Part 22 (1/2)
Through the plate-gla.s.s windows she saw Alec Shepard stride along the sidewalk. He was the only man on the block wearing a suit. Not just any suit, but one the color of a stealth fighter, sleek and tailored, with a crisp white s.h.i.+rt and an electric-blue tie that hung on his chest like a broadsword. He was built to substantial dimensions, with the broad head and chest of a bison. His gray hair and salt-and-copper beard were clipped close. His stride was confident. He stepped through the door, took off his sungla.s.ses, and gave the room the same bottomless stare that Ian Kanan had given her aboard the 747. Maybe it was a patented Chira-Sayf glare.
She waved. He strode to the table and shook her hand.
”I can only stay a few minutes. The police called me. Apparently, someone stole my new Navigator from the driveway this morning.” He sat down across from her. ”It's turning out to be quite a day.”
Shepard didn't hesitate to put his back to the windows. Even though Jo had warned him that Kanan was after him, the idea of a deadly threat seemed not to fit with his mental landscape.
”Please explain this melodramatic message you left with my secretary,” he said.
”Ian Kanan may be planning to kill you.”
”Absurd.”
Jo held his gaze, trying to judge his tone, his att.i.tude, whether he was nervous or frightened. He was stone.
”Why do you think it's absurd?” she said.
He put his sungla.s.ses on the table. ”I think, in the circ.u.mstances, you're the one who owes me an explanation.”
”Haven't you spoken to the police?”
”About the auto theft. I just flew in from Montreal. If there's anything else, the captain didn't get it over the radio.”
Jo leaned back. ”Have you heard anything in the past thirty hours? Kanan has suffered a brain injury that's caused short-term memory loss.”
His mouth twitched, like a fishhook had caught in his lip. ”I heard. I want to talk to the neurologist about that. I'd like you to stick to evaluating Ian's psyche. Tell me why you've reached this bizarre conclusion that he's become a homicidal maniac.”
”Mr. Shepard-”
”Alec.”
”Alec, strange things are going on at Chira-Sayf. One of your employees is missing. Another lied to me two hours ago about her ident.i.ty. Yesterday Ian a.s.saulted me. He thinks he's been poisoned. He has a list of names written on his arm, starting with yours, and a declarative sentence ending in 'they die.' And I think his injury originated in the theft of materials from your nanotech lab in Johannesburg.”
Shepard's eyes were the pale gray of dirty quartz. He peered at her a long moment, a.s.sessing her the way she'd a.s.sessed him.
Jo's face heated. This wasn't psychoa.n.a.lysis. She couldn't afford to sit there like an a.n.a.lyst waiting for defenses to fall, connections to click, insights to light the room. She generally avoided pus.h.i.+ng people to respond to her questions. When their memories and impressions unrolled without her prompting, she got more honest answers. But Shepard was stonewalling.
”Who sent Ian to Africa?” she said.
”When?”
”Last week. South Africa, Zimbabwe, Zambia. That's where he arrived home from yesterday.”
”I didn't know he was in Africa.”
”No?” Jo put her hands flat on the table. ”Why did Chira-Sayf shut down the Johannesburg lab?”
”That's not within your purview.”
”What nanotech projects did the lab work on?”
”I thought you wanted to talk about Ian.”
”I do. Tell me about your relations.h.i.+p with him. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out. Explain whether you think he could be involved in a theft from the lab, whether your nano project could have poisoned him, and why he was seen walking away from the scene of a murder at the marina this morning.”
That got him to drop the mask for a second. Shock lit his gaze. ”Murder?”
”Alec, SFPD detectives have been trying to reach you. A man was found floating dead in the water next to Somebody's Baby. He'd been stabbed to death. Ian was seen leaving the marina immediately afterward.”
”That's...” He shut his eyes.
”Alec?”
Ignoring her, he took out his phone, dialed, and put it to his ear. ”Jenny? Put me through to legal.”
Shepard rubbed his forehead. His face had turned as red as a radish. Behind him, outside on the street, the sunlight jangled off pa.s.sing vehicles. Jo realized she was clenching her jaw.
”Bill? Alec. We have a h.e.l.l of a problem. Why didn't you contact me?”
Beyond the parade of vehicles on Sixteenth Street, Jo saw the s.h.i.+ne of maroon paint. Her eyes refocused. A red SUV was parked across the street from the restaurant. Her mind clicked back to the CCTV photo of Kanan taken at the marina.
”Alec-the car that was stolen from your driveway. A Navigator?”
He looked up, irritated at the interruption.
She leaned forward. ”Is it a red Navigator?”
”Yes.”
She nodded out the window. ”That one?”
Ian Kanan stared through the Navigator's tinted window at the little restaurant on Sixteenth. He saw Alec sitting at a table inside. A woman was sitting across from him, in the gunfighter's seat. Young, dark hair, good-looking, leaning toward Alec with an intense expression on her face.
He scanned the dashboard. Next to a bunch of Post-it notes, a photo I.D. was clipped to the heating vent. JOHANNA BECKETT, M.D. Same gal.
So Beckett was in this, connected somehow. He held up his phone and snapped a photo of the two of them.
He looked at Alec, and his stomach went hollow. His mind, the bright bubble of now where he existed, filled with the word betrayal.
He took the gun from the small of his back. It was an HK semiautomatic. He checked the magazine and racked the slide to chamber a round.
Shepard craned his head toward the window, phone to his ear. His annoyance turned to puzzlement, then surprise.
He ended the call. ”That's my Cal sticker in the back window. I'll be d.a.m.ned. Son of a b.i.t.c.h-what are the odds?”
He pushed his chair back. Jo reached across the table and put a hand on his arm.