Dinner arrived forty-five minutes later, and he took his time with the excellent steak, savoring each bite as if he’d never tasted meat before. Finished, he pushed the tray away and eyed his cell phone distrustfully, then picked it up and powered it on. He couldn’t put off the calls any longer, and dialed his office first.
His secretary answered, and he explained the situation and said he would be following up with an email the next day. None of the partners were available, but she promised to leave a message with them detailing his misadventure and warning that he’d be out for a week. When he hung up he was confident that there had been no suspicion in her voice, and he wondered if she’d already been informed of his incident and was just playing along, then decided it was improbable. Not everyone was likely to be some kind of covert operative spying on him — she was probably what she appeared to be: a harried, overworked woman doing the best she could in a thankless job.
The next call was harder. Monica answered on the second ring, her voice melodious as ever, no trace of guile or subterfuge. For an instant his conviction faltered, and then he forced himself to recall Jakes’ disclosure, which snapped him back on track.
“Jeff! How’s Switzerland? Did you get my chocolate yet?” she asked, and Jeffrey bit back the angry response that was fighting to get out.
“Switzerland kind of sucks.”
“What? Why? Is it that cold?”
“It’s not the weather. No, I was at the bank yesterday and I got mugged. I spent the night and most of today in the hospital.”
“Mugged? Oh my God… are you okay? Why were you in the hospital? How badly hurt are you?”
“I’m… I’m doing better. I took a hit to the head. Knocked me out, and the doctors said I have a pretty nasty concussion.”
“A concussion? Are you sure you’re all right? That sounds serious,” she said, her voice all frightened concern. Jeffrey made a mental note to never forget what an accomplished actress she was. It was an Academy Award performance, no doubt.
“I’m okay. Not great. But the doctor told me I have to take it easy for a week. No flying, nothing stressful. Basically that I should veg out.”
“So you’re staying there for a whole week?”
“I don’t really have much choice. But I’m…I don’t know, I didn’t get that great a feeling from the doc. Like I was just one of many he was dealing with, you know? And my head is still splitting.”
“I think you should go back in, then. It could be something more serious. Something going wrong after the fact…”
“No, they did a brain scan and there’s no subdural hematoma or anything like that. I don’t think I’m going to wake up and be paralyzed or anything. But I’m seriously thinking about getting a second opinion.”
“Then do it. Don’t take any chances with your health, darling.”
Darling. Jeffrey controlled his gag response, bitter bile rising in his throat, a pain in his stomach flaring like a wild animal trying to tear its way out.
“I… you’re right, of course. Listen, I’m fading pretty fast. I need to hit it. I’ll call again when I’m more alert…” he said, the tightness in his voice explained away.
“I miss you, honey. Let me know if you need me to do anything while you’re down for the count. I wish I could fly over there and take care of you. Maybe I should try to get a week off and do that?”
That stopped him, and he quickly pulled out of his pity party and grew more alert. He couldn’t have her come to Europe. That would ruin everything, and he didn’t think he could maintain the farce in person. She might be a complete sociopath with stellar acting skills, but he wasn’t, and he’d never be able to make it fly.
“No need. It’s only a few days more than I was planning to stay anyway. And if I get a second opinion, I’ll be busy with doctors. Besides, I was told to rest, and not to exert myself. I don’t think it would be good for my health if you were here — there’s no way I would be able to keep away from you.”
She seemed to hesitate. “You’ll let me know how you’re doing? Call me tomorrow, promise? I’m so worried now…”
“I will. I’ll call you as soon as I’m up and around.”
When he terminated the call, he felt like he needed another shower to wash off the coating of lies and betrayal. Any warmth he’d felt, the last holdout to logic, was gone. She was playing him, and had been, all along. Her concern was purely manufactured, professional, as artificial as a linen rose. Everything they’d had was a charade — it had never existed, and was all an act designed for the gullible consumption of an audience of one. He felt like such an idiot. It was so obvious now, the hollow insincerity in every word as plain to see as a searchlight stabbing through the night.
Jeffrey powered the phone off and cursed silently under his breath.
She’d taken him for a fool. They all had. The bumbling idiot, a peacock, puffed up with self-importance that had been contrived to lure him into a trap, where a black widow with breathtaking eyes and a body crafted by demons lay in wait.
For no reason apparent to Jeffrey, a vision of Kaycee flitted across his mind. She might have threatened him with a shotgun, but at least no one else had put her up to it.
Sleep was a long time coming, his simmering anger fueling his restlessness, and it was several hours before he finally began snoring, his dozing fitful and unsatisfying, the night a poor refuge for him now that he knew the harsh truth.
THIRTY-TWO
Shaking the Tail
Saturday, Jeffrey’s first stop was at one of Zurich’s many jewelry stores, where he traded his Rolex in a terrible deal for a Hublot on a black rubber strap that cost him his brother’s watch plus seven thousand dollars on his American Express card. Which was exactly as he wanted it — a foolish purchase for a bauble; where his surveillance committee would readily believe he’d gotten screwed by the store.
Jeffrey had decided there was a better than good chance that a tracking device had been inserted into the Rolex while it had been ostensibly sitting securely in the condo safe, and he wanted to take no chances. But he couldn’t just ‘forget’ the watch along with his phone, so he needed a bit of theater to explain its disappearance. He’d already set the stage for going to Paris, so now the only thing left was to dump his phone — which he would do once in France, so it didn’t look like he was shedding his belongings all at once. For now, he’d left it at the hotel, continuing the pattern of absentmindedness he’d been cultivating.
He found a quiet internet café near the university, logged onto a travel site, and plotted the best way to get to Frankfurt from Paris. There were numerous options, but several mentioned cursory border security in the comments, and those were the ones that drew his interest. His plan was for the trail to end in France, and for any watchers to believe that he was still the clueless young attorney seeking out additional medical attention there.
Which brought him to neurologists. There were any number of prominent ones serving the city, and he selected two, memorizing their numbers and addresses so he could make calls later from his cell. Even with a damaged brain, he was beginning to get the hang of leading a double life — a life that Monica had to have been living for some time.
He brushed aside the rising anger and concentrated on his errands, the last of which was to research the Italian. Within three minutes he’d read the latest article bemoaning the great man’s untimely demise — only a day after Keith’s plane had gone down. Another thread, another coincidence, another corpse. He sat back, thoughts whirling chaotically, outwardly calm but near panicked inside.