be gone before they found the body. Gain a little more of a buffer while they investigated what would appear, on the surface, to be a drunken fall.
My God, he was clever. Wouldn’t his grandfather be proud?
“Wouldn’t say no to a drink. I’d really like to see the piece.”
“Sure, sure.” Dix waved him off while he mixed drinks.
He could send a text message from Dix’s ’link to his office, Trevor decided. Set it to transmit ten minutes after he left the building. Security and the doorman would both verify his exit if need be, and the message would appear-until they dug deeper-to have been sent by Dix himself, alive and well, and alone in his apartment.
God was in the details.
He could knock him out, anywhere, then cart him into the bath, angle him, let him fall so that his head hit the corner of the tub, say.
Bathrooms were death traps, after all.
“What’s the joke?” Dix asked as Trevor began to laugh.
“Nothing, nothing. Little private moment.” He took the glass. His prints wouldn’t matter. In fact, all the better that they show up on a glass. Nice, companionable drink with a friend. Not trying to hide a thing.
“So, what’s wrong with your father?”
“He’s an anal-retentive, stiff-necked, disapproving asshole.”
“A little harsh, seeing as he’s dying.”
“What?” Trevor cursed himself as he remembered. “Being dead doesn’t change what he is. I’m not playing the hypocrite over it. Sorry he’s sick and all that, but I’ve got to live my own life. Old man’s already had his, such as it is.”
“Jesus.” With a half laugh, Dix drank. “That’s cold. I’ve got issues with my father. Hell, who doesn’t? But I can’t imagine just shrugging it off if I knew he was going to kick. Pretty young for taking the slide, isn’t he?” He squinted as he tried to remember. “Can’t have hit even seventy yet. Guy’s just cruising into his prime.”
“He hasn’t ever been prime.” Because it amused him, Trevor spun out the tale. Lying was nearly as fun as cheating, and cheating came very close to stealing. Killing didn’t give quite the same rush. It was so damn messy. It was more of a needs-to-be-done kind of chore. But he was beginning to believe he’d enjoy ending Dix.
“Some genetic deal,” he decided. “His mother passed it to him. Son of a bitch probably passed it to me. Some brain virus or happy shit. He’ll go loony before he kicks. We’ll have to put him away in some plush cage for mental defectives.”
“God, Trevor, that’s really rough.” A glimmer of the man Samantha Gannon had enjoyed eked through the haze of gin. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. Look, forget the money. I didn’t know it was something like this. I wouldn’t feel right taking money for the loan when you’ve got all this on your head. Just to keep it clean, I’ll draw up a paper, a receipt, but I can’t take any money for it.”
“That’s big of you, Chad.” It got better and better. “I don’t want to trade on sympathy.”
“Look, forget it. Your father’s got a sentimental attachment to the piece, I get that. I’m the same way myself. I couldn’t enjoy owning it if I thought about him being upset, under the circumstances, that it was sold off. When, ah, the rest of the collection comes to you, and you want to unload any of it, just keep me in mind.”
“That’s a promise. Hate to cut this short, but I really should get moving.”
“Oh, sure.” Dix drained the last of his drink, set the glass aside. “Come on back to the display room. You know, the reason I took this apartment was for this room. The space, the light. Samantha used to say I was obsessed.”
“She’s your ex, what do you care what she used to say?”
“Miss her sometimes. Haven’t found anyone else who interests me half as much as she did. Talk about obsessions.” He stopped, blocking the doorway. “She got so wrapped up in that book she couldn’t think about anything else. Didn’t want to go out, barely noticed if I was around. And what’s the big deal? Just a rehash of family stories, and that bullshit about diamonds. Who cares? Could it be more yesterday?”
Yes, Trevor thought, it would be a pleasure to kill this tedious moron. “You never know what’ll juice the unwashed masses.”
“You’re telling me. The thing’s selling like it was the new Word of the Lord. You were pretty interested,” he remembered. “Did you ever read that copy I passed you?”
“Scanned through it.” Another reason to snip this thread, he reminded himself. And quickly. “It wasn’t as compelling as I’d thought it would be. Like you said, it’s yesterday. I’m a little pressed for time now, Chad.”
“Sorry, sidetracked.” He turned toward the wide etched-glass door. Through it Trevor could see the floating shelves, the glossy black cabinets all lined or filled with antique toys and games. “Keep it locked and passcoded. Don’t trust the cleaning service.”
The lock light continued to blink red, and the computer’s voice informed him he’d entered an incorrect passcode.
“That’s what I get on three martinis. Hold on a sec.”
He reentered while Trevor stood vibrating behind him. He’d spotted the shining yellow bulldozer, parked blade-up on a wide, floating shelf.
“You’re going to need a box for it,” Dix commented as he rekeyed. “I keep some stored in the utility closet off the kitchen. Some padding there, too.”
He paused, leaned on the glass door until Trevor imagined bashing his head against it. “You’re going to have to promise to return it in the same condition, Trev. I know your father’s careful, and you’ve got a decent collection yourself, so you know how important it is.”
“I won’t be playing in the dirt with it.”
“I actually did that when I was a kid. Can’t believe it now. Still have a couple of trucks and one of the first model airbuses. Bunged up pretty bad, but sentimental value there.”
The light went to green, and the doors slid open. “Might as well get the full effect. Lights on full.”
They flashed on, illuminated the nearly invisible shelves from above and below. The brightly painted toys shone bright as jewels with their ruby reds, sapphire blues, ambers and emeralds.
Trevor’s gaze tracked across, and he noted the wide curved window, without privacy screen. Casually, he crossed over, as if studying the collection, and checked the windows on the building next door.
Screened. He couldn’t be sure, not a hundred percent sure there wasn’t someone on the other side looking over. He’d have to make certain Dix was out of view when he put him down.